Page 18 of Griffin

I told him the basics: where to find the kitchen, the storeroom, the outdoor seating area, and the small stage where Noah usually performed.

“So, have any experience serving food or drinks?” I asked as we walked back to the bar counter.

One of my part-timers Timmy, had recently quit to help his dad out with a shop, and we could use the help if Michael was up for it.

He paused, leaning against the bar with his arms crossed, looking down as if the question required intense focus.

I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked like he was already trying to come up with an excuse not to work here.

“Uh…no. Never,” he admitted finally.

“It’s not rocket science,” I replied, shrugging and giving him a brief rundown of what he’d need to do.

But he barely seemed to be listening, his gaze distant, brows furrowed as if something else entirely was on his mind.

I couldn’t help the frustration simmering under my skin. “Michael, are you sure you’re good with this?”

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. “Yeah…sorry. Just…still getting used to things.”

Was I pushing too hard? The whole reason he was here in Pecan Pines wasn’t exactly a vacation.

“I get it,” I said quietly. “Look, if you need to take it slow, that’s fine. This bar’s more than just a job for me, so I might get a littleintense sometimes, but I don’t want you feeling pressured to be perfect.”

He relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit. “Thanks. I’ll do my best, I promise.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, and I caught him glancing around, taking in the bar’s cozy ambiance.

The low lights, the rich wood accents, and the little personal touches Noah and I had added over the years—the place had personality, and maybe Michael was beginning to sense it.

I handed him a towel and nodded toward a couple of tables nearby. “Wanna give it a quick practice wipe-down?”

He took the towel with a half-smile, muttering something about hoping he could at least manage to wipe a table properly.

As he moved across the room, I found myself watching him more than I should have.

His shoulders relaxed with each swipe of the cloth, as if the simple motion helped ground him, and his scent—the one that had first caught my wolf’s interest—drifted subtly in the air.

I hadn’t realized how close I was until he looked up and caught my gaze.

For a moment, I thought he might say something, maybe even acknowledge what had happened between us that night in the cab.

But instead, he looked away, a faint color rising to his cheeks.

I cleared my throat, struggling to sound casual. “You’re catching on fast. Not bad for your first practice wipe-down,” I said.

Michael chuckled softly, the tension between us defusing just a little. “Thanks. Think I’m ready for the big leagues?”

“Maybe after a few more practice rounds,” I teased.

The smile that flickered over his lips was different from the usual guarded look he’d had since he arrived.

It felt genuine, and something about that small, open moment sent a strange pang through me.

“Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all,” I heard him mutter under his breath.

I’d started to relax as I went over a few more details with Michael, watching him actually begin to pay attention.

He’d even cracked a small, tentative smile as I showed him how to set up a couple of drinks behind the bar.

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