Chapter 6
Lucas
I've counted the register three times. Wiped down the bar twice.
Rearranged the beer taps for no good reason except that my hands need something to do.
Something that isn't replaying every moment from last night.
The way Maya looked in my clothes. The feeling of her pressed against me on the floor.
How close we came to kissing before that text message killed the mood.
Christ. I need to get my head on straight before the lunch crowd shows up.
The back door slams. I hear Jake's voice echoing through the kitchen, followed by Steph's laugh. They're early, which means they've been gossiping about last night since I left.
"Morning, boss!" Jake appears from the kitchen, already tying his apron. There's something in his knowing grin that puts me on edge. "Sleep well?"
"Fine." I don't look up from the inventory sheet I'm pretending to study. "You're twenty minutes early."
"Couldn't sleep. Too busy thinking about how our grumpy boss turned into a knight in shining armor last night." He leans against the bar, clearly settling in for a conversation I don't want to have.
Steph emerges from the back, smirking. "I have to admit, watching you go all protective over Maya was pretty entertaining. Especially when you practically growled at that phone call."
I set down my pen harder than necessary. "Don't you two have prep work to do?"
Jake's grin widens. "Came in early to get everything ready. Figured you might be distracted today, what with your houseguest and all."
"She's not my houseguest. She needed help."
"Right." Steph starts organizing the liquor bottles. "And you just happened to have a perfectly good couch available."
"Your couch." Jake nods sagely. "Very charitable of you. Very... convenient."
"Watch it."
But Jake's not intimidated by my warning tone. If anything, he looks delighted. "I'm just saying, it's nice to see you being so helpful. Especially to old friends."
"We are old friends."
"Sure you are." Steph joins Jake at the bar. I realize I'm being tag-teamed. "Old friends who used to stare at each other across class like lovesick puppies."
"We did not—"
"Lucas, half the school knew you had it bad for Maya Bennett." Jake shakes his head like I'm being willfully obtuse. "The only person who didn't know was Maya herself."
Heat creeps up the back of my neck. "That was high school."
"Was it?" Steph tilts her head. Studying my face like she's trying to solve a puzzle. "Because you couldn't take your eyes off her when she walked in yesterday. And this morning? You've got that guilty, just-been-kissed look written all over your face."
"I wasn't—we didn't—" I stop. Realize that protesting is only making this worse. "Don't you two have anything better to do than gossip about my personal life?"
"Not really." Jake shrugs. "It's been pretty boring around here lately. This is the most excitement we've had since the Henderson twins got into that fight over Jimmy Morrison."
"Besides," Steph adds, "we like Maya. She was always lovely. Smart, funny, never looked down on anyone for staying in Willowbridge."
Unlike some people who left, she doesn't say, but I hear it anyway.
"Look," I say. Trying to end this conversation before it goes any further. "Maya's going through some stuff right now. The last thing she needs is the whole town speculating about her personal life."
"So there is a personal life to speculate about," Jake says immediately. Wiggling his eyebrows.
I give him a look that could strip paint. "There's nothing to speculate about."
"If you say so, boss." But he's still grinning when he heads back to the kitchen. "Just remember, in a town this size, secrets don't stay secret for long."
Steph follows him. Not before giving me one last knowing look. "For what it's worth," she says quietly, "I think she's good for you. Even if you are too stubborn to admit it."
They disappear into the back. Leaving me alone with my thoughts and the growing certainty that this is going to be a very long day.
That certainty becomes absolute fact about two hours later when Maya walks through the front door with her laptop bag and a determined expression that spells trouble for my peace of mind.
She's changed out of my clothes—back in her own jeans and a soft gray sweater that hugs her curves in ways that make me forget how to operate basic bar equipment.
Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun. She's got that focused look she used to get in school when she was working through a particularly complex problem.
"Mind if I commandeer that corner table?" she asks. Nodding toward the back booth that's usually empty during lunch hours. "I need to send out some resumes."
"Sure. You want coffee?"
"Please. And maybe something to eat? I may have forgotten about food in favor of caffeine and anxiety this morning."
I pour her coffee and grab a menu. Trying not to notice the way she bites her lower lip when she's thinking. Trying not to remember our almost kiss last night.
"Thanks." She settles into the corner booth.
