Devereux. Good-looking, kind eyes, he had all the right moves to wine and dine an innocent small-town woman like me. Also, he had a good job, and that in itself was great because I knew he could support himself.
Then, just when I thought my life was something out of a storybook, last night while we were out to dinner, his wife showed up to the party. Apparently, she’d known about me for months and waited until we were together to confront us. She was nothing but sweet to me—I think she knew I had no idea.
I left the restaurant crying; he left with divorce papers.
Presley hands me the dustpan. “We should clean this up. Dinner crowd will be rolling in soon.”
We spend the next hour cleaning up the supply room, and then I show her pictures of Norah. Presley scrolls through her Instagram posts, pausing on the one of her and Devereux on their wedding day four years ago. “She has to have a fault. No one is that beautiful all the time.”
“Yeah, him,” I snap, heat creeping up my neck. “What the hell did he want with me if he had her at home?”
Presley frowns. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
I think about her words. I guess maybe I don’t, but what really drives a man to cheat on his wife? I think about Dylan, one of our bartenders. We refer to her as the man-eater. Her mission in life is married men. I know, horrible, right? It’s a long story, but from what Presley and I can tell, she was cheated on at one time, and now she only sleeps with married men. More on that later, I’m sure. But the men… what makes them think it’s okay to fuck with someone’s feelings like that?
Avie surfaces again, carrying two cases of beer. Since he’s in the room, I might as well tell you a little about my brother. He’s magnetic. That’s the only word I can think of to describe someone like him. From an early age, people, especially women, flocked to him. With a charismatic smile, a great sense of humor, and handsome as hell, he not only captivates you, he backs it up with making you instantly feel at ease around him. Sadly, I don’t see that side of him much anymore.
With a grunt, he nudges the boxes to the edge of the bar. “Get to work. The Amphitrite came in today and it’s going to be busy tonight.”
Avie has spent the last nine years making sure the family business stays running, while keeping me alive. Not only does he not have time for a personal life, but I also can’t remember the last time he had a day off.
I set my phone by the register. He hates it when we’re on our phones while we’re supposed to be working.
“Here.” He slides a case across the bar. “Line these up in the back room, and then there are two more loads in the truck. Don’t break any. Get someone to help you lift anything too heavy.”
“The fuck I will,” I mumble to myself. I didn’t use to cuss like this. I just recently started. As in, last night. Something about a woman telling me the man I’d been dating had been married the entire time, has me suddenly enjoying the way curse words feel rolling off my tongue, and you know what, I’m gonna keep doing it.
Reaching for his checkbook next to the register, Avie heads out the door. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
Presley, who’s sitting on the bar during business hours—she’s super professional—huffs out a snort. “He didn’t even say thank you.”
I glance over at her, frowning, and then roll my eyes. “Gross.”
“Well, I gave him something, he should say thank you. Not ignore me.”
“I have a very strong aversion with you sleeping with my brother.”
You heard that right. My best friend had sex with my brother. It’s every sister’s nightmare.
Sliding off the bar, she shrugs and ties her hair back. “I know, but it just happened.”
“No, it doesn’t just happen. It doesn’t work that way. You had complete control over that situation.”
She bats her thick lashes at me. “I know, but it was just like, so good.”
“Come on. Help me.”
“He said for you to do it, not me,” Presley argues, glaring in the direction of Avie standing outside the door talking to Fletcher, a local who spends most of his day here.
“I know, but I don’t want to do it alone.” I don’t