CHAPTER TWO

S he was getting too old for this.

In her early twenties, Chloe Voss would have loved the loud, chaos of a hostel. Backpackers from every corner of the earth meeting and partying, sharing stories and traveling tips, laughs, and more.

But she was in her mid-thirties now, and wanted to be in bed at a reasonable hour with no loud noise, raucous laughter, or the sound of some guy who couldn’t handle his liquor vomiting in the communal bathroom across the hall.

At least she’d splurged on a private room and didn’t trap herself in the multi-bed dorm like she’d initially thought she would.

One look at the rows of bunk beds, and one deep inhale, and she was back out to reception asking if there were any private rooms with private bathrooms available.

If there hadn’t been, she would have slept in her car.

As she started at herself in the bathroom mirror of the hostel and brushed her teeth, a sharp pang of sadness filled her chest. She missed her van.

Up until two weeks ago, she’d been traveling across the country in her olive-green painted camper van. It had everything a nomad like her could possibly need. A comfy bed, a small television, a camp stove, a fridge, and a decal of a warrior princess over the two back tires.

But Olive, as she’d named her van, came to an untimely end after some asshole forgot to put his parking brake on and his truck rolled down the hill and crashed into Chloe’s van. Olive was the smashed peanut butter between two Dodge loaves of bread. One on the back, and the idiot who caused the whole debacle on the front.

The poor thing didn’t stand a chance. She was a write-off. Too much damage was done to fix a beautiful old girl like her. So, Chloe took the settlement money and bought herself a Volvo. An indestructible tank. But a boring tank.

She took Olive’s passing as a sign that she needed to set down some roots. Get a job that lasted more than two weeks and think about getting on with her life.

It was time.

Which was why she had an interview today at Sound Bites. The place looked right up Chloe’s alley. On the ocean, for one. But also, a local watering hole and tourist hotspot. She could get to know the locals, while charming the money right out of the pockets of tourists. Wow them with her cocktails and chipper chatter until they tipped her like she was a stripper giving them a private lap dance, and not just a bartender slinging whiskey sours and Moscow mules.

In addition to the restaurant, the place also had a brewery. San Camanez Brewing was popular, though Chloe had never been much of a beer drinker. And it looked as though they had cabins that they rented out on the property as well.

She already knew that this was the place for her. She just needed to slap on her best sparkly smile and let her experience as a bartender, and winning personality, do the rest.

She spat and rinsed, then did a big cheesy grin into the mirror to double-check everything.

“It takes more muscles to frown than smile,” her mother used to say. “Just grin through the pain, and soon enough, your smiles will become real.”

Pulling in a deep sigh, Chloe let her smile drop. She glanced at the screen of her phone and the wallpaper, and her chest tightened a little. The clock said her interview was in twenty minutes. She needed to get a move on. She’d checked into her hostel room half an hour ago, because even if she didn’t get the job, she wanted to check out the island anyway. Her deep dive into San Camanez while in the ferry line earlier that day hit her on a visceral level. She was going to explore, relax, and hopefully, find a job.

Tying her dark-red hair in a professional, chic bun on the back of her head, she pulled a couple of whisps down around her face to frame it. Then she hit her cheeks with a little blush, her pale eyelashes with some mascara, and finally, her lips with a peachy-pink gloss. Then she was out the door.

Google Maps said her restaurant was ten minutes from her hostel by car.

The last thing she wanted was to be late for an interview.

Her outfit was professional, yet casual.

The restaurant wasn’t fine dining, so she wasn’t going to show up in a pantsuit—not that she owned one—but she also didn’t think rocking up in jeans and a Metallica T-shirt was going to win her any bonus points with the bosses.

She went with a pair of dark-green, figure-hugging pants that secretly had a lot of stretch to them—as well as pockets, because women needed pockets—and a long-sleeve, black sweater in an ultra-soft fabric. She wore her black combat boots that she basically lived in, and had her brown leather jacket if it got chilly. But the weather was beautiful for early October. A bit of a nip to the air, but the sun was out and the melange of colors in the trees was breathtaking.

Google Maps was right, and it took her exactly ten minutes to drive from the hostel to Sound Bites Pub. There weren’t too many cars in the big gravel parking lot. It was four o’clock, so things were probably slow until the dinner hour rush in an hour.