Spreading her laptop and papers across the table like she's claiming territory.
Within minutes, she's completely absorbed in whatever she's working on.
Fingers flying across the keyboard with the kind of intensity that used to fascinate me in computer science class.
I tell myself to focus on work. To ignore the way she looks in my space. Like she belongs here. To stop glancing over every thirty seconds to see if she needs anything.
I fail spectacularly.
"She's pretty," observes Mrs. Henderson, one of our regulars, as she slides onto a barstool. "That your new girlfriend, Lucas?"
"She's a friend." I set down her usual. Iced tea with extra lemon. Attempting to look like I'm not paying attention to the woman in the corner who's currently frowning at her laptop screen.
"Mm-hmm." Mrs. Henderson follows my gaze and smiles. "Must be a very good friend to spend the night."
Christ. Is there anyone in this town who doesn't know?
"Can I get you anything else?" I ask. Hoping to change the subject.
But Mrs. Henderson isn't done. "She's that Bennett girl, isn't she? The one who was so smart in school? I heard she went to the big city, made something of herself."
"Yeah, that's Maya."
She takes a sip of her tea. "Bet she's glad to be home."
I glance over at Maya. She's now rubbing her temples like she's getting a headache. Home. Is that what this is to her? Or is she just hiding out until she figures out her next move?
"Lucas?" Maya's voice cuts through my brooding. "Do you have any aspirin? This job search is giving me a migraine."
"Yeah, hold on." I grab the bottle from behind the bar and walk it over to her table. Up close, I can see the stress lines around her eyes. Her shoulders bunched with tension.
"You okay?" I ask quietly. Setting the aspirin next to her coffee cup.
She looks up at me. "Honestly? I'm starting to wonder if I'm completely unemployable. After all this job searching, I've found exactly zero positions that don't make me want to throw my laptop out the window."
"Maybe you're looking in the wrong places."
"Maybe I'm just not good at anything useful." She shakes two aspirin into her palm. "Derek might have been right. Maybe I do sabotage everything good in my life."
The defeated tone in her voice makes something in me twist. "Derek was an ass who didn't deserve you."
She blinks. Surprised by the vehemence in my voice. "You don't even know him."
"Don't need to. Anyone who made you believe that bullshit about sabotaging good things is automatically an ass in my book."
A small smile tugs at her lips. "Your book has very definitive categories."
"Clear standards," I agree. "Keeps things simple."
Before I can say anything else, anything that might give away exactly how much I hate seeing her doubt herself, the lunch rush starts in earnest. I'm forced to return to the bar.
But I keep watching her from the corner of my eye.
Noting the way she automatically refills the sugar dispensers when she gets up for more coffee.
How she smiles at customers who pass her table.
She fits here. In my bar. In this space I've built. The realization should terrify me.
Instead, it feels right.
The lunch rush is starting to wind down when he walks in.
At first, nothing about him stands out. Mid-thirties. Average height. Wearing a baseball cap pulled low and a nondescript navy jacket. He orders a beer and a sandwich quietly. Pays in cash. Settles into a table near the window.
Normal customer behavior. Except for the way his eyes keep drifting to Maya's corner.
I've been tending bar long enough to read people. This guy is setting off every alarm bell I have. He's not drinking his beer. Hasn't touched his sandwich. Every time Maya moves—stretching, adjusting her laptop screen—his attention sharpens like a predator tracking prey.
"Everything all right with your food?" I ask. Approaching his table with what I hope looks like casual customer service.
"Fine." He doesn't look at me. Just keeps watching Maya. "Just taking my time."
Up close, I can see he's younger than I first thought. Pale complexion that suggests he spends most of his time indoors. His hands are soft. Uncalloused. Office hands. There's something in his posture. A coiled tension that makes my protective instincts flare.
"You visiting from out of town?" Keeping my voice conversational. But I'm cataloging details. The expensive watch. The way he holds himself like he's used to being in charge. The fact that he chose a seat with a clear view of Maya but positioned himself so she can't easily see him.
"Business trip." His response is clipped. Dismissive. Like he resents the interruption.
That's when I notice the phone on the table beside his untouched sandwich. The screen is dark. But it's angled toward Maya's table. Something about the way he's positioned it makes my blood run cold.
Photos. The bastard is taking photos.