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She is the cutest thing I have ever come across.
“I am joking.”
She makes a face at me, her cheeks still red. “That isn’t very nice.”
“No, it isn’t.” I grin at her. “But then, I’m not a very nice person.”
I lean on the counter, smirking. “So, you think I’m attractive, do you?”
She rolls her eyes. “You’re passable.”
“Nuh-uh.” I wag a finger at her. “You told me you found me attractive.”
“I was trying to be nice.” She laughs at me, making me crack a grin. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ll answer your question.
” I tilt my head. “If you answer one of mine.”
She nods. “Fair enough.”
“Well, when I’m not bartending, I do some other small odd jobs.”
I don’t want to tell her I own a chain of restaurants and bars. For some reason, I don’t want her to see the businessman. Most women, when they find out, their attitudes change; they will suddenly become more attentive, more charming.
No, I want this school teacher to see the down-on-his-luck Irish bartender rather than the businessman who attends functions and parties and rubs elbows with the elite.
Her face turns thoughtful. “I used to do a lot of odd jobs before I landed this one. I once did night shifts at this small twenty-four-seven cafe. The pay was great, although after one in the morning, the people who showed up were just weird.”
“How old were you?” I find myself asking.
“This was two years ago,” she tells me, and her brow furrows. “Ah, I think I was twenty-five. Bryan had to study for his entrance exam, so I wouldn’t let him work.”
“You’re very close with your brother,” I comment.
The same pained expression crosses her face that I saw the other day and I wonder what that is about.
However, she tries to smile. “Yeah. I raised him. We only have a few years between us, but I’ve always taken care of him.”
“What about you?” I ask, softly.
“What about me?” she asks, puzzled.
“Who takes care of Sarah?”
She is quiet for a few moments and then gives me a sweet smile. “Sarah takes care of Sarah.”
I know she is trying to joke about it, but my chest tightens.
“You look serious,” she says, her smile fading.
I move my head, shaking off the sudden feeling. “Tell me something.”
She becomes comfortable on her stool, and her eyes look at me expectantly.
I want to ask her the real reason she is coming to visit this bar for the past few days, but I have a feeling I won’t get the truth out of her, so I decide on a different question. “Be honest: are you here to pick up guys?”
She laughs liked I intended for her to, and she shakes her head. “No!”
