Page 22 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

“Fridge sounds funny. Might be the fan.” Dylan returned. “I’ll swing by tomorrow after work with my tools and see what I find.”

Sienna sighed, relieved. “Thank you, Dylan.”

“And I was just messing with you. I’m real happy Grace is doing well.” Dylan smiled, rubbing Sienna’s arm up and down before squeezing it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sienna’s hand drifted to where Dylan’s hand had been as she watched him walk out. But it wasn’t the ghost of Dylan’s touch Sienna was trying to brush away—it was Beau’s stare burning into the same spot from feet away until the lingering customers stole his attention.

When Phil and Leslie couldn’t take a hint while Sienna hovered behind the bar, fiddling with clean glasses she had stocked for tomorrow, she helped Frank wipe down the high-top tables before heading back to the kitchen to help Gina clean the fryer and take out the trash.

“Go home,” Sienna told them both as she went back to the front. It was past their weeknight closing time.

Sienna halted when she realized that Phil and Leslie had finally left and Beau sat, tipping the glass to finish the rest of his drink. She watched, taking in the stubble that sprinkled his defined jaw, the flex of his throat as he swallowed down the whiskey.

“You closing, or is there time for another round?”

Sienna could only now see the exhaustion on his face, how his body had finally relaxed on the stool, shoulders slumping. Suddenly, she felt sorry for him, and even though her mind was telling her not to, Sienna walked straight to the front and locked the door, flipping the sign to read Closed and lowering the shades.

“I guess even celebrities deserve to drink in peace,” she said, making her way back behind the bar for the Jack Daniels and then pouring it into his glass. “I still need to close out the register.”

Gathering the few credit card receipts, Sienna opened the drawer and pulled out the cash, trying to count but growing distracted by Beau sliding his glass back and forth on the bar.

“That was Dylan Lockhart.”

Sienna reached for the singles. “It was.”

“He’s still living around here.”

“He is.”

“He’s still a prick. And still has a crush on you.”

Sienna turned. “Excuse me?”

Beau took a drink. “You know, he was the one who stole Henry’s crutch that day. He was always an immature asshole.”

“Says the grown man playing tattletale.”

Beau’s mouth shut before it curved into a grin.

Sienna looked at the billfold in front of Beau, the one she had passed Phil and Leslie. She reached and immediately shut the leather folder as soon as she opened it.

“Give it to me,” Sienna ordered.

“Give you what?”

She removed the hundred-dollar bill from the envelope and slid it across the bar. “Whatevertheypaid, give it to me.” Beau looked down at the money and shrugged. “Beau—”

“I had two drinks—”

“On the house. I’m considering it a marketing expense because you sitting here, brought in almost the same amount this place makes inoneweek. Now please, take this and give me whatever they paid.”

Beau’s dimples disappeared beneath a frown before he shifted in his seat for his wallet. “They didn’t tip you.”

Sienna looked at the ten-dollar bill he had placed beside the hundred. Slowly, she leaned across the bar. Beau’s Adam’s apple bobbed as she moved close to whisper, “They don’t have to. I own the place. And I’m telling you, you can take your money and get the hell out of my bar.”

chapterfour

Beau leaned forward,trying to inhale what lingered of Sienna’s scent—fresh and floral—as she stepped back, returning to the register.

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