Once I’m finished filling the pitcher, I return to the table. The closer I get, the more aware I am that previously Lincoln’s eye contact had been a quick glance here and there, as if he didn’t want me to notice. Now… he’s blatantly staring at me, and it’s everything I can do not to trip. I reach the table, set the pitcher down, and begin taking away their empty baskets of food.
I don’t spend much time at their table, or at least I try not to, but I’m aware of him every time I pass by them. He occupies the space in the corner and my mind for hours. I can’t shake him or the feeling that I need to know him.
It’s around two in the morning when they stand to leave. Bear approaches me with his wallet in hand. “What’s the damage?” He leans into the bar, winking at me. He’s cute, adorable even, with his thick black beard and bright blue eyes, but he doesn’t hold my fascination like the enigmatic ones of his brother.
I cash them out, and Bear smiles. “You were right,” he says, tucking his wallet into his back pocket.
I glance up at him, fidgeting with the receipts in my hand. “About?”
“The fish and chips. Best I’ve ever had.”
I return the smile, my eyes drifting over his shoulder to Lincoln, who’s standing near the door with the other men who were at their table. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Maybe next time you’re in town, you guys can stop by.”
Shit. Why’d I say that? I just gave myself away.
Bear straightens his posture. “We definitely will.”
And then they leave. I keep waiting for Lincoln to look back at me, but he doesn’t. I glance down at their tab to see the tip they left me. Their tab was only $65.43, and they left me a hundred-dollar tip.
Seriously? I check it to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me.
We close up the bar another twenty minutes later after Everett and Avie have to clear out the regulars who think last call doesn’t apply to them.
Presley hits my shoulder with hers, counting her tips. “How’d you do tonight?”
“They left me a hundred-dollar tip,” I tell her, counting out the till.
“The fishermen?” I nod. "No shit? Crazy. I would have given them a hundred bucks just to stare at them for a night,” she teases, reaching for her purse under the bar. “I’m heading out. I don’t want to have the awkward conversation with Avie about how much of a dick he is.”
I laugh and close the till. Placing the money inside the bank deposit bag, I tuck it under my arm. “Can’t say I didn’t warn you.” In fact, I remember telling her many times over the last few years that he’d be like this. Avie’s never even had a girlfriend because he can’t keep them. Once they find out he’s married to a bar and keeping his little sister alive, most run. To say his baggage is heavy is an understatement.
Presley shrugs. “And I can’t say it wasn’t worth it.”
Mal and I head for the door at the same time while Avie finishes up in the office. He watches Mal walk out the door and then looks back at his computer. “I’ll be out soon,” he tells me from his desk, his hand in his hair as he frets over invoices.
I give him a weak smile and hand him the bank deposit envelope. “I’m fine. Mal will give me a ride,” I lie, knowing she’s already in her car and leaving.
I like to walk home at night. It’s dangerous, sure, but we live in Westport and only a mile from the bar. Who’s gonna kill me? A lone crab?
He nods and goes back to his paperwork.
But I don’t leave. I need to know why he’s treating my friend so badly. Sighing, I blow out a breath and lean into the doorframe. “Why are you being so mean to her?”
Avie lifts his eyes to mine. “What?” His question is delivered with annoyance, as though he can’t believe I’m asking him about this. He hates it when I pry.
“With Presley. Why are you being so mean to her?”
Aggravated, his brows dip. “I wasn’t mean to her.”
“You weren’t nice.”
“C’mon, J. I don’t have time for this.” He rolls his eyes, running his hand through his mop of dark brown hair that matches mine. “I have work to do.”