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Here goes nothing, I thought to myself as I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip. I was fully prepared to fake that I liked it. Luckily, I didn’t have to. My eyes widened with surprise. The coffee actually tasted like, well,coffee. She hadn’t masked the flavors with a bunch of sugar, but instead, somehow enhanced it with the steamed milk and whatever she’d added.
“Wow. Colbie, this is good. Really good.” I stopped to take another sip. “Excellent, actually.”
“Of course it is,” she replied, not bothering to act humble when she knew damn good and well she’d created something perfect. “I’m an artist, Beau. You may be a hotshot football player, but this is my house, and here, I’m the MVP.”
My head fell back on a laugh. This chick was something else. I could see why she and Presley’s friendship had remained so solid all these years. She was a trip.
I quickly paid, shoving the extra bills in the jar by the register for a generous tip, knowing damn good and well I’d be a frequent customer now that I’d tasted what this woman could do, and wanting to stay on her good side for it.
“You have a good one, Colbie. And thanks again for the coffee.”
“You’re welcome. Now go make things right, because the last thing this town can handle is the nuclear blast that is you and Presley if you don’t squash this beef between you.”
Oh, I fully intended on it.
I just had to figure out how.
Chapter Twelve
PRESLEY
It was barelyeight in the evening, and I was already dead on my feet.
I’d come into work early this morning to meet the beverage distributor and get some paperwork done. It was supposed to be an easy day, but then two of my servers called out sick during the lunch rush. The same happened later when one of the bartenders who was supposed to close called off as well. Apparently there was a nasty stomach flu going around the local daycare and the kids of Whitecap were taking their parents down.
I’d hoped that would mean a light evening, maybe even one where we could close earlier, but no such luck. The customers had come out in force, meaning the rest of the staff and I had been running our asses off all evening.
I carried a tray of empties to the large oval-shaped bar that separated Dropped Anchor into two sections and glanced at my watch. There were still three hours until close, and it was going to take a hell of a lot more coffee to get me through this shift. Fortunately, tomorrow was my day off, and I planned on sleeping in. The thought of climbing into my bed and curling up,surrounded in my nest of pillows, made me whimper. I was that tired.
“Donovan,” I called as I rounded the bar, tossing the empty beer bottles in the trash and getting to work on washing the glasses so we didn’t run out, “Go ahead and take your fifteen.”
He looked out at the crowd that didn’t seem to be getting any thinner as the hours ticked down. “You sure, boss?”
That was one of the reasons I loved this place so much. The staff was more like a second family than just co-workers. Once I’d graduated from college and Diane had promoted me to manager, she’d taken a big step back, letting me run the bar how I saw fit. I’d been in charge of the hiring, the firing, and everything in between. I’d hired every one of the people here, and I was proud as hell to say they helped me run this place like a well-oiled machine. Even on crazy nights like this.
“Positive.” I moved behind him, patting him on the shoulder and gently guiding him toward the opening at the back of the bar. “Take your break. You’ve more than earned it. I’ll cover while you’re gone.”
“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed a bar rag, quickly wiping up a spill before turning my attention to the customers waiting for a drink. I wouldn’t consider myself a pro when it came to bartending, but I’d gotten pretty decent at multitasking. I was able to pull a draft and handle a cocktail shaker at the same time, and with the other two bartenders working alongside me, we made quick work of the building crowd.
I smiled as I poured drinks, made change, swiped credit cards, and took keys away from those who’d tied on one too many, slowly working my way down the bar toward the end. I’d hit a rhythm that helped me forget how tired I was.
“Hey, Freddy,” I greeted, smiling fondly at the old man who occupied this very stool night after night, no matter how packedor empty the place was. We had our share of regulars, but Freddy was more like an unofficial part of the Dropped Anchor family. He’d never gotten married or had kids, so instead of spending his evenings at home alone, he spent them here, with us. Some nights he’d tie one on, but most of the time he was content to simply hang out, eat a burger, and drink Cokes with cherries tossed into the glass.
Despite the fact the man was knocking on the door of eighty, he’d also designated himself as a kind of bar security, hanging around until closing most nights and walking the ladies on staff to their cars to make sure we got there safely. When the holidays rolled around and we closed the bar to the public for our staff Christmas party, Freddy was the only person not on our payroll who got an invite.
“You good, hon?” I pointed at his nearly empty glass. “Need a refill?”
“Much appreciated, sweetheart,” he said in his signature raspy smoker’s voice.
I grabbed the soda gun from behind the counter and pointed it at his glass, filling it with Coke before tossing in a few of the cherries he loved so much. “Anything else? You order dinner yet?”
He lifted the glass to his lips and sucked the fizzy liquid through his straw. “Nah. Figured I’d wait ’til things slowed down. Didn’t want to get in your hair on such a busy night.”
That was Freddy, kindhearted to his very core.
“Don’t you even worry about that. You’re part of the crew here. I’ll take care of you.”
