Was I? I shrugged. “I don’t know, Marco. It’s been a long dry spell.”

Sympathy filled his eyes, and I knew we were both thinking about the man who had created that dry spell, Wyatt Drummond.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m working doubles every damn day, so the only date I’d be goin’ on would be the horizontal kind, and I’d be too damn tired to do anything but sleep.”

He laughed. “And if you fell asleep, it’s because he’s not doin’ it right.”

Rolling my eyes, I chuckled. “What are you having today? And I take it the order’s to go since you’re standin’ here.”

“I’ll take the special of the day, whatever it is. Surprise me. And I’ll be eatin’ at the bar, so just bring it over there.”

“You could have ordered at the bar, you know.”

“I know,” he said, his mischievous grin returning. “But then I’d run the risk of Lula takin’ my order and I wanted it done right.”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you have about a 33.3 percent chance of Sweetie Pie screwin’ it up.”

“She’s not any better yet?” he asked, casting a glance over my shoulder toward the back.

“Nope,” I said with a sigh. “Apparently it’s hard to find good help these days.”

The blond man and his friend brushed past us on their way to the door, and the bearded guy tipped an imaginary hat, wearing an insulting smirk. “Deputy.”

The blond guy laughed.

“Y’all be safe out there,” Marco called after them good-naturedly, but as soon as they were out the door, he scowled.

Whatever fleeting interest I’d had in the asshole walked right out the door with him.

Marco wandered over to the bar where Max, my boss and Marco’s longtime friend, was standing at the counter, watching us.

Scooping up the ticket and cash off the flirty guy’s table, I headed to the back counter to place Marco’s order—the special was meatloaf and mashed potatoes. After I hung Marco’s ticket, I counted the bills. He’d left me a thirty percent tip along with his name—Blake—and a message: I’ll be back to see you later, beautiful.

I made a face. If the way he and his asshole friend had treated Marco hadn’t turned me off, the cheesy message would have done the trick. The rotten cherry on top was his name. It was too close to my real last name—Blakely—and I wanted as much distance from my previous life as possible.

“Finally gettin’ yourself a new boyfriend, Carly?” Lula asked as she walked over with a ticket, grinning from ear to ear. She was stupid-happy in love with Bingham, and she thought everyone else should be in love too. Especially me. She felt responsible for my breakup with Wyatt, no matter how many times I insisted she wasn’t.

“God, no,” I said with a scowl.

She waggled her eyebrows. “He’s cute.”

“He’s an asshole.”

She laughed. “You’ve gotta find someone, Carly. And you keep sayin’ there’s nothing goin’ on with Marco…”

“There’s not,” I said insistently. “We’re just friends. Best friends.”

“You can’t be friends with a guy. That’s not the way things work.”

“Well, it works that way for us.” And since I’d already had this conversation six or seven times in as many days, I left it at that. I poured a glass of water, dropped in a slice of lemon and another of lime, and took it over to Marco.

He and Max were making small talk, discussing the Braves game and their chance of making it to the World Series this year. As I approached, Max shot me a grin. “I saw that man tryin’ to pick you up.”

“Never gonna happen,” I said. “And don’t ask why.”

Max lifted his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t plannin’ to.”

“Have you got any more interviews lined up for those waitressing positions?” I asked. “Because I’d really like to have a day off. Or at least an evening.”

“To go on a date?” Max asked.

I propped a hand on my hip. “Why is everyone so determined for me to go on a date?”

“Because you’ve been alone too long,” Ruth said as she slid behind the bar and started to pull a beer from the tap. “You’ve got to stop mopin’.”

“I’m not moping!” I protested.

Max quickly turned away, his own guilt seeping in. He felt just as responsible for my breakup with Wyatt as Lula did.

“Back to the actual topic at hand,” I said, noticing that the customers at another table in my section looked like they were ready for their check. “I want a day off, which means you need to find someone to fill in for me.”

“I tried to set some up,” Max said, his back still to me, “but Ruth nixed ’em all before I could get ’em on the calendar.”

I groaned. “Ruth, we need to hire someone else. We can’t keep this up forever.”

“We’re both makin’ good tips,” she said, pulling a beer.

“Maybe so, but we’ve got no time to spend it.”

“Hey,” Max said as he glanced over at her. “Are you serving that to one of the construction guys?”

She scrunched her face in confusion. “Yeah.”

“Doesn’t he operate heavy equipment?” Max asked. “Those guys are part of the excavation crew.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s one beer.”

“The construction of the lodge needs to go off without a hitch, Ruth,” he said, turning his attention to the dining area. “Which means the construction guys can’t be drunk on the job.”

“For God’s sake, Max,” she said in disgust as she headed around the counter. “It’s one beer.”

I pinned my gaze on Max. “Why are you so concerned with what’s going on out at the construction site?”

Max refused to look me in the eye. “Because it’s good for business.”

But I could tell he was holding something back, which made me leery. Last I’d heard, Max had fallen out with his father, Bart Drummond, early last December, after discovering Lula was his half-sister. Someone had attempted to kidnap her, but she’d managed to run away—and Max had hidden her, assuming Bart was the person who wanted to hurt her. Wyatt had helped him. They hadn’t told anyone they knew where she was, let alone that she was safe. Marco and I had been searching for her, and it had nearly gotten me killed. Hence Max and Lula’s guilt over the whole Wyatt thing. But Wyatt had been keeping secrets from me long before he’d lied about Lula.

Max had made a big deal of distancing himself from his father. But now I wondered if they’d reconciled. Considering Bart Drummond knew who I was and had threatened to use it against me, I knew exactly how I felt about that.

The lunch crowd died down, and Bingham showed up at around one thirty to take Lula home to nurse her baby. He stood to the side of the doorway, scanning the tavern with his menacing gaze as though trying to figure out if anyone had intimidated or harassed his girlfriend.

Max rolled his eyes and headed to his office to catch up on paperwork, passing Lula as she walked out of the back. She ran over to Bingham, squealing with happiness, and launched herself into his arms.