“Don’t you worry about it,” I said. “You had a shitty afternoon. But I’m here now.” The door opened and a group of six walked in. “If you want, take a quick break before all hell breaks loose again. I’ve got it covered.”

“You’re the best.” She headed to the back, and I was about to walk around the bar, but Max caught my eye.

“So what will it be? Shaman or spirit walker? Or maybe just miracle worker? I like that.”

I laughed. Leave it to Max to make me laugh after a crappy day. “I’ll settle for Queen Carly.” Cocking my head, I gave him a smug look. “I like it. It rolls off the tongue.”

Chuckling, he said, “That title already belongs to Ruth, and I’m not havin’ any part of that battle.”

I took the new customers’ orders and checked on the three guys still nursing their nearly empty beers. I offered to get them refills and asked if they wanted a basket of wings and fries to munch on. To my surprise, they did.

Max waggled his eyebrows and mouthed, Miracle worker.

I mouthed back, Suggestive sales.

God, I really hoped Max wasn’t a pimp.

I didn’t have time to dwell on it. More customers showed up, and Ruth came out after a twenty-minute break. Then Max took a break as the dinner customers thinned out. The drinking crowd had started to show up in full force by the time Wyatt rolled in at around eight, wearing a dark look.

He scanned the room until his gaze landed on me.

Even though I was furious with him, my body still reacted to the sight of him.

This was why I didn’t trust myself with men. It would be so easy to back down, to accept what he was willing to give me, but I needed to be strong. If I let myself fall for him, I’d go head over heels, and there was no way I was doing that unless he gave me answers.

He strode right up to me as though he was on a mission. I wondered if he’d try to take me into his arms and kiss me—and what I’d do if he did—but he stopped just short of me. “Are you in your usual section?”

I could lie to him, but I wasn’t fifteen and I didn’t want to play games. “Yes.”

He gave me a brisk nod, then headed to the bar and slipped onto a stool next to Jerry. The bar was Max’s territory.

What the hell?

Ruth gave me a questioning look, which was when I realized I still hadn’t told her about our breakup. My heart ached at the thought.

More people came in, and while Fridays were always busy, the place wasn’t usually this packed. Even so, I noticed right away when a woman I’d never seen at Max’s walked in through the door.

Greta Hightower, wearing a pair of jeans and a thick gray sweater with no coat, made her way to the half-filled bar, taking an open seat a few stools down from Wyatt and slightly to the side of the beer taps.

Max’s eyes practically popped out of his head. I nearly laughed, but I prayed she wasn’t there to see him. There was only one way to find out.

When I slid behind the counter to talk to Max, he was setting beers in front of a couple at the far end of the bar, but he kept sneaking glances at Greta. I leaned into his ear and asked, “Is that the infamous Greta?”

He turned to me in surprise. “Yeah.”

“Tell me the truth, Max. Do you want to see her again or not?”

“I…uh…” he sputtered.

“Undecided?”

He was silent for a moment before he softly said, “Yeah, I’d like to see her again, but I messed everything up.”

I pulled my notepad from my apron and handed it to him. “Cover my section.”

“I can’t do that!” he protested, sliding back a step and refusing to take it.

“Bullshit. Cover my section. I’ll see how agreeable she is to goin’ on an actual date with you that doesn’t involve moonshine and skinny dippin’.”

He scowled, but he snatched the order pad from my hand and pointed to the stack of tickets on the counter. “Most of the orders are beers. You can handle the shots, but some stuck-up fool thinks we’re a fancy night club and ordered an old-fashioned. You know how to make one of those?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. Make it up as you go.” With that, he headed out onto the floor.

I could feel Wyatt’s eyes watching me, and a quick glance in his direction confirmed it. Heat washed through my body, but I told myself that he was like strawberry shortcake: utterly delicious and, courtesy of my strawberry allergy, guaranteed to give me hives.

Just because something tasted good didn’t mean it was good for me.

Ignoring him, I walked over to Greta and gave her a bright, customer-friendly smile. “What can I get you?”

She glanced at the wall behind me, studying the beers on tap. “What do you recommend?”

“Are you a beer drinker?” I asked. “Or are you more into fruity drinks? Ruth and I have been playing around with a drink we’re creating. It’s a frozen drink with pineapple juice and rum. I know it’s cold, but the deliciousness makes up for it.”

“That sounds good,” she said, looking nervous as she glanced around the room. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“No trouble at all,” I said breezily, but I suspected Max would shoot me a death stare once he realized I’d moved Greta’s drink to the front of the line. Especially since it was so labor-intensive.

Ruth walked behind the bar with a handful of tickets as I poured pineapple juice into the blender full of ice. Her brows shot up. “Are you making our Pineapple Sunrise Surprise?”

I twisted my mouth to the side, unsure how she’d take this. “Maybe…”

“Who ordered that?” she asked, glancing around. “And why are you working the bar?” Her gaze landed on Greta and understanding washed over her face. She lowered her voice so Greta couldn’t hear. “That chickenshit.”

I hated that she thought so little of him, so I said, “It was my idea. I think he’d like to see her again, but he feels like an asshole for treating her poorly. I’m gonna see where he stands.”

“By butterin’ her up with our drink?”

I made a hesitant face. “Yeah…?”

She narrowed her eyes, then nodded. “I approve. I wish I’d thought of it myself. But move my tickets in front of Max’s,” she said, slapping them on the counter. “He doesn’t need the tips.”

I nearly told her his tips were my tips, but she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

I added the rum and coconut milk to the mixture before setting it on the base to blend. While I waited, I pulled a few more beers and set them on a tray with a ticket. At least I’d filled one of the tickets, although there were at least half a dozen more. Talking to Greta was more important. I poured the pineapple drink into a tall glass, added a straw, and set it in front of her. “If we had any of those fancy umbrellas, I would have added one.”

She took a sip and her eyes lit up. “Girl, as long as it tastes this good, you could put it in a red Solo cup and I’d be happy.”

“I haven’t seen you in here before,” I said, moving on to the next ticket.

“Shh…” she said, closing her eyes as she took another sip. “Don’t spoil my good mood.”