CHAPTER 12
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Rachel
Rachel frowned at table nine’s rude patrons as they harassed a red-headed waitress for the long wait. From her corner stool at the bar, she sneered, wavering in her decision to stay out of it.
It’s not my restaurant. It’s not my place to intervene.
With a heavy sigh, she searched for Miguel and located him in the crowd turning away from table eight. His fingers tapped an order into a familiar black device. With a roll of his eyes, he snagged a basket of fresh bread from the bar. He then seamlessly greeted table seven with a well-practiced false smile.
“This place is ridiculous tonight,” Rachel whispered as she turned to Danielle, the sole bartender on staff. The young girl’s cheeks flushed as each new cocktail request appeared on the digital screen. Her youthful, inexperienced hands spilled liquor and added incorrect mixers to nearly every glass.
“What the hell goes into an apple martini?” Danielle vented her frustrations and asked her endless bartending questions to Siri.
You don’t need Siri. You need me! Vodka. Apple Schnapps. Cointreau.
Swallowing the vow she’d made to herself mere seconds ago, Rachel opened her mouth. “Hey, it’s Danielle, right?” Rachel lifted her brow and cringed at her own boldness. “Umm, do you need any help?”
“Ugh!” the girl roared and flung her phone into a pile of dirty dish towels in the corner. “This is ridiculous! I was hired to wait tables, not run a fucking bar!”
“Yeah, umm, I get that,” Rachel choked out as she scooted her butt off the stool. Damage control. She circled the counter and ducked beneath the side entrance. “Can I help?” she offered.
Danielle scoffed. “Who even are you?”
“Oh, umm, Miguel’s girlfriend.” Her new title tickled her belly and sent a flurry of tingles dancing along her skin. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if I stepped in.”
“Why—”
“Er, I mean—” Rachel shook her head. “It’s clear your skills are better used elsewhere tonight.” Pointing at table twelve and their looks of irritation, she cringed. “I don’t even think they’ve been greeted yet, let alone had their drink order taken.”
Danielle’s gaze followed her finger, and she nodded in agreement. “Okay, yeah, I think you’re right,” she muttered. “But, umm—”
“Go,” directed Rachel. “We need another server on the floor.” Grinning widely, the voice of her former manager rang in her ear. Brian’s similar statements echoed in her memory from her time spent behind the bar at Rhythm & Blues.
Danielle hesitated. “You’re right. But, are you sure? I probably shouldn’t just leave.”
“We’re all good,” Rachel said as she selected a martini glass. With a flick of her wrist, she upended bottles of vodka and apple Schnapps. Pouring the combination over ice, she added Cointreau and topped it off with a slice of apple in record speed. “I promise, I’ve got the bar covered.”
I’ve still got it.
With an impressed laugh, Danielle tugged a black apron from the pile beneath the bar and stuffed a pen and notepad into the pocket. “Do you think Miguel will be mad? I really can’t afford to lose this job.”
Rachel winked. “Don’t worry about Miguel. I’m sure he’ll be fine. Plus, I’ve got your back.” Glancing at table twelve again, she nodded in their direction. “Just go. Take their order first, okay?”
Danielle ducked beneath the counter and headed in their direction as Rachel eyed the digital screen, dumbfounded by the sheer number of cocktail orders piling up.
Nothing I can’t handle.
“Okay, Rach, let’s do this,” she whispered and sucked in a deep breath. Her bartending expertise returned to the forefront of her mind, the endless hours spent behind the bar having covered every tuition bill from San Diego State.
“Two mojitos,” she whispered and gripped two cocktail glasses. Rachel poured rum and mixed it with club soda, pausing only to add sugar, lime juice, and fresh mint leaves. “Perfect,” she muttered and set them on an empty tray.
Turning back to the digital readout, she studied table nine’s additional requests. “One whiskey sour and a Manhattan.” Snagging a bottle of whiskey next, Rachel poured it over ice and added a squeeze of lemon juice, simple syrup, and a maraschino cherry. She set the drink on the tray beside the twin mojitos and blew out a breath.
“Dad,” she whispered and tugged a fresh glass in her direction. She upended the bottle of whiskey again and added sweet vermouth over ice before topping it off with bitters and an orange peel—the late Randy Prescott’s drink of choice.
With a bittersweet grin, she set it on the tray and lifted the completed order onto the bar.
“What’re you doing?”
Rachel smiled and spun the tray in Miguel’s direction. “For table nine, sir.”
