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I smile sheepishly.
He winks.
Christ. Spinning off-kilter, I shut the door and drop my head against it, waiting for my blood to simmer down to a more appropriate temperature. I was so eager to get out of the apartment that I opted to do overtime without thinking of the consequences: seeing Raphael after that.
“Surprise!” A feminine trill makes my eyes pop open. Rory is sitting on a bar stool grinning at me. She’s wearing a khaki fly suit unzipped to her waist and a white T-shirt underneath.
I break into a smile. “What are you doing here?”
“Angelo’s got a meeting with Rafe and some old dude. Found out you were working so I decided to cut my flying lesson short and keep you company.” She cranes her neck to peer into the storage room, then whispers theatrically as she taps the deck of cards on the bar. Waves her notepad around. “I’ve been practicing!”
I didn’t even realize Angelo was here, I was so distracted by a loud Irish accent and the heat of Raphael’s wink. I bite out a laugh, slipping behind the bar. “I hope you’ve been practicing in private.”
“Oh, of course. Angelo thinks I’ve got a sudden obsession with gardening because I’ve been hiding in the shed.” She snaps the deck with a roll of her eyes. “What grows in winter, seriously? Oh, by the way, what are you doing Saturday night? There’s a game night in Hollow; you should come and watch me beat Rafe.”
Before I can respond, a man breezes out of the storage room, face hidden behind the crate of beer in his arms. He sets it on the floor, returns to his full height, and does a double-take at me.
“Jesus. Am I seeing a ghost?”
It takes me a few seconds to realize who it is: Dan.
As in, Dan, pass me the hammer.
“I’m very much alive,” I say dryly. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I usually work at the Rusty Anchor, but I moonlight as Rafe’s personal bartender.” He hitches a shoulder and grins. “He calls, I come.”
I have to grit my teeth to prevent an eye roll. Having a personal bartender only solidifies his status as the most pretentious asshole of the year.
Dan starts unloading beers into the fridge, chuckling to himself. “Can’t believe Rafe chased you with a hammer.”
Rory’s gasp feels hot against the shells of my ears.
“Yeah, and can’t I believe you handed it to him.”
“Hey, what the boss wants, the boss gets.”
“Okay, someone’s gotta fill me in,” Rory says, a breathless excitement to her tone. “What are you going on about?”
“She swindled Rafe out of his watch at the Blue’s Den in Devil’s Cove. It was wild.”
Rory’s eyes slide to mine then down the watch on my wrist. To be honest, it looks ridiculous on me. It’s far too big and even on the tightest notch, the face constantly slides around to my pulse. I don’t know why I keep swiping it off my dresser and putting it on every morning. I pull my arm off the bar and put it behind me, feeling defensive.
“What do you mean, swindled?” she whispers.
“Not swindled. We played a game, and I won his watch.”
“You won his watch,” she repeats, all-knowing mischief filling her gaze. “And now you’re wearing it.”
“And now I’m wearing it.” I scowl back.
She opens her mouth, then closes it just as quick. She goes back to scribbling on her notepad, a smirk lifting her lips.
Click.
The sound of the door opening travels down my spine. Rory’s head snaps up, and in a panic, she scoops the playing cards and the notepad to her chest and slides off the stool. “Gotta make a phone call,” she mutters, before diving out the terrace doors.
Raphael’s bemused gaze follows her, before coming to me. I smooth down my dress and give my best attempt at not looking flustered. Dan, on the other hand, is as easy as a Sunday morning. “What’s up, boss? What can I get you?”
