Page 23 of Never Sleigh Never
“Su—” I kick Willa’s shin under the table. She yelps before she shoots daggers at me. “Ouch! What was?—”
I bore my gaze at her while winking and gently jerking my head toward the bar.
“What’s with all the blinking? I don’t understand Morse code?” she mutters, then glances up. Recognition dawns. “Right. Yes. Sloane, your turn. I’ll take a beer.”
“Same,” I add.
“Ugh, fine.” Her chair screeches across the floor as she pushes away from the table. She avoids Simon and goes to the opposite end of the bar. But naturally, he materializes right where she stops.
“There was a time they were friends, right?” Willa props her chin on her hand.
“There was, but then… something happened. They just stopped talking. Every time I asked Sloane, she always claimed that some friendships aren’t meant to be. Then she wanted me to drop it.”
“Yeah, I always got the same response, but she never argues about coming here.”
Both of us turn to stare at Sloane as she gives Simon the cold shoulder while he pours her three beers. On her way back, she weaves between tables with the occasional not-so-discreet glance over her shoulder to Simon, who has been watching her intently. She sets the beers on the table and slides one toward Willa and one to me. Before taking a sip, she brushes her hair off her neck and over her shoulder. At the bar, Simon’s mouth forms a half-smile before he turns to another customer. If hate flirting is a thing, these two have it in spades.
“It’s been fun, but it’s time for me to go home.” I set my beer on the table.
“Stay for one more. We never get to chill out and have girls’ night anymore,” Willa whines.
“We did this like five nights ago.”
“But it felt like forever.” Willa pouts.
“If I stay any longer, I’ll faceplant into the table, and I don’t think Simon would appreciate that very much.” I rise from my stool and throw my jacket over my shoulders.
“I should get going too,” Sloane says. “I have bread that needs baking in the morning.”
“Fine. If everyone is leaving, I’m not hanging out by myself.” Willa rises from her stool.
“Bar tab is on me. We’ll chat later,” I say, hugging them. They head for the door, and I weave to the bar, flagging down Simon. When he’s done serving a customer, he stops in front of me. “Can I get my tab?” I ask.
“Sure,” he says, then drops his voice. “Or… do me a favor? Can you take Logan home?
At the end of the bar, a lump of a man is draped over the wood ledge. He’s seconds away from using a coaster as a pillow while he swirls mostly water in the glass.
I shake my head. “One of his friends can take him home.”
“But you’re leaving now, and he needs to leave now.”
“My car’s full.”
“Strap him to the roof.”
“Seriously?”
“Please, just take him home?” he pleads. “I’ll cover your tab.”
“How much has he had to drink, anyway?”
“After his second scotch, I gave him mostly water. Whatever mission he was on tonight, I don’t want him to regret anything tomorrow.”
I exhale. I’ve been the person who needed a ride after too many drinks, but it’s Logan in close quarters. “My tab and the rest of my tabs this year.” I raise an eyebrow.
He doesn’t blink. “Deal. He’s at forty-six Yuletide.”
Of course he lives in the house with my dream wraparound porch. I always pictured myself sitting on the porch swing, reading a book during the summer or decorating the railing with garland and lights for Christmas. Fine. Universe, I see your irony.
