Chapter 13
TARA
“Okay, but seriously,” Becky says, deftly garnishing three martinis at once, “how do you already have regulars? You’ve been here like five minutes.”
I shrug, trying to match her efficiency as I prep my own drinks. Truthfully, I love talking to customers. It’s nice having conversations where nobody knows who I am and I just like speaking to new people.
“Maybe they feel sorry for the new girl? Also, I’ve been here a week and worked my ass off.”
“Please.” She bumps my hip with hers. “It’s because you actually listen to their stories. Most of us just nod and smile, but you remembered that Mr. Henderson’s daughter just started medical school.”
“It’s called being nosy.” I grin, sliding the finished cocktails across to a waiting server.
Becky wipes down our station, her dark curls escaping from her perfectly styled bun. “Well, whatever it is, keep it up. Tips have been insane since you started.”
“James said that’s normal though,” I say, arranging garnishes.
“People always tip the new girl better.” James has been great actually—the first person in a while to treat me like a capable adult instead of some kid playing dress-up.
He lets me handle the difficult customers, trusts me to close up, actually values my input on things.
“Mm-hm.” She glances around before leaning closer. “Listen, I’m your friend now right, so let me give you some advice? James is... well, he takes a special interest in training new girls. Just... be careful, okay?” The crease between her brows deepens.
My stomach drops. Not this again. It’s like high school all over again, when Troy scared off any guy who looked at me twice.
Or freshman year, when my parents kept “suggesting” I stay in the dorms another year for “community”, even though Alex and I had already signed onto a lease.
Everyone always thinks they know better than me, like I’m some naive kid who can’t read people or situations.
Just like Mom and Troy thinking I couldn’t handle knowing about Dad.
But I’m not that sheltered little girl anymore.
“Really? He seems great,” I say, the words coming out more defensive than intended. “He’s gone out of his way to help me settle in.”
Something flashes in Becky’s eyes—that look I know too well. The one that says ‘Oh honey, you just don’t understand.’ I’ve seen it on my mother’s face, on Troy’s, on every person who thinks they need to save me from myself.
“Yeah, he’s fine, but just be aware, ok?” she says carefully.
I bite back the urge to remind her that I’m twenty-one, not twelve. That I got this job on my own, moved out on my own, that I handle my life on my own. James is just being friendly. Why does everyone always assume the worst? Like I’m some helpless princess who needs constant watching?
I take a breath, remembering that Becky has no idea about any of that and is just trying to be nice. And I really do get on with her.
“Okay, noted. Thanks.” I look away quickly, focusing on restocking garnishes. Her eyes are on me, full of concern.
I throw myself into taking orders.
“Hey,” Becky catches my attention between orders, “some of us are going to that new bottomless brunch place Sunday since we’re shut in the evening. You should come.”
Despite my earlier frustration, I find myself grinning. I would love to let my hair down and get to know Becky more.
“Only if you tell me how you get your eyeliner so perfect.”
“Oh honey”—she laughs—“that’s at least a three-mimosa conversation.”
My feet are killing me. Eight hours into my shift and I’m starting to regret these shoes, even if they make my legs look amazing.
The late-night crowd has finally thinned out—just a few stragglers nursing expensive whiskey at the bar who are finishing up their drinking and making their way out.
It’s been a long ass day, from meeting Alfie for coffee this morning, agreeing to be his fake girlfriend, going home and baking, seeing him again and him teasing me, to working a night shift.
“Great job tonight,” James says, appearing beside me as I wipe down the counter. “You’re picking this up faster than most, T.”
Becky’s warning from earlier echoes in my head, but I push it aside. I’m not going to let other people’s paranoia affect me.
“Thanks.” I try to ignore how close he’s standing.
“Hey Becky,” he calls out to her. “You can head out early. Tara and I can handle the close.”
Becky glances between us, hesitating. “You sure? I don’t mind staying—”
“Go home.” James insists with that megawatt smile. “You’ve got that early class tomorrow, right?”
She grumbles something and then leaves, leaving the two of us alone.
“So,” he says, moving behind the bar with me, “tell me more about yourself, Tara.”
I chuckle. “Like what? My favorite color is pink; animal is probably a flamingo.”
“You seeing anyone?”
“Um.” I focus on arranging bottles, keeping my hands busy. “Not really.” But I am fake dating my brother’s best friend, who I happen to have a huge crush on.