“Where’s Danielle?” He wrinkled his nose and gripped the edge of the tray.
“Table twelve.” Rachel cleared table nine’s order from the digital screen. Examining table eight’s requests next, she gripped a wine glass and poured the house white.
Sauvignon blanc. My favorite.
Miguel stared at the smiles radiating from table twelve, their roars of laughter replacing their former frowns as Danielle headed for the kitchen. A grin overtook his face. “Rachel, what’re you doing?”
“You already asked me that.” She winked. “But clearly, I’m mixing cocktails and saving your ass, Mr. Rodriguez. Danielle didn’t know a martini from a Manhattan.”
He snorted and pressed his palms over his eyes. “I know. It was me or her out there helping Michelle, and I didn’t think Danielle could handle it. She’s new.”
Rachel pried a cap off a bottle of Miller Lite and set it beside the glass of wine. “Well, you’re in luck.” She pointed at Danielle bringing a basket of bread to table six. “She’s doing great. And I happen to know my way around a bar.” Leaning forward, she pecked him on the lips. “Besides, I couldn’t sit here and watch you all suffer,” she muttered and gripped a copper cup from the rack overhead.
Miguel studied her hands as she upended a bottle of vodka and flawlessly mixed it with a ginger beer.
“I have so many questions right now,” he murmured, but gripped the tray filled with table nine’s order.
“I’ll answer anything you want later,” she quipped, mixing rum and diet coke next.
With a perplexed shake of his head, he picked up the tray. “You’re my hero, Sunshine,” he said before heading back into the crowd.
Rose, you can’t start soon enough. This place needs more experienced hands!
Wiping the sweat from her brow, Rachel mixed drinks, poured shots of whiskey, and tipped ounces of vodka into glasses for hours. The seemingly endless requests for cocktails finally slowed around 10:30 PM.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, she cleared table three’s order and grinned at the empty screen. “Finally,” she whispered and tossed a dish towel over her right shoulder. Leaning against the counter, she surveyed the room and took in the slowly emptying tables as the closing hour loomed.
Rachel scoured the space and willed Miguel to appear, but only Michelle and Danielle still waited tables. “Where’d you go?” she muttered as her phone vibrated against her hip. Stuffing her hand in her pocket, Rachel tugged on the device. Tess’s name lit up the screen.
There’s no way your brother is right on this. Settle this argument for us, okay?
Snickering, Rachel tapped in a question mark, hit send, and rested the phone on the bar.
Her feet roared—the last few hours spent pouring drinks coupled with the miles walking around the zoo—a true test to her new sandal’s comfort. “Ouch,” she groaned and wiggled her toes as Danielle reappeared.
“Oh, my God! I have never made this much in tips before!” she yelled and fanned out the bills in her hand.
Rachel laughed and moved closer, propping her elbows on the surface of the bar. “See! You were of far better use on the floor tonight.”
“Umm, yeah!” She snickered again and pocketed the money. “I don’t know how to thank—”
“You don’t.” Miguel ducked his head beneath the bar and wrapped Rachel in his arms. Pressing an exaggerated kiss on her cheek, he grinned and spun her in a circle. “I get to thank her,” he murmured and tickled her side.
“Miguel!” Rachel giggled and playfully pulled away. Gripping the towel on her shoulder, she swatted him as he held his arms up like a shield.
He tailed her steps around the bar until he cornered her. “Sunshine,” he whispered, before pressing his lips to hers. His mouth moved, infusing his appreciation with every nip of her flesh. His tongue tasted hers as a flurry of elation gripped her lower belly.
Oh.
“Er, umm....” Danielle muttered and hopped down from the stool. “I’ll, ah, just clock out,” she added.
Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel spied the flush on her cheeks as she sprinted from the bar. Another round of giggles escaped her, bubbling from her belly as Miguel squeezed her hips, oblivious to Danielle’s quick escape.
“I really don’t know how to thank you,” he whispered in the now deserted dining room.
Rachel dropped the towel on the counter. “I’m happy to help. Don’t worry about it.”
With a shake of his head, he sighed. “No, I’m serious. I have literally no idea what we would have done tonight had you not stepped in. We would have lost so much business.”
A grin tugged at her lips as she eyed the admiration on his face. “See? Good thing I stayed then.”
He nodded. “How do you—”
“I bartended in grad school,” she answered and dragged a finger down the length of his chest. “At this little place called Rhythm & Blues just off San Diego State’s campus.”
