“I have some things you can borrow,” Maggie offers. “Keegan, I’d like to take her home so she can shower and get into something much more comfortable.”
“I can handle things here for a while.”
“Does that mean I can start tonight?” Izzy asks.
“I do believe you just got yourself a job,” I reply.
Izzy claps her hands and hops off her stool. “Thank you. So much. You won’t regret it.”
* * *
Six hours later, I already regret it.
Not having Izzy around. With all the makeup cleaned off her face, and after a shower and some clean clothes, she’s absolutely gorgeous. And she’s kind, funny, and good with the customers.
But she’s a horrible waitress.
Izzy hurries to the bar with her tray, stops and blinks, and then turns back and yells at the table across the room. “What kind of beer did you say you wanted, Frank?”
I sigh. “Know the customers’ names, do you?”
“They’re super nice,” she says.
They think she’s hot. That’s why they’re so fucking nice.
“But you can’t remember their orders?”
She bites her lip. “I know, I’m sorry.”
I slide a pad of paper and a pen across the bar to her. “Write the orders down. You don’t have to remember them.”
“Maggie doesn’t write anything down.”
“Maggie’s been working in this pub since she was in nappies, Izzy. Trust me, just write it all down.”
She takes the pad and smiles shyly. I’ve noticed that she keeps looking at our small stage, watching the duo who plays Irish music for us on the weekends.
“They’re good.”
“They are, yes.”
Without another word, she goes back to Frank’s table and writes down their order. The rest of the evening is busy. I can see that Izzy’s feet hurt, but she doesn’t complain. She doesn’t mess up another order, only breaks one glass, and is true to her word.
She learns quickly.
At the end of the night, once the door is locked and the bar cleaned up, I catch Izzy yawning with a mop in her hand.
“I think that’s enough excitement for you today.”
“I can finish,” she insists.
“We’re done,” Maggie announces.
“Oh, thank God,” Izzy says with a small laugh. “I’m so dang tired. I was supposed to be in Aruba right now. Instead, I’m here. I’m not complaining. I just—”
“I totally get it,” Maggie assures her.
“You did well,” I say as I turn off the lights and get ready to follow the girls out to their cars. We’ve never had a problem here, but it’s the middle of the night, and I’d rather make sure they’re safe.
“Thank you so much. I had fun. When is my next shift?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” I reply. “Be here around noon. You can work until dinnertime.”
“Awesome.”
“Goodnight,” Maggie says with a wave and gets into her car.
I watch as Izzy climbs into her little Lexus convertible. But instead of starting it up and driving away, she reclines the driver’s seat and locks the doors.
I drag my hand down my face.
You have got to be kidding me.
I prop my hands on my hips and look around. It’s none of my business if Izzy wants to sleep in her car.
She’s a grown woman.
This is a safe town.
I turn around to walk back inside, then mumble fuck under my breath and approach Izzy’s car.
I tap on the window, startling her.
She turns the key and lowers the glass.
“Am I not allowed to park here?”
“Parking here isn’t the issue. You don’t have anywhere to go?”
She shakes her head. “But I’m fine here. It’s warm. Maggie loaned me a blanket, so it’ll be fine.”
I try to open the door, but it’s locked. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“Inside. You can sleep in my flat until you get your feet under you.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to impose. You’ve already done so much for me—”
“Izzy. I’m not going to let you sleep out here in your car when I have space for you upstairs. Now, get your things and come with me.”
She blows out a breath, then does as I ask. She locks her car behind her as she follows me into the bar and up the steps to the flat above.
“Wait, you’re not a serial killer, right?”
“Now’s not the smartest time to remember to ask me that.”
“But, for real, though.”
“No, I’m not going to hurt you. Come on.”
I open the door, relieved that I took an extra twenty minutes this morning to straighten things up.
“It’s not big, but it’s home.”
There’s a tiny kitchenette off the living room. I show her the master—and only—bedroom, then lead her to the bathroom.
“I have all the essentials in here. I’ll set out a new toothbrush and razor for you.”
“Wow, thank you so much, Keegan.”
And just like it was all night, it’s like a punch to the fucking gut when she says my name.
“You’re welcome. I’ll change the sheets on the bed for you.”
“I’m definitely not taking your bed. I can sleep just fine on the couch.”