Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85565 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
My stomach did that flip again, except this time something squeezed even lower in my gut. Something close to desire.
“The view costs extra,” he said over his shoulder. My face ignited as I realized he’d been watching me in the mirror behind the bar and had noticed me staring. I immediately dropped my eyes to my clasped hands on the lacquered surface of the bar. Since when did I perv on bartenders? Especially young ones who were clearly so outside my age range that it bordered on embarrassing.
When the drink appeared in front of me, I forced myself to look up. “Sorry about that,” I said, still feeling hot in the face.
He winked at me. “I was just kidding.” His grin spread slowly across his face, and he leaned in ever so slightly before adding, “For you, the view is free.” He held my eyes for a beat longer before turning to help the pack of softball players next to me who were clearly ready for another round.
It was about five minutes before I could even draw breath again. And I spent that entire time trying not to watch the guy like some horny barfly.
Which I failed at, utterly.
There was something about him, about the way he moved. He’d obviously been doing this job long enough for most of it to be muscle memory. He seemed at home behind the bar, and he certainly knew most of the locals since he called them by name and asked about their families or jobs or offered a joke if they looked like they needed cheering. The faded T-shirt he wore said Barwich High School Lacrosse which seemed to confirm both his youth and his local ties.
I focused on my drink, needing to find something—anything—to take my notice off the bartender. Richard would have had a field day if he’d seen me panting after such a young pup. You’re closing in on forty, old man. Maybe lower the bar a little.
I sucked vigorously at the Mai Tai. My friend Conor had warned me to stop giving so much mental real estate to my ex, but it was hard. After being with someone for several years, their voice was pretty well burned into your internal monologue.
“Ready for another?”
I blinked up at the bartender. My head felt a little bit lighter, and before I could stop myself I asked, “How old are you?”
He let out a soft snort but didn’t seem offended by the question. More amused. “Twenty-six. How old are you? Are we in some kind of competition?”
I shook my head and held up a hand. “Sorry. That was rude. Forgive me.” I cleared my throat and added, “And I’m thirty-eight. So… clearly I win. Or lose, depending on how you look at it.”
He grew serious, his eyes widening. “Ahh, ancient. Have you looked into reverse mortgages yet? I hear they’re all the rage with your set.”
I couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, which made his eyes brighter and his dimple deeper. “I’ll check it out. Thanks for the tip.”
“You just visiting?” he asked.
I nodded. “Just here for a few days.”
“Let me know if you have any questions about our little neck of the woods. I’m a McBridey, born and raised.” His smile was genuine. “Ask me anything.”
It seemed the perfect opening, so I jumped in. “Thanks.” I glanced around, taking note of the crowd that had started to finally thin a bit as the night grew later. “This place seems to do a brisk business. Is it mostly locals?”
His eyes flicked around the space as if reminding himself of his own clientele. “Well, it’s not usually this crowded, actually. There was a softball game tonight. Everyone always comes here after. It’s tradition.”
“Not as many tourists?” I pressed. “You’re kind of off the beaten path here.”
He seemed to bristle a little. “We get tourists. McBride has a reputation as one of the Cape’s best-kept secrets. You can still get away from the hustle and bustle of the crowds and have a true old Cape experience.” He sounded like a brochure, and I wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince: me or himself.
“But there aren’t any resorts to really draw in the big money,” I pointed out. “I’d imagine if there were more hotels and such, this place would be busy every night.”
His face kept its easy grin, but he shook his head firmly. “No, thanks. We already have a small B&B in town and the Sea Sprite. Between that and the public beach access, it’s enough to keep us plenty busy during the season.”
I turned around as if I could see the shabby seaside motel from here. “That… that old place on the point? There are actual guests that stay there?” My surprise wasn’t fake. I truly didn’t realize the inn was still hosting enough guests to be considered a viable tourist destination in McBride.