Chapter 14 #2
Shane grins. “Trust me. I’ve been yelled at by enough IPA bros to know the drill.”
I huff out a laugh. “Good. You’ll fit right in around here.”
The bell above the door chimes, a rush of warm air drifting in with a small group of customers.
My gaze snaps up instinctively, searching for familiar blond hair and sharp emerald eyes.
Every time a low, easy laugh carries across the taproom, my heart leaps out of my chest, hoping it might be Ashton.
It never is. Of course it isn’t. We haven’t spoken since the farmers market, and the silence between us grows heavier by the day.
I turn back to the black plastic bin tucked beneath the bar, overflowing with dirty pint glasses. “When this fills up, you can drop it off in the kitchen,” I tell Shane. “Dishwasher’s back there, just past the prep sink.”
He nods, following my gaze. “Got it.”
“Actually,” I add, lifting the bin to show him, “it’s pretty full now, so—”
A glass tumbles off the top edge, slipping free in slow motion before smashing against the concrete floor. The sound is sharp and violent, echoing through the quiet taproom.
“Shit,” I mutter, already bending down as shards skitter across the floor.
Pain flares the second I grab one of the broken pieces. I hiss and jerk my hand back, blood trickling from a deep gash across my thumb.
Shane quickly grabs a towel and presses it into my hand. “You alright, man?”
“Yeah,” I say quickly, wrapping the rag around the cut. “Should’ve used a broom. Just being an idiot.”
“Go take care of that,” he says easily, nodding toward the back. “I’ve got it handled out here.”
I hesitate, brows raised. “You sure?”
“Of course, boss.”
I manage a weak smile and head for the kitchen, the noise of the taproom fading behind me as I press the towel tighter around the wound.
My shoulder shoves the double doors open, and I’m immediately hit with the savory haze of grease and salt—deep-fried bar food mingling with the sharp, comforting bite of Imani’s specialty beer cheese soup.
Imani’s at the stove, a stained apron tied around her waist, stirring a pot with a wooden spoon. The moment she spots me, her expression hardens.
“Troy,” she says, already moving toward me. “What the hell did you do?”
“Broke a glass.” I shrug. “It’s not that deep.”
I step toward the first-aid kit on the shelf, but Imani swats my hand away and points to a nearby stool.
“I got it,” she insists. “Sit down.”
I know better than to argue with her. With a tired sigh, I drop onto the chair and lift my hand, blood already soaked through the cotton rag. Imani clicks her tongue with disapproval as she opens the first-aid kit, rummaging through the chaotic mix of loose bandages and half-used ointments.
She crouches in front of me, cradling my hand in hers. Her nails are painted the same electric blue as her lipstick. Carefully, she unwraps my thumb and winces.
“Jesus, Troy,” she says through clenched teeth. “What were you thinking?”
My jaw tightens. “I wasn’t.”
“No kidding.” She tears open an antiseptic wipe and drags it across the cut. The sting is sharp, and I bite back a hiss.
Her brown eyes flick up to mine, filled with curiosity and a hint of suspicion. “What’s going on with you lately?” she asks. “You’ve been distracted.”
Shit. Has it really been that obvious? I’ve done everything I can to shove thoughts of Ashton down, to keep them from interfering with my work. I’ve flirted harmlessly with customers at the taproom, mindlessly swiped through dating apps—but none of it erases the memory of his mouth on mine.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, dropping my gaze to the scuffed tile floor.
“Troy,” she says, tilting her head, doubt sharpening her voice. “Does this have anything to do with Ashton Tremblay?”
I let out a low, humorless breath. “Of course not. What makes you think that?”
She tapes a strip of gauze around my thumb, firm but careful. “You haven’t been yourself since you and Ashton became business partners.”
I swallow. “I’m just… tired. You know how it is.”
A frown tugs at her blue-painted lips. “Did something happen between the two of you?”
I tip my head back, staring at the stained ceiling as Ashton floods my thoughts. I’ve kissed plenty of people since Mel and I split, but none of them made me feel sparks like he did. Just one taste of him, and now I’m addicted.
I drag in a breath. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.”
Imani’s hands still. She reaches up, grips my chin, and angles my face back down, her gaze burning into mine. “You didn’t mean for what to happen?”
My throat tightens. “I kissed him.”
Imani blinks once. Then twice. “You kissed… Ashton Tremblay?”
I shove off the stool and stand, frustration buzzing under my skin. “I know,” I snap, raking a hand through my hair. “I know it was stupid, okay? I don’t need a lecture.”
Imani rises with me, surprisingly calm. She steps closer and squeezes my shoulder. “Hey,” she says softly. “I get it. Wanting someone you can’t have? That’s kind of my specialty.”
My chest tightens. I blink hard, refusing to let my eyes burn. I’m not doing this in front of Imani. We may be friends, but she’s still my employee.
She exhales. “I warned you, Troy. Ashton was always a bad idea. If his family ever found out—”
“They won’t,” I cut in quickly. “It’s not happening again. I already talked to him.” My jaw sets. “He’s straight. He said he wants things to stay strictly professional.”
Imani studies my face for a long second before pulling me into a warm hug. Her muscled arms slide around my waist, squeezing gently.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against my shoulder.
I let myself sink into her for a beat before pulling back, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Yeah,” I say quietly. “Me too.”
She tips her head, considering. “You know,” she says, her voice brightening with purpose, “we should take you out sometime. There’s that gay bar in Salwal—Jasmine and I love it. Might be good for you. Find a nice guy. Get Ashton out of your system.”
“Absolutely not,” I scoff. “I would rather die than be a third wheel on a date with you and your wife.”
Imani snorts. “Wow. Dramatic.”
I clear my throat and step back, rolling my shoulders like I can physically shake the weight off. “Alright,” I say, forcing a lighter, teasing tone. “I should get back out there before Shane gets stuck alone with the evening rush. And you should stop slacking. Get back to work.”
She laughs and turns toward the stove. “Sure thing, boss. Use a broom next time you break glass, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” I push through the double doors, then pause when her voice stops me.
“Troy,” she says, softer now. “There are plenty of fish in the sea, man. Or lake, I guess, since we’re in Claremont Shores and all.” She chuckles at her own joke. “You’ll find someone else, okay?”
I glance back over my shoulder, offering her a small smile. “Thanks.”
But when I step back into the taproom, the noise swelling around me again, I know it’s not true. I don’t want anyone else.
I only want him.