Chapter 6
SIX
JESSE
I don’t get nervous walking into my own bar.
I built this place. Negotiated the lease. Sanded the floors with my own hands. Picked every tap. Fought for the good jukebox instead of the cheap one.
This place is mine.
So the fact that my pulse kicks up when Mindy pushes through the door beside me feels… inconvenient.
The bar hums the way it always does on a Friday night. Not packed yet, but full enough that laughter bounces off the walls and glasses clink steadily. A local band tunes up in the corner. The scent of lime wedges and fried food drifts through the air.
Mindy slows just inside the door, taking it in.
Her eyes are bright. Curious.
Approval matters more than it should.
“Well?” I ask.
She turns to me slowly. “You didn’t tell me it was charming.”
I huff a laugh. “Charming?”
“Yeah. It feels lived in. Not flashy. Not fake.”
That hits deeper than she knows.
Before I can respond, Lou spots me.
“Well look what the cat dragged in!” he shouts.
I close my eyes briefly.
Mindy laughs.
Lou rounds the bar, wiping his hands on a towel. “Boss man shows up in a cowboy hat with a fitness influencer?”
“She’s not—” I start.
Mindy sticks out her hand. “Mindy. Accidental biker.”
Lou shakes it solemnly. “Lou. Intentional instigator.”
Marcy leans over the bar. “You didn’t tell us she was cute.”
“I didn’t tell you anything,” I mutter.
Marcy grins at Mindy. “He gets all broody when he likes someone.”
“I am not broody.”
Mindy glances at me. “You’re a little broody.”
I throw my hands up. “Unbelievable.”
They laugh. And she laughs with them.
And I realize something important.
She fits here.
That shouldn’t matter yet.
But it does.
We slide into a booth near the back. A server drops off drinks without even asking what I want.
“You’re predictable,” Mindy teases.
“Efficient.”
She rests her chin in her hand. “Okay. My turn. Never have I ever dated someone who worked for me.”
I grin. “Never have I ever hired someone I dated.”
“Good answer.”
“Your turn.”
She taps the table thoughtfully.
“Never have I ever stayed in the same town my whole life.”
I shake my head. “Grew up here. Left for a while. Came back.”
“Why?”
“Family,” I say simply. “My dad passed a few years back. Mom moved closer to my sister. I wanted something that was mine.”
She studies me carefully.
“That’s brave.”
I snort. “Owning a bar?”
“No. Choosing your own path.”
Her words settle somewhere steady in my chest.
“My turn,” I say.
“Never have I ever regretted something I thought I wanted.”
Her gaze flickers.
She nods slowly. “I have.”
I don’t press.
Not yet.
We keep going—college mistakes, worst hangovers, embarrassing crushes. Every answer peels back another layer.
She laughs easily. Teases without cruelty. Listens like she means it.
And somewhere between her smile and the way her knee brushes mine under the table, I realize I don’t want this night to end at last call.
I stand. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“Full access.”
She lights up.
I show her the stage wiring. The framed photos behind the bar. The old neon sign from my dad’s first job that hangs near the hallway.
“You kept that,” she says softly.
“Yeah.”
She runs her fingers along the edge carefully.
“You care,” she murmurs.
“About what?”
“About what you build.”
The way she says it makes it feel like she’s talking about more than just wood and beer taps.
The supply room is quiet compared to the front. The door swings shut behind us with a soft click.
She turns in a slow circle.
“So this is where you hide from your employees?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do they know that?”
“They suspect.”
She steps closer to one of the shelves, trailing her fingers along the bottles.
“You look different back here.”
“How?”
“Less… guarded.”
That surprises me.
“Am I guarded?”
She tilts her head. “A little.”
I take a step toward her.
“Am I now?”
Her breath shifts.
“No.”
I don’t rush the kiss.
I step into her space gradually, giving her time to move away.
She doesn’t.
Her hands find my shirt. Mine slide to her waist. The heat that sparked earlier flares stronger now—less tentative, more certain.
She presses closer.
I back her gently against the shelving, bracing my hand beside her head.
Her fingers slide into my hair.
And yeah.
This is escalating fast.
Her mouth parts beneath mine. A soft sound escapes her throat that nearly undoes me.
Then—
“Boss?”
I exhale sharply.
Lou again.
The man has the worst timing in the Western Hemisphere.
He appears in the doorway holding an empty tequila bottle and grinning like he knows exactly what he interrupted.
“Need the top shelf.”
Mindy laughs breathlessly.
“Take it,” I mutter.
Lou snags the bottle, raises a brow at me, then vanishes.
The door swings shut again.
Silence returns.
She looks up at me, flushed and bright-eyed.
“Never have I ever had sex in a bar.”
My pulse kicks hard.
I don’t move.
“Are you sure?” I ask quietly.
She nods.
“Yes.”
I search her face carefully.
No nerves. No hesitation.
Just heat.
“I should confess something,” I say.
She waits.
“Never have I ever had sex at my bar.”
Her lips part slightly.
“Or on my desk.”
A spark flares in her eyes.
I extend my hand.
“If we’re doing this,” I say evenly, “we’re doing it because you want to.”
She laces her fingers with mine.
“I do.”
That’s all I need to know. Tightening my grip on her hand, I lead her down the hall toward my office.