I stare at her. “But he’s so young to be a retired billionaire.”
“I know. He’s one of those tech whiz guys. Made his first million at nineteen. He’s thirty now.”
I slowly turn to meet the knowing, smirky eyes of retired billionaire Wyatt “the Wart” Winters. He grins and gives me a jaunty two-finger salute, probably because he knows Harper just explained who he is. Mr. Big Shot.
I scowl. I will never work with that man. I don’t care how many zeroes are in his bank account or what kind of business guru he is. He wants a piece of The Horseman Inn? Hell no!
2
I retreat behind the bar and get started on a margarita. I don’t need Wyatt Winters. I have a marketing background. Once I get out of debt, then I’ll be able to focus on marketing to draw people from neighboring towns, and that will revitalize the place. I know it can still be a success. Though, if tonight’s fundraiser isn’t a success, I sure as hell need some kind of bailout.
I keep myself busy filling drink orders, but my mind keeps cranking over every insult Wart delivered in the past month and what I wish I could’ve said. Being in the restaurant business, you just can’t lay into rude customers, no matter how much they deserve it. All things considered, I held my temper admirably until tonight.
“Hey, Sydney.”
I look up at Garrett’s warm voice. Harper’s fiancé is a beast of a man with plenty of muscle and a heart of gold. Seriously, he drove all the way from Brooklyn a few days ago to fix some stuff in the restaurant’s kitchen for me and refused to take payment.
“Hey, Garrett,” I say, giving him an affectionate punch on the shoulder. “What can I get you?”
He grabs one of the menus, scans it, and then orders an ale. That’s the ale Wart wanted earlier. I’m instantly suspicious he’s going to take it to Wart, but I don’t want to say anything in case it’s actually for Garrett. He fixed a leaking dishwasher and an exhaust fan that was on its last legs, making a weird grinding noise. Garrett can do just about anything in construction, that’s his main job, and he’s getting some acting gigs on the side now. Now why couldn’t I meet someone fun, interesting, and competent like that? Why does Wart have to be the only single option around? He’s so irritatingly gorgeous too with those warm light brown eyes—whiskey eyes—and the beard. That big muscular body. My pulse got crazy when we got close.
This is terrible. I’m involuntarily drawn to him. I should see a shrink or something.
I hand over the glass of ale to Garrett, restraining myself from ordering him not to give it to Wart. “Here you go.”
He flashes a smile. “Thanks.” He reaches for his wallet.
“On the house for your help fixing stuff for me.”
He shakes his head. “I like fixing stuff.” He leaves a twenty on the bar and walks away.
“Thanks again,” I call. “I owe you.”
He waves over his shoulder, like it’s nothing. What a great guy.
I tell myself not to look, but I can’t help it. My eyes are glued to Garrett as he makes his way back to Wart’s table. Dammit! I knew it! He slides the ale over to Wart, who immediately lifts it in a gloating toast to me.
I clench my teeth, my entire face heating with anger.
Wyatt takes a sip of ale and makes an exaggerated grimace. “Do the locals like this watered-down stuff?” His voice carries all the way to me, as I’m sure was his intention.
I throw up my middle finger, and then it doesn’t feel like enough, so I add the other in a double fuck you salute.
He throws his head back and laughs.
I silently seethe until I’m elbowed by my bartender, Betsy. Apparently, I’m in her way, having a quiet fit behind the bar.
I go back to work, frequently checking on the action around Harper and steadfastly avoiding eye contact with Wart. She’s sitting at her reserved table, signing autographs on New Year’s Eve flyers from tonight’s event, and taking selfies with customers.
After a large crowd leaves her table, I dash over to check in with her. “What can I get you to drink, Harp? Anything you want, on the house.”
She smiles. “Water would be great.”
“Just water?”
She gives my shoulder a tug, pulling me closer to whisper, “I’m pregnant.”
I squeal and hug her. “I’m so happy for you! Congratulations!”
Jenna and Audrey join us, both of them wearing glittery tiaras and cute black dresses. “What’s all this squealing about?” Jenna asks.
“I told you not to fangirl over Harper,” Audrey says to me. “She’s still one of us.”
Harper whispers the news to them.
“That is squeal-worthy,” Jenna says with a laugh, hugging Harper.
Audrey hugs her next. “Congratulations!” She pulls back, looking concerned. “How did your grandmother take it?”
Harper was raised by her tough grandmother, who might not approve of a pregnancy before the wedding. We secretly call her General Joan. Once in a while, the General comes in here for an early dinner, and I always find myself stiff with shoulders back, spine straight. She never had a problem ordering Harper’s friends around, same as Harp. I guess that means she loves us too.
Harper beams. “Surprisingly understanding and supportive. We had a good talk.” She hitches a thumb at Garrett, who just joined us. “It helps that the General loves him.”
“What’s your secret?” Jenna asks Garrett. “We were all scared of her as girls. Half the time she put us to work.”
Audrey shakes her head. “We never wanted to hang at Harper’s house. No offense, Harp.”
“That was probably her plan all along,” Harper says. “Not to have to clean up after four girls.”
“She put me to work too,” Garrett says with a smile. “I don’t mind helping out.”
We all stare at him.
“Now I feel so lazy,” I quip.
Everyone laughs.
“It’s really hopping now, Syd,” Harper says.
I nod. “They’re here for you.” There’s about fifty people here now. Normally, there’s a dozen or less.
A couple in their thirties approaches, asking for her autograph. Harper smiles. “Happy to.”
Jenna pulls me toward the bar. “Let’s get some of those peppermintinis.” It’s a special peppermint martini just for the holidays.
I head back toward the bar with Jenna and Audrey, passing my oldest brother, Drew, on the way. He’s acting strange, just standing there, a beer in hand, not responding in any way to my brother Caleb, who’s speaking animatedly to him. Drew’s eyes lock on Audrey.
I watch Audrey as I head behind the bar. She’s carefully avoiding looking at Drew. Even stranger. Normally, she’d say hello and smile. Audrey has had a thing for Drew since we were kids. She emailed him regularly through his military deployments, but never told him how she felt. Did something happen between them recently? Audrey isn’t the kind to broadcast every little thing, even to her friends, especially if it’s a sensitive topic.
Audrey walks stiffly past Drew, head held high. He just stares, his expression shuttered.