She double-checked her lip gloss and hair in the rearview mirror, took in a deep breath and exhaled, before reaching for her purse off the passenger seat and climbing out.

She could do this.

She was a great with people.

People usually loved her.

She’d never been fired from anywhere, and bosses had begged her not to quit more than once.

This was her job and all she needed to do was convince the people hiring her of that.

Easy peasy.

Wrapping her hand around the door handle to the restaurant, she gave it a hard tug, tossed on a big sparkly smile, and marched straight up to the very handsome man behind the bar with the man bun. “Hello.”

He tipped his gaze to her and smiled. Hot damn, he was handsome. “Hi. What can I getcha?”

“I’m Chloe Voss. I’m here for an interview for the bartending position.”

Instantly, his demeanor shifted. It was like someone had just told him his dog died and Chloe was the one who ran it over. “Just a sec,” he grumbled before heading back to the kitchen through a swinging door.

Chloe swallowed and glanced around the restaurant dining room. It was modern, but also homey. High vaulted ceilings made the place feel bigger than it really was, but the exposed beams of dark wood added to the rustic, almost masculine feeling she was sure they were going for. The floor was hardwood and in good condition, if not a little scratched up. They had several booths, but also lots of tables of varying sizes. Everything was wood. There was even a beautiful patio with a gorgeous water view. The tables had umbrellas and there were a few large, free-standing heaters scattered around so people could still dine outside even in the cooler weather.

The door swung back open and Man Bun, plus another guy, stepped out. The second guy wore a black chef’s coat and had on a black apron. His smile was big and genuine. “Hi. Chloe?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

The front door behind her opened and another man that was taller than the other two and with a big, well-taken care of beard, stepped in. He wore glasses and had broad shoulders and thick thighs. He flashed her a carefree smile and stuck out his hand. “Hi. I’m Jagger.”

“And I’m Wyatt,” said the chef. “This here is Dom. We’re three of the five owners of the restaurant and we’ll be conducting your interview.”

Jesus. If being interviewed wasn’t nerve-wracking enough, now she had to sit across from three of the most handsome men she’d ever laid eyes on?

“Renée?” Wyatt called over to one of the servers who was busy rolling cutlery and napkins at the far end of the bar. “Do you mind manning the bar for Dom while we conduct an interview?”

The young woman smiled. “Totally.” She hopped down off her stool and stepped behind the bar just as a customer approached and asked for another pint.

“I can get that,” Dom said.

“No,” Wyatt said, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Let Renée do it.”

Dom growled.

“We’ll go over to this booth in the corner so we’re not distracted or overheard,” Wyatt said, holding out his arm to direct them where to go.

She took a seat, and the three men slid in on the other side facing her.

Jagger had her résumé printed out and in his hand. He glanced down at it on the table. “Very impressive résumé. A lot of bartending and serving experience.”

She smiled and nodded. “I started serving in high school. Then did that and bartending all through college.”

“And it says here you attended college at the University of North Dakota?” Wyatt asked, glancing at her résumé. “And received a degree in teaching?”

Chloe nodded some more. “Yes. I have both a bachelor’s and a master’s degree in education.”

“So why the hell do you want to be a bartender?” Dom said, his tone dripping with irritation. “Why not go and teach? Do what you are educated to do. We have a teacher shortage in this country.”

Wyatt and Jagger both shot Dom pissed off looks.

Chloe’s cheeks got hot. “I, uh … I did teach for a while. For a long time, actually. But I had some big events happen in my life, and I wasn’t able to be there fully for my students. So it was in everyone’s best interest for me to step away from teaching.”

“I’m sorry,” Wyatt said. “For whatever you went through. And that was … very brave of you to realize you couldn’t be there for your students the way you wanted to and to step away. It couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Chloe croaked out.

“There is a fairly significant time gap on your résumé though,” Jagger pointed out. “Basically, from when you stopped teaching until now. Any particular reason?”

She should have expected questions like this, but could she really have prepared herself? Maybe emotionally. But even then, it still would have hit her heart like a freight train the way it was now.

“I have been a bit of a nomad,” she finally said. “Traveling the country, working odd jobs here and there. I was in my camper van for a while, just camping and picking fruit on farms, or casual under-the-table labor jobs. But my van was sandwiched between two trucks a few weeks ago when one of those trucks didn’t put their e-brake on while parked on a steep hill in San Francisco, and now my van is no more.”

