After giving Pickles a pat on the head and her daily carrot – the name wasn’t his idea, nor was the rabbit, but he was stuck with both – he dived into the shower. At exactly 11.29 a.m. – Fridays were one of the days they opened for lunch – he slammed his front door behind him and bounded down the stairs.
‘Morning boss.’ Sandy, waiting outside the bar for him to open up, glanced at her watch. ‘A whole three seconds early today. Wow, you spoil me.’
‘I cut out the shave.’ He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Tanya reckons the rugged look suits me.’
‘Tanya?’ Sandy raised her right brow. ‘What happened to Sophie?’
Luke flipped on the lights and started lifting the chairs off the tables and onto the floor. ‘Nothing happened to Sophie. We saw each other for a bit, now we’re not.’
As Sandy mumbled something along the lines of not being able to keep up, Luke took a moment to survey his domain. Ten years since he’d moved into his flat and started work at the bar beneath it – and yes, the one-minute commute to work had been part of the appeal, though the decision on where to live hadn’t solely been his to make. Those first few years had been tough, money had been tighter than a duck’s arse, and he’d lived on tips, his wages gobbled up by a mortgage and … other expenses. But he’d worked his butt off, learnt the trade thanks to Bill, and over the years, actually begun to enjoy working there. Then Bill had decided to sell up – said he was looking to reduce his hours and stress – and Luke figured the opportunity was too good to miss. As of a month ago, the place – cleverly or lazily named The Bar Beneath, depending on your point of view – was his. No longer the employee, but the employer.
Who the chuffing heck would have thought it?
Had he always wanted his own bar? No bloody way.
Could he imagine himself doing something else now? His eyes skimmed across the dark wood furniture, the black and white tiled floor, the polished mahogany bar with the lines of optics behind it, back lit in green, put in last week as a homage to his part-Irish ancestry. It was home to him now, just as much as his flat. And for a guy who liked people, liked shooting the breeze, it wasn’t a bad career to stumble into.
‘Hey Mateo, you’re looking hot. Great haircut.’
Luke glanced round as Sandy greeted the youngest member of their staff. Mateo was twenty-five, and though he had the swarthy looks of a Spanish matador, he had the accent of a Mancunian. A combination that was proving to be a hit with the female punters.
Mateo flashed her his grin. ‘Thanks, babe.’
Luke stared at Sandy and cleared his throat. ‘I assume I wasn’t told I was looking hot because you didn’t want to be accused of sucking up to the boss.’
Sandy threw back her head and laughed. ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night.’
It was banter, and as Sandy had been a friend a lot longer than an employee – all the way back to school days, in fact, when she’d started dating his mate Jim – he was well used to it. Still, together with the more-arduous-than-usual weight session this morning, it added up to him feeling old again.
Not that long ago he’d been the sexy young bartender the girls had come to flirt with.
Now he was the bar owner, with a responsibility towards the people he employed. Hell, he was finally growing up, as his brother liked to mock. His phone buzzed with a text and when he glanced down at it, he grinned.
Hey hot stuff. Had a great time last night. Let me know when you’re up for a repeat. Tanya xx
Fine, he was growing up. But he still had some appeal with the ladies.
‘Are you going to help us, or are you going to leer at your phone all day, as usual?’ Sandy stared at him, hand on her hip.
Guiltily he stuffed his mobile back in his pocket. Old habits were hard to break but Sandy was right, he was the boss now, he had to set an example. ‘I take exception to all day, as usual and the word leer,’ he replied mildly, pulling down the rest of the chairs. ‘Especially leer. I mean, that’s what dirty old men do. I was smiling. Aside from that, you have a point and I apologise.’
‘That wasn’t a smile. It was an I’ve-just-had-an-invite-for-sex smirk.’
Luke stared back at Sandy. ‘You could tell that, just from my expression?’
‘Duh, you’re acting like I haven’t known you for twenty years. When you look at your phone, which you do far more than anyone else I know, by the way, you leer when you get a booty call, and give out a pained sigh when the booty call gets too keen.’
Her observations were a bit too close to home to be comfortable. What did it say about how many times Sandy had seen him pull those faces that she’d learnt to recognise them? ‘Haven’t you got lunch menus to be putting out?’ he muttered, not liking the way he felt right now.
Sandy must have seen something in his expression – clearly she really could read what he was thinking – because her face softened. ‘I wasn’t having a go, you know. It’s up to you how you live your life.’ She paused, wrapping the end of her ponytail round her fingers in a gesture he knew of old. It meant she was gearing up to saying something she knew he wouldn’t like.
‘Come on, spit it out.’ He gave her a half smile. ‘You once told me I was an irresponsible prick. It’s not worse than that, is it?’
‘No.’ She caught his eye and he didn’t miss the fondness in her expression. Or the edge of sympathy. ‘I just … I can’t help hoping one day you’ll find what Jim and I have.’
Luke tensed. There had been a time when he’d believed he had had that. God, he’d been dumb. ‘You mean a life where the highlight of your week is eating take-out curry in front of Britain’s Got Talent?’
Sandy narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Yes, okay, I can go with that. It is a highlight, because the person you’re sitting on the sofa with is the same person you woke with your arms around that morning. The person who kissed you goodbye until your knees went weak, then sent you a silly text in the afternoon to make you laugh. That evening they listened to your gripes about work, hugged you when you felt low. Then made love to you to remind you what was really important in life.’
Because he didn’t want to hear what she was saying – it wasn’t the first time he’d had the lecture – Luke silenced her by placing his hand over her mouth. ‘Quit rabbiting. No amount of fluff can hide the fact that in your scenario, Britain’s Got Talent is on the television, so no thanks. Now get your arse into gear. I’ve got a business to run here.’
She huffed and walked towards the cabinet where they kept the menus. ‘What if I’d said Match of the Day was on?’
‘Same answer.’ Fact was, the picture of domestic bliss she’d painted suited her, suited his brother and yeah, suited a lot of people. Didn’t mean it suited him.
Chapter Two
Mia glanced again at the clock on her computer. How sad did it make her that she was still sat in front of her computer at nine o’clock on a Saturday night?
Her mum would go ballistic.
Stuff it though, it wasn’t like she was working. Monday to Friday she designed websites, but at the weekend, she created. Well, she had been, up until the last half an hour, when the words to the rom com she was trying to write – maybe she should add a still in there, because a year on and she was only a third of the way through – anyway, the words had dried up and the time spent gazing out of the window had increased exponentially. There wasn’t even anything to look at. Immaculate Woman wasn’t at her desk. Hot Guy Opposite was probably out somewhere showing his diligently acquired muscles to some lucky woman. Or man.