Chapter 2
HOLLIS
This is definitely not how I expected my Saturday night to go.
As I made my way to Maxwell’s Pub earlier this evening, I was anticipating a shift like all the others.
Quiet at the start—mostly serving beer to the long-time regulars—before business picked up around nine with the addition of the local college students.
I’d get off around midnight, assuming Delia, my nice but accident-prone co-bartender didn’t do something to injure herself and have to go home early.
By one AM, I’d be home and snuggled in bed with my Kindle, ready to read a few pages before falling asleep.
But right about eight o’clock, my entire evening veered dramatically off course.
Now, instead of fighting with the soda machine and making round after round of Big Oranges—Maxwell’s signature drink that always surges in popularity during the Syracuse basketball season—I’m here.
Nursing a bruised cheek that throbs with every pulse of my heart.
Silently bemoaning the hours of tips I’m missing.
About to eat a delicious but extremely unhealthy slice of pizza that I’ll have to work off during my run tomorrow morning.
And the most interesting of all—sitting across from the most handsome man I’ve seen in years.
Dave. Such an ordinary name for someone so intriguing.
It’s not just his looks, though I’d have to be blind not to notice them.
He has wavy blonde hair that looks so soft and shiny I’m tempted to ask him what hair products he uses.
But I have a feeling he’d just rattle off some store brand shampoo, because the lucky guy just naturally has hair most women spend hours to obtain.
His hazel eyes remind me of a forest at sunset, green with ribbons of gold and amber.
As soon as he told me he was a firefighter, all his muscles made sense. They’re not big and bulky, like a bodybuilder’s, but lean. Natural. And the way his biceps and shoulders pull at the fabric of his shirt…
Whew. I never knew I was an arm girl until now. But now it’s a struggle not to look at them and wonder how it would feel to have Dave’s arms wrapped around me, strong and reassuring and gentle, despite his obvious strength.
It’s the craziest feeling, this instant attraction.
But it’s not just because of his looks. It’s this innate goodness I sense in him.
Maybe I’m wrong and he’s actually a serial killer or a crazed would-be stalker. Or at the least, a guy like the one I encountered at the bar, who thought nothing of taking a swing at a woman. Maybe Dave’s entire demeanor is a careful mask and he’s not the nice person I think he is.
But I don’t think so.
I wasn’t exaggerating when I said my job has taught me how to quickly assess someone’s character.
When you work behind a bar, you run into every kind of person.
And many times, you end up being a silent witness to their best-kept secrets.
The man who tries to disguise the pale stripe on his finger while he flirts with a woman half his age.
The woman who puts on a pleasant front to her coworkers, but turns into a raging bitch when she talks to the help.
I can usually size someone up within the first few minutes of meeting them, and with Dave, my gut is telling me he’s the real deal.
Then there are the other parts of me announcing their own opinions.
Like the unexpected ache at my core, proclaiming a sudden and intense desire for the man sitting across from me.
And the flutter of my heart every time our eyes meet.
Intellectually, I know this can’t go anywhere. This is just a brief, random encounter that I’ll look back on and wonder wistfully, what if? I might even try to look Dave up on social media, fighting back a pang of disappointment when I see a photo of him embracing another woman.
“So, what happened, exactly?” Dave asks, interrupting my meandering thoughts. His eyes darken to a rich, mossy green, his concern a visible thing. “You said this man hit you?”
Right. Back to the topic at hand. Namely, the asshole at the bar and his disrespect for women.
“Well.” Pausing to organize my thoughts, I take a long sip of my water. “It was around seven when I first noticed the couple come in. I work at Maxwell’s. I don’t know if you’re familiar—”
“I am,” Dave says with a smile. “I used to live in Utica. So I stopped in there a few times. It always seemed like a nice place.”
“It is,” I agree. “Which made the guy’s behavior even more noticeable. Usually we get a lot of regulars, people stopping in for a couple of beers while they watch whatever game is on TV. Or we get the older college students, the ones who want to actually sit down and talk with their friends.”
Dave nods in understanding. “But this couple seemed different?”
“Yeah. At first, it was the way the guy was bossing the girl around. Telling her what to drink, scolding her for looking at a man sitting at the other end of the bar. But it quickly escalated to more… physical things.”
His jaw tightens. In a tone much rougher than his earlier gentle one, he asks, “What kind of physical things?”
