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Having grown up around a business, I understood the value of getting hands on with your product and systems. It would be a cold day in hell before Gramps left a single thing about the distillery and farm to anyone but himself, even if all he did these days was stand around and watch. He was never shy with his advice and criticisms, but it made sure that every bottle of whiskey that left our place was only the finest quality.
I loved that Ricki had pride in her work and her business, too.
It just showed me one more way we were compatible; I was compiling quite the list.
“How long on that next order?” I called through the window, pulling four low-ball glasses out and preparing the next round of drinks. One of the picnic tables outside was currently filled with some of the neighborhood ladies, their kids old enough to manage Halloween on their own, their husbands smart enough to give them space. I wasn’t a dumb man; these women could make or break our success here, so I wanted to make sure they had a great experience.
“Two minutes,” Easton called, sounding less harried.
“Heard.” Laying out the glasses, I dropped a sugar cube in each of them, followed by a dash of bitters, a cocktail cherry, and a curl of orange peel. Whipping out the smoking gun from the back of the bar, I covered the glasses in a cloche and slipped the hose under the edge, using the long-necked barbecue lighter to ignite the wood chips inside. The fan kicked on and the glass domed cloche was soon filled with a thick gray aromatic smoke. Easton was very particular about his smoking chips, and I wasn’t entirely sure what this one was made of, but it filled the room with an earthy, peaty smell that reminded me of home. While I left the smoke to do its thing, I grabbed for a bottle of bourbon and pulled out four of the large spherical ice balls that we carried, each one a bit bigger than a golf ball.
Removing the cloche, I swapped out the fruit and added the bourbon, mixing it around with a bar spoon until the sugar was almost completely dissolved, then tossed in the ice sphere and the fruit, squeezing the orange peel first to release the oils. A final swirl for each of them and it was done.
Damn, I was good at this shit.
“Order up!” Loading the cocktails on to the tray and grabbing one of the orders of sliders, I nodded at Dina, the waitress Easton had hired a while back, and she grabbed the other three plates, following me through the busy restaurant and out to the street.
“Here you are, ladies,” I said, setting down their orders. “Be sure to let me know if you need anything else.”
“You got it, cowboy,” one of them called, already halfway done her drink. “I have a feeling I’m gonna need at least one more of these.” She rattled the ice against the glass, before winking at me and digging into her meal.
Looking around at the throng of satisfied customers, both forSmoke and AshesandBelladonna Tattoo, I felt pride swelling in my chest. Coming here, to this neighborhood, was a good decision, and, finally catching sight of the woman who had been haunting my dreams for the last few weeks, I was starting to feel like it might have been the best decision I had ever made.
Ricki stepped out of her shop, hands on her hips as she looked at the crowd, a small frown on her face. I laughed; it seemed that even when things were going well, Ricki still managed a scowl, like even good things offended her as much as the bad.
Seeing her standing there, her legs covered in a tight pair of shiny black leggings and a crop top that somehow looked sexy as hellandlike it was transported right from the 50s, I could feel my blood heating. It had been too long since I’d had my hands on her. Too long since I’d tasted her skin and heard her moans in my ears. Tonight, once all this was over and everyone else had gone home, I was gonna do everything in my power to make sure Ricki went home with me.
“I’ll do a round out here if you wanna go say hi, boss,” Dina offered, drawing my attention away from the tattooed goddess in front of me. When I looked at Dina, she wore a smug smile on her face, like she was trying to be discrete, but she wasn’t fooling me. “You deserve a break anyway,” she said with a shrug, her blond pixie cut sprayed with glitter sparkling in the streetlight as she bobbed her head from side to side. “I won’t even tell Easton.”
“I don’t need to get Easton’s permission,” I growled, side-eying the door to the restaurant. “But, I don’t want to stress him out anymore than necessary, so maybe just don’t tell himrightnow.”
“Sure thing,” Dina said with a laugh before darting back inside and leaving me to my lie.
Taking a breath, I headed over to Ricki, trying to play it cool so I didn’t come across like the eager fool that I was.
“Trick-or-treat,” I called, loving the way her cheeks flushed when she turned my way. The two old codgers from up the road were standing nearby, holding a giant bowl of Halloween candy, and Ricki reached inside, snagging a piece and tossing it to me.
“Hey,” was all she said, but she licked her lips, so I was taking that as a good sign.
“Hey yourself, little lady,” I said with an exaggerated accent, tipping my hat again before passing the candy to one of the kids darting down the street. He took it with a grin, stuffed it in his already full pillowcase, and kept running.
“You’re really stepping outside your comfort zone with that costume there, hey?” she teased, looking at my outfit of jeans and a flannel shirt. “You added a whole hat. I hardly recognized you.”
“What are you talking about? This is a great costume.”
“You look like you always look, just with a hat,” she deadpanned. “I mean, everyone else put in some effort.” She gestured around her, indicating all the people from the neighborhood who had come out to show support. Every time one of them caught her eye, they smiled at her, lifted their hand in a wave, called her name, or some combination of the three. Ricki didn’t seem to be able to see it, but she was loved here. These people—people who I was just getting to know—had welcomed her with open arms, and I was really fuckin’ happy for her.
“Over there, for example,” Ricki continued, oblivious to my sappy inner musings. “Nowthatis what I call a costume.”
Following her gaze, I saw what had drawn her attention and immediately frowned.
“Fire fighters, Ricki? Really?” She laughed, but didn’t look away from the three men striding toward us, their black and yellow jackets hanging open, the reflective stripes flaring in the night as they moved. “How isthata better costume than my hat? They literally wear those outfits every day. At least I had to buy a new hat for the occasion.”
“True,” she said, finally looking away from the guys still walking toward us. I knew the fire hall was just down the street, but this was the first time I’d seen any of the guys venture up this way. It was good that they were here, because we were hoping to get their business; feeding a fire hall worth of hungry workers on the regular would be a major win.
But at the moment, I sort of hated them.
“Alright. I’ll give it to you. The hat is a fine costume. Even if it just took you from ‘lumbersexual’ to ‘ride ’em cowboy.’”
