Page 8 of Grim Tidings

I have to bite the inside of my cheek against my smile. “What did you have in mind?”

“Play a game with me.”

I arch an eyebrow. “A game?”

He nods. “If I guess the right drink for you, you’ll have to keep me company for the rest of my shift.”

“And if you guess the wrong drink?”

“I won’t.”

“But if you do, what do I get?”

“I guess you get a shitty drink.”

A harsh bark of a laugh tumbles out of me, and I clap my hand over my mouth, embarrassed.

His eyes shine in the dim light of the bar, delighted. “Is that a yes?”

I drop my hand and let my smile unfurl, feeling deliciously light and bubbly. Maybe I don’t need a drink, or a vacation, or a sweater with a sparkly unicorn on it. Maybe I need to flirt with a handsome stranger in a dimly lit bar. Maybe I need to forget who I am and what I’m here to do.

Live a little. Isn’t that what Aelia said?

“Yes,” I say. “I guess you better go make me my drink.”

Chapter Three

Gabriel

You’re acting like an idiot,” a gruff voice chirps while I consider the glasses at the opposite end of the bar. I reach for a rocks tumbler, then change my mind and place it back.

“Oh yeah?” I pick up a coupe glass instead, fingers pinched around the delicate rim. “How do you figure?”

“You’re clucking around that poor girl like a mother hen.” Frank, one of the regulars, is slumped in his usual seat, plucking maraschino cherries directly from a container that should be under the bar.

“No one is clucking, Frank. I’m just trying to figure out her drink.”

Frank laughs. “Sure. That’s what’s happening right now.”

A lanky body bulldozes up to the bar right next to him, rattling the glasses. Nate has always given me the impression of an overeager puppy. He’s all energy and long, flailing limbs. Kind, but young and a little bit stupid. I swear I spend more time making sure he stays alive than anything else.

“Shit, Frank. I’d be clucking, too.” He lifts his body, pressing his torso against the counter to get a good look at the woman I left sitting on the other side of the bar. He almost pushes his hand into the ice bin, but I close the lid at the last second. “Look at her ti—”

I grab the bottom half of his face, squeezing his cheeks together until he stops talking. “Think very carefully about how you want to finish that sentence, bud.”

His eyes crinkle, and I release him.

“I was going to say tidy sweater.” He stretches his jaw from side to side. “I love the naughty-librarian vibes. Like she could smack me around with her ruler.”

I roll my eyes and reach for the cherry container Frank is clutching against his chest.

“Order a drink if you want a cherry,” I tell him. I drop it back behind the counter.

“Yeah, Frank.” Nate grins. “Order yourself a cute little Shirley Temple.”

Frank leans back in his chair and pulls out a weathered crossword from the inside of his jacket pocket, grumbling under his breath. “Never had to order a drink for a cherry before,” he complains.

“Gotta keep a roof above my head, Frank.”