Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 281(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“It’s delicious.” A new crafter to this year’s lineup, a blond silversmith, leaned against the bar, his gaze blatantly undressing Atlas as he handed over a few bills. “I’ll have another. Keep the change.”
“Sure thing, Jon.”
That Atlas already knew the blond’s name made heat gather at the back of my neck and the collar of my white waiter’s shirt itch. I was neither blond nor hot, and suddenly, my offer to teach Atlas about sex seemed more than a little foolish. What did he need my help for?
“Tell me more about what you do in the navy,” Jon demanded as Atlas passed over the drink.
“Can’t tell much.” Atlas gave a humble shrug. “Mainly, I get folks home. Extraction.”
“Oooh, top secret and noble.” Jon’s unnaturally blue eyes sparkled as he dared to touch the anchor tattoo on Atlas’s forearm. And I’d had enough.
I coughed. Loudly. “Atlas? Can you help me bring out the desserts?”
“Sure thing.” Affable as ever, Atlas followed me to the kitchen, where two carts with neatly stacked plates of pie were waiting.
Unfortunately, three seconds after we entered the kitchen, Gabe came sprinting after us.
“Why is no one working the bar?” He glared right at me, guessing correctly that I was the culprit. “And why are you making Atlas do the desserts? I asked you to handle bringing the pies out.”
“I…uh…”
“We need Atlas behind the bar.” Gabe pointed at the kitchen door as he scolded. “Not only is he popular with the ladies, we’re offering a cash bar tonight. We could use the extra income.”
“I’m on it.” Sparing a second to give me one hell of a searching look, Atlas darted back out to the dining room.
Gah. Of course Gabe had picked up on Atlas’s popularity. He didn’t miss much, which was another reason I had no business dreaming of a secret fling with Atlas. Gabe might have the gender wrong, but he’d likely cheer any experiments on. It would be my sort of luck to plant the seed of bisexuality or whatever, only for Atlas to test the theory with someone else.
Studying the cart of pie to avoid looking at Gabe, I blew out a long breath, ruffling my badly-in-need-of-a-trim hair.
“You okay?” To my surprise, Gabe put a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve seemed off all day. Am I working you too hard?”
“Nah.” I waved his concern off. “And I could say the same thing about you. Wasn’t this supposed to be one of our best weekends for sales?”
“Yeah. But we’re down from last year. That new shopping complex down the interstate with all the big box stores keeps luring customers away.” Gabe twisted his hands helplessly before shaking them out and turning to straighten the pie plates. “Just can’t seem to get ahead.”
“We’ll get there.” I slung an arm around his too-thin shoulders. “You need to stop stressing out so much.”
“I can’t help it. I’m about to be a dad. It’s what dads do.”
“I know. I remember.” My voice went soft and faraway. “We were lucky to learn from one of the best. I know you’ll be a good dad, Gabe.”
“Sorry.” Gabe’s expression echoed my own blend of nostalgia and grief. “I’ll try to stop nagging as much. I just want everything—”
“To be Seasons Special.” I did a pitch-perfect imitation of our grandfather, smiling when I got a chuckle out of Gabe. “I get it, bro. Just maybe lay off a little? Yourself included.”
“I’ll try.” Gabe moved so I could wheel the cart to the door. “Thanks, Zeb.”
That rare apology and agreement from Gabe was why I’d kept working here long past needing the money. This was family, which was why Gabe’s critique sliced deeper, and why his welfare, as well as that of the business itself, mattered. He might be a neurotic boss, but he was also my big brother.
Brain swirling with worries about Gabe’s stress level, I set up the dessert buffet and almost forgot about my cheap ploy to get Atlas away from the flirty silversmith. Almost. I had to haul a tray of glassware to the bar, and one pointed look from Atlas was enough to remind me what an idiot I’d been.
To his credit, Atlas waited until there was no line at the bar to turn every ounce of his naval chief persona on me. “What was that all about?”
“All what? I wanted some help. That’s all.” I was a terrible liar, but I had to at least try playing stupid.
“Come on, Zeb. You wanted to get me away from the fighting knitters? Why?”
I groaned. Unlike me and my fake ignorance, Atlas was painfully clueless. “No, dude, I was saving you from the uncomfortable flirting.”
“Flirting?” Atlas scrunched up his face. “All I was doing was mixing drinks.”
“Seriously?” I kept my voice low but let my skepticism show. “That silversmith was all over you.”