away from the table. What the hell is happening to me, and who is that guy?
Back at the bar, I sneak another glance his way. He looks, hmmm, sad? No, no. That’s not the right word. Angry? Maybe. Or maybe he’s just a dick. Look at Avie. He runs around town with the same expression. But then again, Avie has the weight of a bar he’s trying to keep running, and he raised me. Not only that, I spent my childhood very sick. The amount of medical bills we have is freaking ridiculous so if this bar doesn’t make a profit, we don’t eat. So Avie’s permanent state of “stressed the hell out” is usually warranted.
I have to physically turn away from the sexy guy occupying the corner of the table to keep from gawking at him.
“Looks like they’re ready to order,” Presley says behind my shoulder.
I spin around to face her. She leans into the bar, her hair sweeping over her shoulder. I point my finger in her face. “What the hell was that back there?”
“Oh, relax, girl.” She rolls her eyes and reaches for a basket of fries Everett places on the counter. “It’s just for fun. And you can thank me later because they were all interested.”
“What’s for fun?” Malarie asks, stuffing her purse under the bar. Mal’s another waitress. She also might be the only reason this bar is still open. She keeps us all under control, even Avie. “Sorry I’m late. Fucking Maddox stuck a Barbie shoe up his nose and it got stuck.”
My eyes water thinking about it and I cringe. “Ouch.” Mal has five-year-old twins and she’s raising them on her own. They’re, dare I say, a handful? No, that’s putting it lightly. Picture Chucky. That little red-headed evil child. No lie.
“Wasn’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.” Mal shrugs, as if she’s used to this. “Kid’s super freaking weird, but you know, so was his dad, so whatever.”
Avie comes around the corner from the kitchen with a tray filled with food. “Where ya been, Mal?”
“Oh, you know. Out.” She flashes him a smile.
“They’re ready to order.” Avie points to the table and then eyes me. “What are you waiting on?”
I flip him off in my head. “What’s up your butt today?”
He mumbles an answer and heads to the office.
Taking a deep breath, I nod and make my way back to their table. “What’s it gonna be?” I hug my notepad to my chest, refusing to look at him. I feel my pulse in my throat. My heart pounds too fast, my mouth dries.
“Well, since you said it was crazy good”—the brother hands me the menus and smiles—“four orders of the fish and chips.”
His smile ignites my own, but I’m sorely disappointed I haven’t seen his.
I lift eyes to the one occupying my thoughts, and he levels me with his intensity. His gaze tells me he’s irritated, but with what, I don’t know. “Okay, sounds great,” I say, needing to fill the awkward silence that follows. My stomach knots. Does he hate me? I’ve never met him before. How can he hate me? “Anything else?”
His eyes meet mine, lips moving around the word “No.”
The way he pins me with his irritated anger, I can’t help but think he might have mistaken me for someone else. Why is he looking at me like this?
“Hey, Lincoln,” one of the guys at the table says, pointing to a map. He moves his attention from mine to the man across from him. They bend their heads over a map. “You guys were up around Neah Bay last month, how’s the fishing down there?”
I still don’t know why he’s staring at me like I’m the worst person in the world, but I know his name.
Lincoln Hardy.
And I might not ever forget it after tonight.
“I’ll get your order in,” I tell them, sneaking one last glimpse at Lincoln. Though I think he doesn’t want to look at me, his eyes betray him, snapping to mine. It’s like I’ve been hit with a brick every time he regards me. I feel it deep in my bones.
Most of the night, I can hardly keep up with orders, but my interest is never far from him, and I think he’d rather not look my way, but he does.
I sneak outside for some air halfway through my shift. There’s a steady mist of rain moving inland, fog rolling with it. I love the way it hovers on the marina, sweeping through