“Shit,” Jagger murmured. “That sucks.”

Chloe nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, none of those places were really worth mentioning. I bartended some weddings and other events, in addition to picking fruit in Yakima and Ojai. I picked grapes in Napa for a few weeks and did some casual cleaning shifts at an old folk’s home in Bolder.” She leaned forward and pointed to the long list of names and numbers on the bottom of the résumé. “Those are all the people I’ve worked short-term for. They’ll all say the same thing. That I’m a great employee.” Her gaze drifted to Dom who looked thoroughly unimpressed. “I don’t have a criminal record or any outstanding warrants.”

“And you’re not going to bail on us in two weeks … why?” Dom asked. “You’ve said so yourself, that’s your MO. That’s what you do. Why should we hire you and train you, just to lose you in two weeks?”

She’d been anticipating this question. “I’m tired of being on the move. I want to set down some roots. Even if they’re shallow ones to start.”

Jagger and Wyat softly nodded like they understood. Dom remained stoic.

“I don’t have my van anymore. So I’m choosing to take the loss of her as a sign that I need to change. That I need to hold down a job again, make some friends that last more than two weeks, and get a job that I like, I’m good at, and will encourage me to stick around.”

“And you think that’s here?” Jagger asked.

She shrugged. “I like small towns. I like the people. I like the community. I grew up in a small town. Everybody has each other’s backs. And I love the ocean.” She glanced out toward the water. “I never thought I would get the opportunity to work in such a naturally beautiful place. You know? You dream about it, but it doesn’t seem real. Or attainable. It seems too far-fetched, too wild of a notion to genuinely take shape. And yet, here I am. Interviewing to bartend with that as my daily view.” She offered the guys a smile. “You’d be making ten-year-old Chloe very happy.”

“Where would you live?” Wyatt asked. “It’s very difficult to find rentals, and even tougher to buy on the island. It’s the off-season right now so it might be a bit easier, but it’s not cheap.”

“I have a room at the hostel right now. Even if I don’t get the job, I’m going to hang around for a few days and explore. But I checked with the owner, and he said that the room is basically open and mine for as long as I want it.”

All three men’s eyes went wide.

“I hope you’re at least in a private room,” Jagger said. “The hostel can get wild.”

“Yes. I checked in a little over an hour ago and there were some very drunk young men playing flip cup in the common room. I can just imagine it’s even louder and chaotic in the evenings and weekends.”

All they did was nod.

“Well, we’ll need to call your references. But that shouldn’t take too long.” Wyatt glanced at Dom. “I’m assuming you’re going to want to test her yourself?”

Dom grunted. “Yep.”

Chloe swallowed again and stood up from the booth at the same time the other three did. She followed Dom around behind the bar, set her purse on a shelf underneath, and immediately washed her hands in the sink. He watched her, and if she hadn’t glanced at him, she would have missed it, but the smallest of ticks lifted the corner of his mouth up half an inch.

“First, pour me a beer from the tap,” he said, nodding to taps.

No problem. She grabbed a pint glass from the row behind them, put it down to wash it in the glass cleaner, then flipped it up, tilted it to the perfect angle beneath the spout, and slowly pulled the lever so the beer flowed down against the inside of the glass. When it was almost at the top, she stood the glass straight up so it wound up with the perfect, half-inch, foam head to the rim. Then she grabbed a coaster and set the beer down on the bar in front of Dom who sat between his brothers.

Wyatt elbowed him. “Already better than the one yesterday.”

Dom merely grunted. “Manhattan.”

With one firm head bob, she brought a martini glass down from the rack overhead, and went to work adding the vermouth, whiskey, and bitters to the shaker over ice. Then she put the lid on and gave it a really thorough shake, her gaze landing on Dom’s.

Did the man even blink?

But rather than strain it into the martini glass just yet, she used some tongs to grab a cherry from the tray of garnishes, then she plopped it into a shot glass and poured the smallest amount of brandy over it.

While the cherry soaked, she strained the cocktail into the glass. Then, using the tongs again, she grabbed a lemon wedge, a wooden cocktail skewer, and carefully but easily, impaled the lemon quarter on the skewer. Then she plunged the skewer into the cherry in the shot glass before resting it over top the rim of the martini glass. She set that down in front of Dom as well.

Wyatt and Jagger both had triumphant smirks on their faces.

Dom’s mouth remained a flat line as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip.

