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All Lachlan did was cry. Big, freaking heart-wrenching sobs that killed me. He’d walk around lost with his arms wrapped around his chest. No hugs helped. Leaving him alone made him worse. Our parents had isolated him from Knox and me, suffocated him with their love then cruelly stripped it away. It fucking killed me that my brother, my brother that I didn’t know, was breaking apart. Knox took on the role of a makeshift dad, at eighteen. The only way I could get through to Lachlan was to make him laugh. A sly smile would shade his lips at a lame joke I’d read online. More lame jokes followed until smiles overtook the tears. I’m the laid-back brother. Knox is the smart-arse control freak who is a genius with numbers. Lachlan can’t keep still. He’s brooding and damaged. Shit, we all are, but we’re tight, as in ‘till death do us part.’
Speaking of death, my balls are painful. Like one is twisted or something. Again, I fist my hands deep into my pockets, refusing to look at Georgia’s long, long legs in those cut-offs, or the button on them that beckons me. I drag my gaze up her body, taking in her curves, her delicate neck, that smile.
“Why are you all smiles then all scowly?”
I shrug. “My face talks for me.”
I want to fuck you senseless.
She blinks, then sucks in a breath before turning away slightly.
Yeah, she can read my mind.
I want you calling my name when you come.
Her eyes blaze; she blinks to clear the haze. She stares at me intently.
“You may not be the numbers guy, but you remember all the cocktails? How many are there?”
I deflate a little. I’m not the numbers guy. I don’t have the brain of Knox.
“Depends on the season, around seventy-five.” I shrug.
Her eyes widen. “Wow. That’s a lot.” She looks around. “It must be hard to manage a pub this busy full-time.”
“It is,” I admit. “I know down to a pint how much beer we have in the kegs, and how many spirits are on hand. Menu setting, buying the fruit, veg, meat and fish.” I sigh. “Making sure staff come in, and on time.”
“Does it get lonely?”
“Yeah. At times,” I confess. “I usually have company when I want it.”
“I bet you do,” she murmurs with an easy grin. Her head cocks to one side. “You tried to sell me a Lemon something. Rosemary Gin Fizz.”
I smirk. “Aye, and you shot me down faster than a ballistic missile. Talk about a shot to a guy’s ego.”
Her gorgeous chocolate eyes sparkle. “Shame on you. We’re bred tough in the South.”
“Yes, you are,” I murmur, and she blushes.
I scan the bottles behind me. “You want to try the Meyer Lemon Rosemary Gin Fizz you refused last night?”
Her smile gets wider. “Sure.”
“Start with a simple syrup infused with rosemary.”
Her eyes squint. “A simple syrup is equals part water and sugar, right?”
“Aye, but I use brown sugar and honey.” I assemble the bottles that I need on the bar. It’s too early to drink it, but I want to show her. “Pour a quarter cup of gin into a cocktail shaker. Add one tablespoon of fresh lemon juice. Then a tablespoon or thereabouts of the rosemary syrup, a third of a cup of soda and shake the shit out of it.” Which I do with one hand while taking down a glass. I decorate it with a slice of lemon on the side and a sprig of rosemary on the bottom. I fill the glass with the lemony drink and slide it toward her. “One Meyer Lemon Rosemary Gin Fizz.”
“And all in under forty seconds.” Her eyes shimmer with delight and her mouth is curved upward. “You’re totally the numbers guy remembering all the cocktails and the measurements to make them perfect.”
Pride blooms in my heart. “Damn, I’m off my game. I usually do it in twenty-five. Must be the distracting, beautiful woman in the room.”
She laughs and damn she’s sunshine on a gloomy Scottish day. And she’s adorable trying to make me feel good about myself. So fucking sweet.
“I bet if you make cocktails with your shirt off you’ll have every woman flinging their underwear at you. Think of all the tips you’d get.”
“There’s only one woman I want throwing her underwear at me, and you don’t tip in Scotland.” I pull her off the barstool, frame her face with my hands, and kiss her. Damn the pudding cooling on the counter. I’m having my dessert right now.
