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I glanced around the modern speakeasy. More tables were full than empty, and the bar was buzzing with customers. Two other waitresses weaved around the floor, but no one worked as hard as Bea.
“Stop talking to me and I’ll get to it.”
She managed to flip me off while holding her tray, and I let out a noise strongly resembling a laugh. It had been so long since I’d heard myself make that sound, I startled. Bea shot me a dirty look that wasn’t quite joking, spurring me to get going.
I beelined it to the back and set my things on the table Nick had declared mine. It pleased me he hadn’t found another use for my table in the month I’d been absent. Then again, my ingenious business idea brought him an extra stream of revenue without any effort, so it benefited him to keep my space available.
I rushed through setting up so Bea didn’t kill me. Placing cupcakes and charcuterie cups on my tray, I made them look as orderly and appetizing as I could in as little time possible. Once done, I sprinted into the bathroom to whip off my hoodie and sweats and swipe a layer of crimson on my lips.
Despite my month of bed rotting and grief bacon, I didn’t look half bad. Red lips and fishnets worked wonders. My little flippy skirt and platform heels didn’t hurt either. Twisting back and forth, I studied myself in the mirror, recognition lighting in my belly.
This is me.
Duke might’ve been able to crush skulls, but I looked like I could stomp the hearts of unsuspecting men.
I couldn’t—I wouldn’t—but projecting that kind of attitude made me feel good.
Plopping the little pillbox hat on top of my head, I now looked like I belonged in Nick’s speakeasy.
I scurried out of the back, stashed a box of cupcakes under the bar—easy access to refills was a necessity since my cupcakes sold the fastest—then slipped the strap that held my tray over my head and went to work.
I hoped the crowd was hungry tonight.
Chapter Two
Miles
Tending bar was like riding a bike. My muscles remembered the movements, dodging the other bartender, shaking up cocktails, swiping credit cards with one hand, and tucking away a phone number with the other. I hadn’t done this since college, but some things didn’t change.
Sorta made me wistful, but not enough to go back to that era. I shouldn’t have been here tonight. If not for a favor, I wouldn’t have been. I had no problem finding trouble if I wanted to—bar or not.
I was mixing a drink when movement caught my eye. Lloyd was on the other end of the bar, so I knew it wasn’t him without looking. Not that there was a chance of mistaking the small, brunette woman with a funny hat perched on the side of her head for my pale, bald, six-and-a-half-foot barkeep.
Before I could ask her why she was back here, she rushed away, leaving a pink box tucked beneath the lip of the bar.
Call me George, because I was a curious little guy. I finished up the drink I was making, then I was on it, flipping the lid to the box to check out the contents.
Tiny. Pretty. Cupcakes.
A few dozen, from the look of it.
Strange of her to stash them behind the bar, but okay. Maybe they were a treat Nick had delivered to Lloyd and me for holding down the fort in his absence. If she were a delivery girl, the funny hat made sense, I guessed. Though, she could have worked on her people skills.
Not a guy to let things go to waste, I picked a cupcake drizzled with caramel, peeled the paper, and popped the whole thing in my mouth.
Oh shit.
Baby Buddha on a bicycle.
I am now a convert to whatever religion these cupcakes belong to.
It had to be a fluke. There was no way all the cupcakes were as good.
I selected another, one with pink frosting and a sliver of strawberry on top. This one, I bit into, fucking delighted to find strawberry compote inside. I’d never considered myself a big fan of sweets, but in these cupcakes I trusted.
Unfortunately, I was pulled away by impatient customers and had to take a break. The good thing? Lloyd was unaware of the existence of the pink box so I could hoard them to myself for a while longer.
Or maybe forever.
