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Our brothers and their better halves are hanging out by the railing around the dance floor, looking like they’ve had a few. Javier and Ben are playing pool. Larkin is behind the bar, helping the staff keep up with demand. Jake takes a long look at her, then swivels away, lats bunched as he marches toward our family. I don’t join him. My eyes are fused to Jolene’s stunning profile.
She’s in the newly finished open kitchen, rushing around, her intense expression right at home among the gleaming stainless-steel and modernized appliances.
Aside from adding hand-painted sayings and art on the wall, Larkin and Jo decided to keep the rest of the Barrel House as is—to honor Rebecca’s vision—but the kitchen was a complete redo. It’s bright and airy now. There’s enough space to hold classes, with a long counter where customers can watch the chefs work on the less grease-centric menu—house-made sausages with apple, cabbage, and caraway slaw. Crab and dill crostini. Thick burgers topped with bourbon bacon jam and grilled shishito peppers. My personal favorite is a platter of bar bites, including Jolene’s famous pickle and prosciutto “sandwiches.”
I strut toward the woman at the center of all that deliciousness, my heart pounding louder than the country tunes. It’s always like this when I see Jo. Electric excitement. A shot of adrenaline through my sternum. Like I’m still shocked I’m allowed to touch her in public.
I pass through the staff entrance into the kitchen and hang back a moment, watching the master work. She’s making notes on a menu, talking to her new chef, Emmanuel. The tall Haitian man towers over her, nodding in interest. He takes his pen and marks something on the page.
“Oh my God.” Jo beams up at him. “That’s perfect. Add it to next week’s menu, with the vegan pork belly. This town won’t know what hit it.”
They high-five as a cook shouts, “Two burgers, one crab, and a chicken!”
Emmanuel moves into action, not missing a beat.
I slide to Jolene’s side and drop my mouth to her ear. “Watching your brilliant mind in action is incredibly sexy.”
She leans into me and sighs. “I missed you. It’s weird not having you here every day working on stuff.”
“I missed you too.” I smooth my hand over her hip, guiding her to a quieter corner. “Maybe we should tear out the kitchen again. Redo it. I’ll be at your beck and call night and day.”
“Or,” she says, breathier, “we could text each other when we’re apart. Dirty promises about what we’ll do when we see each other later.”
“Tempting, but no.” Just discussing dirty texts has me hungry for a taste of her. “I’m liable to accidentally saw off a finger.”
The corners of her lips quirk. “No sexting, then. Wouldn’t want to put a hitch in the finger-fucking.”
My body burns hotter than her gas stove. “Someone’s asking for trouble.”
“Too blunt?” she asks, mimicking my deep voice and the line I often use.
I laugh and kiss her lips, then drop my voice to a whisper. “Only if you don’t mind me bending you over your office desk and fucking you so hard the walls shake.”
Her breath catches.
I chuckle and look through the cut-out window into the packed bar. “Rain check for another day?”
“Yes, please.”
We watch Larkin shake up a fancy cocktail, entertaining the waiting customers with a show. Waitstaff hold trays high, pushing through the crowd to serve their tables with the new menu.
More pride fills me. “You’ve done it, Jo. Kept Rebecca’s dream alive, while making it your own. Your aunt would be so happy.”
She presses her hand over her heart and nods. “She would.”
“And you?” I ask, facing her. “Are you happy?”
She links her hands behind my neck, giving me those warm eyes that never fail to slay me. “So happy.”
I steal another kiss, deeper this time, clutching her tight.
She pulls away first, flushed and beautiful, and gives me a light shove. “Now get your hot ass out of my kitchen. I have work to do.”
I laugh and wink at her, eager for later—the two of us in our home, clothes stripped off, no interruptions as I make Jolene shout my name.
Leaving her, I head toward my family, but a crash has me spinning around. Larkin is crouched low, her face pinched as she stares at a shattered glass. Not good.
Worried someone will hurt themselves, I head to the storage area, looking for a broom. By the time I’m back, Larkin is still crouched, and Jolene is with her. Neither of them is moving to clean.