Miguel swallowed and eyed her exploring finger. Gripping her hand, he pressed a kiss on her knuckles. “So, gorgeous, experienced, and dependable. You’re not by chance looking for a part-time bartending gig, are you?”
She snickered and wrapped her arms around him in a hug, embracing the warmth radiating from his body. “Sadly no. My career in real estate is quite lucrative.” Rachel pressed a kiss on the side of his neck, inciting a flush to creep along his cheeks. “But I don’t mind helping whenever you need me.”
He swallowed and shook his head. “Eres asombrosa, Raquel.”
Her stomach flip-flopped. His mystery words doubled the beat of her heart. Gulping down a breath of air, she savored the tingle racing along her spine as his gaze darkened.
“All right, boss.” Michelle appeared with a black zippered bag in her grasp. “The cashbox is balanced. Kitchen is clean. And—” She froze as her gaze zeroed in on Rachel. “Oh.”
Miguel cleared his throat. “Er, thanks, Michelle.” Dragging a hand through his hair, he smirked. “Umm, this is Rachel. My girlfriend. She saved our ass covering the bar tonight.”
Heat blanketed her body. His endless compliments and appreciation warmed her soul.
“Oh! It’s nice to meet you!” Michelle smiled and extended her hand. “Thank you for helping. We really needed Danielle as a third server.” Blowing a raspberry, she rolled her eyes. “Miguel and I have done it on our own before, but—” She groaned with a shrug. “It’s Sunday night, for crying out loud! We should have been fine! This was way more than the usual dinner rush...”
“What can I say? Pier Ninety-Two is getting popular.” Rachel returned her smile. “You guys have a growing reputation.”
“A reputation that’ll only get better once Rose starts tomorrow.” Miguel gestured to Rachel again and winked. “Rose Prescott is her sister.”
“No way!” Michelle propped her hands on her hips and grinned. “Well, Rose is wonderful.” Snorting, she shook her head. “She can’t start soon enough.”
“Eight hours and counting,” said Miguel as he tugged his phone from his pocket to check the time. With a sigh, he set it on the counter.
“And that’s my cue.” Michelle yawned. “I’m on the schedule to open tomorrow and get Rose started.”
“She can’t wait.” Rachel’s heart fluttered imagining the excitement surely consuming her sister’s heart. “It’s literally all I’ve heard about the last few days.” She giggled as Michelle stretched and backed away.
“Well, we can’t wait to have her.” With a wink, Michelle placed her hand on the kitchen door. “Nice to meet you. And thanks again for pitching in tonight. It made a huge difference.”
Rachel nodded. “Nice to meet you, too.”
Michelle disappeared behind the door and the silence of the restaurant rang in her ears, a stark contrast from the last several hours.
“I like her,” said Rachel as Miguel selected two shot glasses from the upper cabinet.
He poured vodka into each with a mischievous grin. “She’s incredible. I have no idea what I’d do without her.” Picking up both shots, he handed one over. “Likewise, I think I can say the same about you.”
Her chest tightened, squeezing her heart as his affectionate gaze connected with hers. The dark brown of his irises glimmered in the dim light. “All I did was mix a few drinks.”
He shook his head. “You did more than that, Raquel.” After tapping his glass to hers, he upended the shot in a single gulp.
Rachel followed his lead and winced as the alcohol burned her throat on the way down.
Gross.
“I could have taken you home,” he whispered as he snagged her shot glass from her grip and refilled it. “But you insisted on coming.”
Rachel gulped.
“And we both know this night would not have ended in smiles and big tips had it not been for your—”
“Oh, my gosh, stop!” Rachel snickered. “I actually had a lot of fun. I haven’t been behind a bar in years.” Accepting the second shot of vodka, she licked her lips. “And it was kinda great to do it again. It reminded me of a really wonderful time in my life.”
“Oh?” Miguel clinked his glass against hers again and drained the shot. With a wince, he coughed. “Grad school, you said, right?”
Grinning at the discomfort on his face, she downed her shot of vodka and relished the near immediate fog overtaking her brain. “Mmm-hmm. SDSU. I did my undergrad and grad degree there.”
“In?”
“Marketing.” She readjusted her ponytail.
“Oh, that’s right.” He stepped closer and resumed his grip on her hips.
Blood pounded through her veins, fueling her body with a surge of adrenaline. Glancing around the empty restaurant, she sucked in a breath. “Has everyone left?”
Miguel pressed a kiss on her forehead. “Let me check. I’ll be right back.” He stepped away and ducked beneath the bar before disappearing behind the kitchen door.
