shoes instead of sneakers. It occurs to me he dressed nice for the party, only to sit alone on New Year’s Eve. I summon patience and all the goodwill I can muster. He’s new in town, and I should try to make him feel welcome.
“Hi, Wyatt.” I flash a quick smile. “It’s Sydney, not Cindy.” As I’ve told you before. “I know you’re new in town. I could introduce you to my brothers. That’s Eli on guitar. He’s a cop.” I point him out, and Eli jerks his chin at us. “Over at the bar, the guy in the white T-shirt with the scowl is my oldest brother, Drew. There’s also Adam and Caleb, but they’re not here yet.”
Wyatt cocks his head. “No sisters?”
“No, why?”
“Only girl, huh? Interesting.”
I hear an insult lurking in his tone. “Why is that interesting?” I’m not a girly girl, but that doesn’t mean I’m not feminine. I’m wearing lipstick, and I even put on a skirt tonight. It’s black leather to match my knee-high black leather boots. My black T-shirt says The Horseman Inn, our staff uniform.
“Just interesting,” he says blithely. “I’ve met Adam. He’s going to do some work at my place.”
“Oh.” Adam is a master carpenter. I didn’t know he took a job for Satan.
He taps the dark wood table. “What I really want to know is what a guy has to do to get a decent beer around here.”
Patience. Goodwill. I can’t be alienating customers in my line of work. I paste on a smile and rattle off every beer we offer, both on tap and in bottles.
He rubs his dark beard. “Do you have one that doesn’t taste like it’s been watered down to disguise the fact it’s gone skunk?”
“All of our beers are fresh, I assure you. Now what can I get you?” I am Miss Hospitality.
He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, and smiles wolfishly. My pulse shoots up. “Surprise me.”
Cheap lite beer with a shot of spit in it, coming right up! Ooh, I am so tempted. No, I can be professional. Why is my pulse still racing? “You got it. Our best IPA coming up.” I turn to go.
“I’ve had your best IPA,” he says. “An ale would be an improvement. I hope.”
I turn back. “No problem.”
“Also, my table is wobbly.” He gives it a shake.
I let out a breath. “Then don’t shake it.”
He peers under the table. “Actually, I’m not sure if it’s the table or the wavy hardwood floor.”
“Part of our charm, original eighteenth-century flooring.”
He arches a brow.
“One ale coming up.” I make a beeline to the bar, my patience running out. No one could keep up pleasant conversation with a man like that for long. Always looking for flaws. This place has all the historic charm with all the modern headaches—sloping floors, low ceilings, draftiness. I’m proud to say we still have the original post and beam ceilings and large stone hearth in the front dining room. If he doesn’t like it, he can go someplace else. Although we are the only bar around for miles. He’d have to cross the state line into Clover Park, Connecticut, about a half-hour drive from here, to find another bar. Maybe I’ll suggest it. No, I can’t do that. He’s a newcomer. Must be welcoming.
My brother Drew grabs my upper arm as I swing by him at the bar, halting me. “That guy bothering you?” he asks in a low voice, his gaze narrowing on Wyatt. Drew is five years older than me and a certified badass—former Army Ranger with a black belt. He runs his own dojo in town. He’ll kick ass on my behalf, but I’m no damsel in distress. Besides, I grew up with brothers—two older, two younger—I know how to handle men.
“He’s just annoying,” I say. “No problem.”
He releases my arm. “Say the word.”
I give him an exaggerated smacking kiss on his cheek, which always throws him.
He rubs the spot. “Syd! Come on. Is there pink on my cheek?”
I sail behind the bar. “So much pink,” I lie. “Better head to the men’s room to get properly manly again.” It’s actually coral, a darker shade of pink to go with my auburn hair, but try explaining lipstick shade to a grumpy alpha male.
He checks himself with his phone’s camera and huffs, tucking the phone back in his jeans’ pocket. “Smart-ass.”
I pour Wyatt’s ale and then check on a few customers at the bar, filling their drinks too. Mostly as a stalling