Chapter 19
Dexter
I head downstairs, the familiar creak of the steps grounding me before I even reach the bar, a sound that used to blend into the background but now feels sharper after days of quiet.
The storm is finally over.
Four days of nothing but snow piling up against the windows, the world outside buried and cut off, followed by two slow days of thaw where the roads started to show again, where people tested movement like they didn’t quite trust it yet.
And now, this morning, the sky has opened into clear blue like none of it ever happened.
And today, we’re opening again.
It should feel like a relief.
It doesn’t.
I step inside and already know what I’ll find.
Lexy’s behind the counter, setting out napkins with that same focused look she gets when she’s trying to stay inside her own head, and the sunlight pouring through the front windows catches her just right, turning her blonde hair almost white where it hits, like something softer has slipped into this place without asking.
I slow without meaning to.
There’s that feeling again, the one I’ve been trying to ignore ever since she walked in here asking for a job, only now it’s heavier, harder to brush off after being stuck upstairs with her for days, after getting used to the quiet of just the two of us moving around each other like it wasn’t temporary.
Like it wasn’t something that would end.
I push the thought down before it can settle.
“Morning. Starting early, Tinker?” I say, forcing my voice into something easy as I walk over to her.
She looks up and smiles, and there’s nothing careful about it, nothing guarded, and for a second it hits harder than it should.
“Morning, Pan. Thought I’d restock and get ahead of things.”
“I’m expecting a full house today,” I say, clearing my throat as I move behind the bar, reaching for a stack of glasses just to give my hands something to do. “Everyone’s been locked inside too long.”
She shrugs, folding another napkin, but there’s something softer in her voice when she answers. “Yeah… but I kind of liked it.”
That lands deeper than it should.
I nod, keeping my eyes on the counter. “Yeah. It was good for a few days.”
Good doesn’t even come close.
Being stuck with her, no noise, no distractions, just the two of us sharing space, sharing silence, learning each other without trying…
Yeah.
I miss that.
The realization comes too fast, too honest, and I shut it down just as quickly.
“Feels weird,” she says after a second. “Like everything just… started again.”
I glance at her.
Yeah.
It does.
Like whatever we had upstairs got paused and shoved back into something we’re not supposed to name.
“You good?” I ask instead.
She looks up, and for a second something flickers there, something real enough that it almost pulls me in, like she’s about to say something that matters. Her hands fumble with the napkin, the paper crinkling between her fingers before she looks down and shakes her head.
“Yeah,” she says too quickly. “Just… glad to be back.”
I don’t believe her.
But I don’t push.
Not with her.
I’ve learned enough to know she won’t give me anything if she feels cornered, and something in my gut tells me whatever she’s holding onto isn’t small.
So I let it go.
For now.
The door opens a few minutes later, voices spilling in with the cold air, boots hitting the floor as people start coming back to life, and within minutes the bar fills the way it always does…
laughter rising, conversation overlapping, that steady hum of people letting go of whatever they’ve been carrying outside.
Half the town walks in, and I find myself smiling at their energy. Exactly what this place was built for.
“I’m ready for summer now!” Randy, a regular, calls out as he takes a seat with his friends.
Lexy walks over to their table, and I don’t like the way Randy’s eyes track her.
She’s gorgeous, like something out of a fairytale, and she doesn’t even know the effect she has on people.
But that’s not even the best part of her.
She’s funny, fierce, quiet on the outside, but there are depths in her that shouldn’t be mistaken for weakness.
She’s…
Magnificent.
“I missed my beer, but Lexy…” Randy puts a hand on her elbow, and I see her stiffen.
Randy’s not a bad man. I’ve never cared when he flirted with the other waitresses.
But damn if I don’t feel like breaking that hand right now.
What the hell is happening to me?
“Randy!” My voice cuts across the room.
He looks up, startled, then notices my not-so-friendly gaze.
I nod toward Lexy. “Off limits.”
Randy nods quickly. “Yeah, sorry. Won’t happen again.”
He looks everywhere but at her as she takes their order.
But the image of his hand on her, the way his eyes moved over her like he had any right to, sits wrong in my chest, something instinctive and sharp that makes my jaw tighten again.
I grab a glass, dragging the towel over it slower than necessary, more to steady myself than to actually clean it.
Doesn’t help.
Because the next thought hits harder.
Less than two months.
That’s all she has here.
Then she’s gone.
The realization settles deep, heavier than it should be, like something I didn’t know I was holding onto just slipped out from under me, leaving a hollow space behind.
Gone from the apartment.
Gone from the bar.
Gone from this… whatever this has been.
I press a hand lightly against my chest, like I can push the feeling back where it belongs.
It doesn’t move.
That shouldn’t bother me.
It does.
More than I want to look at too closely.
So I don’t.
Work picks up fast.
Orders fly in, beer taps run, glasses clink, music hums low in the background.
I fall into it automatically. Move, pour, clean, serve.
Jude walks in and takes his usual seat at the end of the bar, tucked into the shadows.
