Page 248 of Banter & Blushes

This time he doesn’t pause. He just gives me one last look that feels like a page turn.

“I’ll see you around… X.”

And then he’s out the door, sunlight catching on the edges of his silhouette just long enough to make me squint.

Clara appears beside me a beat later. “Okay, you have to stop pretending he’s just a regular customer.”

I busy myself wiping down the already-clean bar. “He ordered ginger ale. That basically makes him a teetotaling grandpa.”

She scoffs. “A grandpa who looks like that? Please. And you gave him a Trust Fall. So, he’s either in witness protection or a tragic hero from a soap opera reboot.”

I don’t answer. I guess I wasn’t ready for him to go yet.

And yet, I don’t know what I would have said if he hadn’t.

CHAPTER 5

The ceiling fan hums with the lazy rhythm of a summer morning, spinning slow and a little wobbly, like it might tip into the room any second but never quite does. Winston stretches beside me on the couch, a fuzzy donut who occasionally lets out a snore that sounds like a very small person being mildly offended in their sleep. His paws twitch like he’s chasing something, probably the sandwich I didn’t share with him last night.

A breeze wafts in through the open window, bringing with it the smell of salt and the muffled laughter of kids already at the beach. Seagulls argue somewhere on a rooftop like they’ve lived here longer than all of us and want everyone to remember it.

I take a slow sip from my chipped mug and tuck my feet under me. It’s my late start day, which means I’m granted two whole extra hours to pretend I live in a cottage by the sea where no one expects anything from me except maybe to finish this lukewarm tea and remember to leave a review for the book I’m currently devouring. It’s a romantic comedy where the heroine is reading, like her and I are sisters in another universe.

Then my phone buzzes against the coffee table with the urgency of a toddler who just learned how to shout.

Clara: I’m the worst. Running late. Can you open today? Please? I will owe you forever and also muffins. Lots of muffins. The good kind.

I sigh into the rim of my mug. Winston stirs, sniffs, and immediately goes back to dreaming.

I text back with one thumb because I’m already pulling on my shorts with the other.

Me: You better.

Clara responds with seven muffin emojis and a gif of someone sobbing dramatically. Which feels about right.

The bar is still asleep when I arrive. I unlock the front door and breathe in. Sand. Wood polish. And the faint scent of last night’s margaritas hangs around like it’s hoping for a second chance. It smells like summer and stress, which is basically the business model.

The shutters are closed, and the chairs are still up. I move through the familiar routine, my body remembering before my brain fully catches up. Ice bins. Garnishes. Slicing citrus until my fingers smell like a fruit basket. The blender stares at me from the corner like it knows I’m going to regret turning it on later.

By the time the first customers wander in, sun-kissed and flip-flopped, I’m almost convincing myself I chose this life. The bar fills quickly, a patchwork of locals and tourists, laughter and clinking glass, someone trying to explain what a Daydream Regret actually is to their confused date.

By six, it’s full chaos.

I pivot between the register and the service well like I’m training for a decathlon. Someone orders four frozen daiquiris with extra umbrellas, someone else wants a “spicy but not too spicy” margarita, and a table near the door is aggressively waving their check like it’s a hostage negotiation.

I don’t notice him right away. Not until I spin with a tray of drinks and he’s there, leaning casually against the bar like he didn’t just materialize out of nowhere.

“Evening, Xerxes,” Keigan says with a grin that might actually be illegal this close to closing time.

I set the tray down and raise one eyebrow at him. “Not my name.”

“I know. But I’m working on it. X is a tough letter. You look like you’re about three margaritas away from flipping a table.”

“That’s generous. I’m down to two.”

He watches me dodge a spilled beer and reroute a confused tourist back to the bathroom line.

“You need help,” he says, standing straighter.

---