The silence rang in her ears, just the faint echo of elevator music still streaming through the speakers. Scanning the length of the bar, Rachel grabbed a dish towel and mopped up the minor spills staining the surface of the dark glossy wood. She gripped the near empty bottle of vodka as Miguel reappeared.
“Just us,” he muttered and stepped to the front door to turn the lock. Flipping the sign from open to closed, he sighed. “Most everyone is on the schedule to be back here by seven.” With a soft groan, he stumbled back to the bar and dropped his butt onto a stool.
“Well, short staffed or not, the people you do have seem really committed.”
Miguel nodded and gripped the muscles in the back of his neck, kneading and pawing at the skin beneath his hairline. “They are. But I need to hire a few more good employees to take away from their overwhelm.” He dropped his chin into his palms and propped his elbows on the counter.
“When did you reopen again?”
“About six months ago,” he answered with his jaw still cupped in his hands.
Rachel poured another two shots and returned the towel to her shoulder out of habit. “Well, that’s not that long ago. It takes time to build up a system... a staff... a structure, you know?”
Miguel nodded and accepted the shot she placed on the counter. Sucking in a deep breath, he downed the liquor.
To her right, Rachel’s phone lit up and her attention diverted. She gripped the device and immediately smiled as Tess’s response came through. Shiplap is not in style anymore. It’s only a thing because Joanna Gaines made it a thing, right?
With a burst of laughter, Rachel pounded out a reply. You’re right. Shiplap is not a seller. Honestly, most people shy away from it. It went out of style years ago. Tell Ryan you’re right.
“What’s so funny?”
Rachel snorted and returned her phone to the counter. “It’s my brother’s girlfriend, Tess. She’s asking about shiplap.”
“Ship-what?” He leaned forward as a grin appeared on his lips.
“Not ship-what.” Rachel laughed and took her shot, too. “Shiplap. Er, like the walls,” she added with a frown as the alcohol burned. Tapping the brick behind the bar, she bit her bottom lip. “It’s this used-to-be-trendy, horizontal, rustic wood décor. Chip and Joanna Gaines made it super popular.”
He squinted. “Who?”
Shaking her head, she refilled their shot glasses. “Never mind,” she added with another smile.
Miguel snorted and eyed the shot as Rachel pushed it in front of him. “You know, I’m really sorry,” he muttered.
“Umm, why?” So, you don’t know Chip and Joanna Gaines. Home renovations aren’t your thing. No big deal.
“Our first date...” He paused to exhale. “It was definitely not supposed to end like this.”
Her stomach churned, mixing vodka and pure adrenaline. “What was it supposed to end like?”
“I don’t know.” Miguel shrugged and tugged the dish towel off her shoulder with a roll of his eyes. “But you pouring vodka behind my bar wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”
Rachel upended her shot and giggled as the alcohol slid down her throat—still cold and unforgiving. Her mind clouded and tipped her brain upside down. “What did you picture instead, Miguel?”
His cheeks flushed as he downed his own shot. “I don’t know entirely.” He winked. “But I won’t deny that the hot tub in my backyard didn’t enter my mind.”
She gripped his glass and smiled. “I’ve stared at that thing for years. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use it.” She tapped the counter and emptied the bottle in their glasses.
Miguel swallowed the last bit of vodka and shrugged, eyeing her as she mirrored his actions. “I don’t use it much. It’s weird being in a hot tub alone.” With wide eyes, he slid from the barstool and pointed at the bottle in her hands. “I have more in the storeroom.”
Her mind blurred as the liquor took effect, fogging her brain as he reached for her hand. She dipped beneath the entrance to the bar and followed his lead through the darkened kitchen. Laughter touched her lips as they navigated the silent, deserted hallway to the storeroom together.
Pushing the door open, he waved his hands over the rows of alcohol.
Whoa.
She grinned and stepped inside, dragging her fingers along the middle row and gazing at the endless shelves of liquor. “Where’s the Svedka?” Rachel hiccupped as the fog gripped her brain, stealing the sound reasoning usually reigning superior in her mind.
The door slid closed as he followed her inside.
“They’re alphabetical.” Miguel grinned and pointed to the Smirnoff next to her.
She giggled. “You and Rose will get along well.”
Grabbing the vodka, Miguel smiled and backtracked to the door. “Not as well as you and me, Sunshine.” With a firm grip, he twisted the knob, but nothing budged—the lock held firmly in place.