Four Good

When I spot the men he’s talking about, all three of them looking right at us, I can’t believe I didn’t notice them immediately. With their strong, classically attractive features, they could have walked out of the pages of an outdoors magazine.

They’re watching me with curiosity, one of them letting his gaze roam my body, another one smiling openly. They all look younger than me, especially the one who’s smiling. As I stare back at them, I notice that their eyes are all very similar and they have the same nose; they must be brothers.

“Who are they?” I ask Tom, who shrugs. I’ve never seen them before. I would have remembered. They look like the Hemsworth brothers, only more rugged and even more handsome.

“What do they want?”

“When I asked them what they wanted to drink, they asked me to send you down,” he says.

“Did they ask for me by name?”

Tom shakes his head.

From the looks they’re giving me, it’s pretty clear what their intentions are.

Though these particular men are tempting, I don’t engage in flirting with customers and I don’t entertain their pickup lines. Island locals know this, but I get hit on by summer tourists fairly regularly. Sometimes it’s flattering, but mostly it’s annoying.

“Tell them I’m busy taking care of my customers.” Tom nods and returns to his end of the bar.

As I pour from a slow tap, I discreetly glance at the three strangers. One of them is in blue flannel and the other two are wearing long-sleeve button-down shirts, the kind men sometimes wear for fishing or hiking. They have friendly faces. The one on the left is leaning forward to say something to the one on the right. I wonder which one asked for me and which two are the wingmen?

I don’t have a very high libido. It’s rare that I crave sex, and it’s been six months since I was with someone, when I was dating a guy from Whitman. I’m also not a fan of casual hookups. These men are very appealing, though. The one in the middle catches me looking, so I glance down at the glass in my hand, which was about to overflow.

There’s a tap on my back. “How are things going, Christine? Need anything?” My manager, Valerie, is at my side, and I didn’t even see her approach.

“Um … I could use another bottle of Johnnie Walker Black. It’s been popular tonight,” I tell her.

“Good crowd building tonight. Need anything else?”

“I’m good for now. Thank you.” So far, Valerie’s been great. Very supportive and hands-on. I figured the Stone brothers would make good hiring decisions. It was only about four months ago that they bought the bar from its original owner, Rusty, and I’ve been pleased with all of the changes they’ve made in such a short time. We now serve better brands of spirits and local craft beers, the interior and exterior have been modernized, and we’ve been getting more business as a result.

“Great. Just send a message or flag me down if you need anything,” Valerie says.

She heads toward Tom’s end of the bar, and looking past her, I notice that the seats where the three men had been are now vacant, two of them about to be taken by other customers. I guess the men spotted someone else to hit on, and the pang of disappointment I feel takes me by surprise.

They were really attractive.

But it turns out they look even better up close.

2

Longtime acquaintances

When I turn back toward my side of the bar, the three men are sitting at the counter just a couple of feet away from me.

While they were good looking from across the room, up close they are positively magnetic. There’s something about them — their eyes, their smiles? — that makes me want to get closer to them. Conveniently, it’s my job to talk to them.

“Weren’t you three just sitting down at that end of the bar?” I ask, with a tilt of my head toward Tom’s area.

“We were,” the clean-shaven one, who’s sitting on the left, says, arching his brow. “We moved down here because you look like you can mix a better drink.”

I’m so taken by surprise that I actually laugh. Customers have made a lot of comments about my appearance over the years, but this guy’s approach is original. “That’s why you moved down here?” I challenge.

“It’s not the only reason.” This remark comes from the one on the right, who has a short, well-groomed beard and mustache. There are a few strands of gray mixed in with his brown facial hair, but he still looks younger than me. His smooth, deep voice triggers a warm feeling low in my belly.

“Are you all brothers?” I ask bluntly. The stunning blue eyes they all share probably make my question unnecessary.

The clean-shaven one nods. “I’m Brendan Hayes. These are my brothers, Corbin and Jonathan.”