“At first, it was subtle, like keeping his hand clamped around her arm to the point where it looked like it was hurting her. Then I watched him push her hard enough that she stumbled. Nothing was overt enough to call the police or anything. But I just got this bad vibe from him. You know what I mean?”
“I do.”
“So I kept an eye on them as much as I could for the next half hour or so. I’d been debating whether to call the manager over, but he was busy with other customers, so I decided to wait until I saw something more definitive.
” I stop and make a little grimace. “Hearing it back, I should have said something sooner. But it’s hard to know when to step in.
Especially since the woman wasn’t complaining.
And nothing he did was violent, really. It just… ”
“Made your inner alarms ring?”
“Yes. Exactly.” And looking into Dave’s eyes, I can tell he knows just how I felt. “But just before eight, he started to snap at her. Low, but aggressive. Threatening. Then he slapped down some cash and stormed out of the bar, dragging the girl with him.”
A muscle in his jaw twitches. “And then what happened?”
“Okay, I know it was dumb,” I preface. “But I told the other bartender to cover for me and I followed them out. I should have gotten the manager. I know I should have. But I think I didn’t really believe anything would happen.”
“It wasn’t dumb,” Dave says. His expression softens as he looks at me. “You were concerned and following your instincts.” He pauses before casting a sweetly apologetic smile. “Although. It probably would have been better if you’d gotten your manager or someone else to go outside with you.”
“I know,” I agree. I return his smile with a sheepish one, wincing involuntarily as the skin over my swollen cheek pulls. “Trust me, I won’t make the same mistake again.”
“Hollis.” Dave reaches across the table and touches my hand. “Not to interrupt, but what do you think about getting some ice for your cheek? It looks like it hurts.”
Ice. Right. That could actually be helpful. “I guess that wouldn’t be a bad—”
But before I can continue, Dave raises his hand, signaling to the waitress. There’s something in his expression that makes her hurry over instead of the leisurely stroll she took coming over to greet me.
Then again, I’m not a sexy thirty-something guy who looks like he could be in a movie. One about a hot firefighter battling a wildfire before coming home to wash off the ash and dirt in the shower, the water sluicing down his muscular chest—
“Here,” Dave says. He holds out a towel filled with ice, somehow delivered without me realizing. “Ice your cheek for five minutes, then take five minutes off. It should help with the pain and swelling.”
As I take it from him, our fingers touch.
Electricity streaks up my arm.
My breath catches.
Wow. I’ve never had this kind of reaction just from the brush of a man’s fingers before.
Dave studies me with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay, Hollis?” He reaches across the table and strokes his thumb across my cheek. “You know, if he hit you hard, you could have a concussion. Maybe you should—”
But my brain shuts off for a second, and I don’t hear the rest of his sentence.
My body explodes into a chaos of sensations.
Lust. Desire. Longing.
Warmth blossoms in my chest and radiates outward. My womb clenches.
Oh, my.
No. Pull it together.
He’s just being nice.
Mistaking my silence for disapproval, Dave pulls his hand back from my cheek. “Shit. I’m sorry, Hollis.” Regret creases his features. “I shouldn’t have touched you without permission. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“No, it’s okay.” Catching his hand midway across the table, I hold it for a moment as I add, “It was nice.”
Surprise flickers in his eyes.
A beat later, heat floods my cheeks.
It was nice?
What kind of a thing to say is that?
And what in the world do I say to fix it? To make things less awkward than I just made them?
I’ve always felt confident around men, but with Dave, I’m off balance.
As I struggle to come up with a response that doesn’t sound absolutely idiotic, lovely Dave swoops in—metaphorically, that is—and saves the day.
His gaze meets mine, his expression unreadable, but definitely not unpleasant. “You’re right,” he says softly. “It was nice.”
Oh.
OH.
Everything else falls away—the loss of expected tips, the bruise on my cheek, the worry for the woman I wasn’t able to help—as I fall into the depths of his eyes. As my heart doesn’t just flutter, but leaps.
Never in my life have I felt like this before.
I’ve heard stories of people falling in love at first sight, but I didn’t really believe it. I thought it was revisionist history, the couple innocently putting a romantic spin on their relationship. After all, how could two people know that quickly?
It’s always seemed an impossibility. Until now.