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On my part, I went back home and had a shower, changing into my work clothes. I ran into Jeanne on my way out.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” she said, stopping in the doorway to her home office. “I’ve barely spoken with you for a week, it seems.”
“I’m fine,” I said with a smile. “Been busy taking extra shifts. Went out dancing last night.”
“Good for you,” she said and came closer to me. She was in her fifties and was still attractive, with her salt and pepper hair in a bob, her makeup meticulous, and dressed in something business casual. “You know, it’s time for you to get out and meet people again. Dan would want it.”
I glanced away, not sure what Dan would want.
“I mean it,” Jeanne said, turning me around and looking me straight in the eyes. “He wouldn’t want you to become a spinster. He loved you and wanted you to be happy. So,” she said and leaned closer. “Be happy.”
We hugged and I didn’t say anything but it made me feel so good to hear that from her lips. For the past few months, I’d become a bit stir crazy, spending all my time at the restaurant working in the bar or doing the cash in the morning. My only relief was Leah. She was a godsend. I was so lucky to have a friend who was willing to help me through the hard times in my life.
I pulled the afternoon shift as a bartender and instead of Steve, Brent worked in his place. The usual crowd came in – local workers finishing their shifts, tourists looking for a drink and dinner in the restaurant, young people partying it up. I wondered if Beckett would show up and when, but by nine o’clock, he was still a no-show. I thought he might arrive early and sit at the bar so we could talk. Perhaps he’d changed his mind. Maybe I was more trouble than I was worth.
I was so attracted to him, and last night would have ended up in bed – on the bathroom counter, on the floor – wherever. If only it hadn’t been for that scar of his…
When I thought about last night, I cringed inwardly. Why would any guy put up with someone like me – so hesitant to take the plunge? He was hot enough that he could have any woman he wanted. I was certain that he had no trouble getting some if and when he wanted.
So why keep after me? Sure, I was attractive enough. I ran a hand over my hair, which was long and thick and straight and a shade of red that was almost auburn. I was told I had nice eyes – Dan used to tell me I had bedroom eyes, whatever that meant. My figure was curvy – what Beckett called lush. I had decent enough fashion sense, when I had a need to use it.
But overall, there were more attractive women at the bar last night. Beckett could have gone home with anyone else. I saw other woman looking at him, checking him out, talking to each other about him.
He wanted me.
In other words, I wasn’t an easy lay, which he could have with any number of women. I was complicated. I had issues. I would take time.
Why me? I just couldn’t get that question out of my mind, and my confidence wasn’t high enough to say why not?
I sighed to myself and shut it off, deciding not to second guess myself any longer. Thing was, I was not used to one-night stands. In fact, I’d never had one. I had been with two men in my life and so I was used to meaningful relationships – not meaningless fucks.
Last night, I just wanted to feel Beckett inside of me. I wanted to feel like a desirable woman again – the way Dan made me feel.
About a quarter hour before my shift was scheduled to end, I was starting to think that Beckett stood me up, when he arrived, dressed the way he looked when he first walked into the bar – faded jeans, thick black belt, leather riding boots, a white t-shirt, and a black leather jacket, his helmet under his arm.
Damn, he was hot. Seriously a babe. His hair had been recently washed and was still a bit wet, but the ends were drying. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a shower. Or off the beach or swimming pool.
He gave that brilliant smile when our eyes met across the bar, and my cheeks heated in response. As long as I didn’t do something really stupid tonight, I’d probably end up fucking him later and that knowledge sent a wave of desire through my body, ending with a pleasant throb.
“Hey, lovely lady,” he said as he walked up to the bar and claimed a stool. He put his helmet on the stool next to him and sidled up to the bar, his hands folded. He leaned forward. “You look like a glass of water to a man dying of thirst.”
I laughed and raised my eyebrows. “That’s high praise,” I said and grinned. “I’m wearing a black t-shirt, black jeans, Doc Martens and a green apron. I bet I look like a working stiff, not some glass of water…”
“You do to me.” He smiled and we locked eyes for a moment.
“What can I get for you? Woodford Reserve or something different?”
He leaned back and eyed the bottles lining the shelves behind and on either side of me. “I’m thirsty. How about a nice glass of draft? Whatever’s on tap.”
I listed the various draft beer we had on tap and he chose a local craft beer as he had the night before. I pulled him a pint and placed it on the bar in front of him, along with a paper coaster.
“Busy day?” I asked, trying to make conversation.
“Lots of meetings and talks with potential clients,” he replied. “And a nice long ride along the island.”
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “You’re lucky to live here. My dream is to have a nice cottage on a cliff so