“Pretty girl like you? Hard to believe.”
I force a laugh, hating how it comes out nervous and high-pitched. “Just focused on work and school, you know?”
“Right, school.” He’s definitely standing too close now. “What year are you again?”
“Going into my third.” I step away, pretending to check the ice well. “Still need to restock some garnishes before we close.”
“No rush.” His voice is soft.
I nod.
“You have really beautiful eyes,” James says, stepping in like he’s testing how close he can get. “So blue.”
I shift back instinctively, but there’s nowhere to go. The bar presses into my spine. My fingers tighten around the edge, nails digging in. I keep my face neutral, casual. Like I don’t notice. Like it’s fine.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. “Sorry, I should check that. Could be my brother.”
James steps back, his smile never wavering. “Of course. Family’s important.”
It’s not Troy.
Space boy
Driving by Luzia. Need a ride home?
Yes please
Done in 20
“Everything okay?” James asks.
“Yeah, just my ride checking in.”
Something flickers in his eyes. “I could’ve driven you home. You know I’m always happy to help out. You live in town, right? Whereabouts?”
“Thanks, but my friend’s already on his way.” I ignore his other question.
“He?” James raises an eyebrow. “Thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone.”
“I’m not.” The words come out sharper and for some reason, I soften them and smile at James. “We just have this community service thing together.”
“Right.” James finally moves away, but his smile has an edge now. “Well, let’s finish closing up then. Wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”
Twenty minutes later, I practically run outside, but Alfie isn’t in his car. He’s leaning against the hood, the picture of effortless wealth, hands tucked in the pockets of his dark jeans.
The streetlights throw sharp angles across his jaw, his lips pressed together in a way that makes my stomach dip.
His hair is tousled just enough to look unintentional, but a strand falls over his eye, and he doesn’t push it back.
He’s watching the entrance, steady, relaxed—but there’s tension in his shoulders, like he’s been waiting. For me.
James follows me out, keys jingling as he locks up. “Have a good night, Tara.” His eyes flick to Alfie, assessing. “Drive safe.”
Something passes between them—some silent male communication I can’t decode. Alfie straightens to his full height, shoulders back. James holds his gaze for a moment before looking away first.
The tension crackles until James disappears around the corner to the staff parking lot.
“Who was that?” Alfie’s voice is carefully neutral, but I catch the edge underneath.
“James. My manager.” I try to sound casual, like I hadn’t spent the last hour with my stomach in knots every time he got too close.
Alfie’s jaw tightens further. “He always stay late with you?”
“Sometimes? It’s not—I mean, he’s just—” I stop, frustrated by my own inability to speak.
“Tara.” I look up. His eyes are dark, serious. “Does he make you uncomfortable?”
“No!” I say too quickly. Then, “He hasn’t actually done anything wrong.”
Something dangerous flashes across Alfie’s face, but he controls it quickly. “Right.” He pushes off the car, opening the passenger door for me. “Pancakes?”
“You don’t have to. Seriously, I’m fine.”
“I want to.” He cuts me off, then adds more softly, “Unless you’re too tired? I mean we have got dinner with my family Saturday night.”
I have 48 hours before that. I should be tired. Should want to go home. But the thought of being alone right now…no thanks.
“Pancakes sound perfect.”
We sit in silence for a while.
“You can tell me, you know,” he adds, “if anything feels wrong. Even if you think you’re overreacting.”
I look at him, surprised by the intensity in his voice. “I know.”
“I mean it.” His eyes stay fixed on the road but his voice is softer now. “Any time, day or night. I don’t sleep much anyway—too many lab readings to monitor. So, if you ever need a ride, or just... someone to show up. I’m around.”
“I don’t need a bodyguard.” I turn to look out the window. “I can handle myself.” The words come out sharper than intended, loaded with all the hurt from spring break, from years of being protected from truths they thought I was too fragile to handle.
“Do you ever stop pretending?” Alfie’s voice is quiet, but sharp. Not accusing. Just... knowing.
My pulse stutters. But my laugh? My laugh comes easily. Too easily.
“I have no idea what you mean, I am thriving.” I stretch out the word like a punchline, flashing him my most dazzling grin.
He doesn’t smile back. He just waits.
I exhale sharply, shifting my rings around my fingers. Stupid rings. Stupid Alfie.
“Like I said, it’s fine.” My nails press into my palm, hidden in my lap. “I can handle myself.”