I nod once, already grabbing his beer.
“You okay?” I ask.
My twin will always be a part of me. Even if we live different lives, he’s the one person who knows me better than anyone.
“All’s good…” He hesitates.
There it is.
“What’s wrong?”
Jude downs his beer and looks up.
Green eyes, exactly like mine, look haunted.
“D’s sick. Cancer. Terminal.”
It hits like a punch to the chest.
Damiano.
He lived on the ranch next to ours until he was fifteen. He and Jude were inseparable.
“I’m sorry, man. How long?”
“A year,” Jude says. “His grandma called Mama this morning.”
I turn, grab another beer, set it in front of him.
“I’ll take you home later.”
Jude studies it, then shakes his head. “Thanks. But I think I’ll go for a ride.”
He pulls out his wallet.
I give him a look. “You don’t pay here. Ever.”
He nods, tucks it away, and leaves.
Probably heading out with the horses.
Where I burn things out with boxing or my bike, Jude disappears into quiet.
“Jude didn’t look well,” Lexy says, carrying a tray of empty glasses.
“He got bad news.”
She looks at me. “Is he okay?”
The concern in her voice catches me off guard.
“He’s… dealing with something heavy.”
She nods, not pushing. “I hope he finds his way through it.”
“Me too.”
“Dex.”
I turn and immediately regret it.
Cynthia and Melanie.
Too much makeup. Too little clothing for this weather.
I walk over. “Cynthia. Mel. What can I get you?”
“Oh, Dex, I’m so glad the storm’s over!” Cynthia says, leaning in just enough to make it obvious what she’s doing.
“You need a minute to order?” I ask.
Stephen snickers behind me.
“I was wondering…” she continues. “Since our last date got cut short…”
Yeah. Because I had Ethan fake-call me to get out of it.
“How about you come over tonight?”
I can feel Lexy behind me.
“Not interested,” I say.
Straight. Clean. Done.
“Oh…” Cynthia blinks.
“So what can I get you?” I repeat.
A little sharper this time.
? ? ?
Alexis
“How about you come over tonight?”
Is that what he’s into? Just casual hookups?
Of course he is.
And why do I even care?
I serve a few tables, but even when I try to fight it, my eyes drift back to Cynthia, her long blonde hair, her curves in all the right places.
Is that his type?
Why am I so obsessed with the women Dex dates?
I shake my head.
Get it together, Lexy. He’s a handsome, tattooed, single guy with a big heart. Of course women are attracted to him.
He did say no…
But maybe he’s already seeing someone else and I just didn’t notice.
I sigh.
Why the hell am I obsessing over this?
He’ll hate me the second I tell him who I really am.
So don’t get attached.
I move behind the bar and start pouring beers.
Goosebumps ripple over my skin as I feel a hand brush through my hair.
I freeze for half a second before turning.
Dex stands there, holding a tiny piece of lint between his fingers.
“You had this in your hair,” he says.
He’s close.
Way too close.
I can feel the warmth coming off him, steady and distracting.
“Everything okay, Tinker? You look spooked.”
I swallow. “Oh… uh… no. Actually, I need to tell you something.”
My hands tremble slightly, and I press them against the counter, trying to steady them. Trying to steady myself.
I want to be honest with him.
I understand now that he’s not the enemy I thought he was.
On the contrary, he’s helped me again and again, and spending these past days with him was…
Well.
“I wanted to tell you this sooner, but…”
I hesitate.
The words sit there, caught somewhere between my chest and my throat, refusing to come out.
His phone goes off.
Dex ignores it, still watching me.
I shake my head, backing away from the edge I was about to step over.
This isn’t the right time.
Not here.
“What is it, Tinker?”
He studies my face like he already knows there’s something there.
“It’s nothing. Just… we’re running low on toilet paper and napkins. We should restock.”
I shrug, forcing something casual into my tone as I look away.
I can still feel his eyes on me as I walk off to serve more customers, so I focus on anything but him.
When I make my way back to the bar, I let myself glance at him.
He’s laughing with a couple of customers, head tipped slightly back, shoulders relaxed in a way I’ve only seen a few times. His arm moves as he pours a beer, muscles flexing under his sleeve, and something low in my chest tightens before I can stop it.
I have to fight the urge to close the distance.
To feel that arm settle around my shoulders, solid and sure, like it belongs there.
He’s wearing that damned white shirt again, the one that makes his broad shoulders impossible to ignore and somehow makes his tattoos look darker. More dangerous.
I turn away, reaching for a glass to clean, but my focus doesn’t stay there for long.
My gaze drifts back to him.
Like it has a mind of its own.
My fingers tighten around the glass, knuckles whitening slightly, as that same pull settles deeper under my skin, making my hands itch to touch him. To feel the heat of him beneath that shirt. To prove to myself he’s real and not something my mind made up during those long, quiet days upstairs.
Do not grow feelings for him.
My chest tightens.
Too late for that.
I look away again and force myself to focus on work.