Who We Are by Claudia Burgoa

Author:Claudia Burgoa [Burgoa, Claudia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Literally Alpaca LLC
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Thea

To no one’s surprise, Silver Moon buzzes with energy and what feels like a gazillion customers. All of them are hoping to get a glance of MJ Decker. That’s good for business, but still, I complain to Reed. “You should pay me double. At least give me a raise or a break.”

“You’re getting all the tips. Stop whining, T, or you’ll wait tables.”

“We’re good. Order up.” I bang the counter after I’m done, turning to the right and getting back to the customers at the bar.

They better fill the jar, as being the only bartender on a Wednesday night sucks. It’s been a week since Reed shared the news that Joe and Stella eloped. There’s no news about their plans. Financially that’s great news, I’m earning double what I usually make. However, I don’t think I’ll have any time off until they’re back.

Today is Open Mic Wednesday, and Reed added a one-dollar draft promotion to make up for the slow customer service. We don’t need any incentives. What we need is more employees.

“What can I get you?” I wait on the guy who squeezed himself between the crowding bodies. His penetrating green gaze meets mine.

Oh, it’s Mr. Whiskey Sour—Good tipper, bad temper.

Usually, I don’t remember a two-time customer, but something about him just stuck with me. Tonight, he’s wearing a strikingly sharp and intimidating dark suit—I like it. Okay, maybe there’re more reasons on why I remember him. The attraction between us. The darkness in his eyes, the emptiness in his soul.

I want to soothe him, unbreak him, and… can I even help him when I’m beyond repair?

“Your usual?” I swallow, composing myself.

He leans closer to the counter. “You know what my usual is?”

I give him a sharp nod and prepare his drink, then hand it over.

He takes a few gulps and smiles at me. “I could use someone like you.”

“Thank you for the offer,” I say, with my sweetest voice as I grab his hundred-dollar bill, “but I’m happy where I am.” I show him his money. “Planning on keeping them coming?”

“Nah, maybe I’ll order a second one. The rest is yours.” He looks around the bar, reaches again for his wallet, and hands me his business card. “I’ll be opening a place next year, and I’d be happy to employ you.”

Tristan F. Cooperson

There’s an email address and some phone numbers. No company name or position. I scan the card, then focus on his dark green eyes.

They study me, and I feel as though some kind of force is trying to pull me toward them. As if they’re trying to trap me. The sensation makes every cell of my body buzz, sucking in the air around me.

“Bartender!” I break our stare and glance to the left, where a funny-looking dude is waving at me. “Dudette, I need my beer.”

Right, I’m the only bartender working tonight. I push the card inside my back pocket and resume working after that brief trip to… I don’t know where he sent me.

Limbo?

His dark places call to me.

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