“Well, how is it?” Wyatt asked, throwing in an impatient eye roll which Chloe appreciated.

“It’s a Manhattan,” he said. “Hard to screw it up.”

Jagger scoffed.

“Bloody Mary,” Dom said.

“Ooh,” Jagger said. “I’ll have that when it’s done.”

Chloe did a little happy dance on the inside, then she focused on Wyatt. “Do you happen to have any clam juice in the kitchen.”

“What the fuck?” Dom said.

Wyatt was already out of his seat. “Of course I do.”

Chloe ignored Dom and went to work on the complex drink. She got out the limes, the tomato juice, the celery salt, the Worcestershire sauce, the tabasco, the vodka, and the lime juice. Wyatt came back through the kitchen door and plunked a mason jar on the counter for her.

“Thanks. But can I trouble you for some horseradish too, please?”

“You got it.” Then he disappeared again.

She mixed everything in the shaker with ice, then she did celery salt around the rim before scooping ice into the glass as well. Wyatt returned with a jar of horseradish. “Anything else?”

Nibbling on her lips, Chloe took a quick inventory of the garnishes, didn’t see what she wanted and nodded. “Either pickled beans or pickled asparagus?”

He was all grins. “I’ll see what I can find.”

Jagger chuckled. “Don’t hold back on the spice for me. I like it hot.”

Smiling, she tipped her gaze to his. “Noted.”

Just as she was putting the lid on the shaker Wyatt returned and plopped a jar of pickled beans on the counter. “They’re on the spicier side.”

“Not a problem.” She shook the shaker well, then strained the cocktail out over the ice in the glass, careful not to muck up the perfectly salted rim. The final touch was a wedge of lime on the side—after she washed her hands again—and four pickled beans shoved down into the drink. She offered it up to Dom first.

He lifted one brow, his blue-hazel gaze—the same shade as Wyatt’s—leveled on her, not the drink. “So you’re one of those people then?”

“Someone who likes the Canadian Caesar more than a Bloody Mary? Yes. Yes, I am.”

He made a noise in his throat. “I mean, one of those people who needs to fix something that’s not broken. Celery as a garnish is perfectly fine.”

“I like beans or asparagus. Celery, if it’s old, is bitter. If you serve something that is pickled, it’s preserved and will taste great no matter what.”

“Clam juice?”

“Canadians use Clamato juice—tomato and clam juice—in their Caesars, as opposed to straight up tomato juice. It’s better. Plain and simple.”

“You have an answer for everything, hmm?”

“You have a lot of questions for someone who hasn’t even tried it yet.”

They were in a staring contest now. She could just barely see the amusement on Wyatt and Jagger’s face in her peripheral vision. But Dom’s growing irritation with her was plain as the nose on his very handsome face.

Slowly, he lifted the drink to his mouth and took a sip.

He didn’t have to say a word for her to know he liked it. The way his pupils dilated and his eyes widened, was enough of a tell.

“Well, don’t hog it all,” Jagger said, grabbing it from Dom’s hand and taking a sip. “Damn, that’s good.” He took another sip. “It is way better than a Bloody Mary. And that’s from clam juice?”

“You can get Clamato here in the states,” Wyatt added.

Chloe nodded. “Yes. The micheladas—or cheladas—are Clamato, hot sauce, lime, and beer. You can get them here and in Mexico. Though, I personally prefer Caesars. However, since you also run a brewery, picking a good beer to make the cheladas with might be a fun idea. You could even run a poll with customers.”

Wyatt reached across Dom for the Caesar from Jagger and took a sip. “Mmm. We definitely need to switch up and start serving these instead of Bloody Mary’s.”

Dom’s nostrils flared. “I asked for a Bloody Mary. That’s not what this is.”

Wyatt and Jagger exchanged looks, then Wyatt smiled at her after taking another sip. “Ignore this grumpy fuck. Jagger’s going to call your references, but as far as we’re concerned, you’re hired. Just need to verify a few things.”

Dom looked about ready to explode. The men on either side of him almost seemed to be enjoying his growing ire.

“I … I don’t want to create problems. Your … your coworker here, doesn’t seem as eager to employ me as you do.”

Wyatt patted Dom on the back. “We’re brothers. There are five of us that own the property and businesses. And Dom is just a control freak. He has a hard time handing over the bar to anybody.”

“Even me,” Jagger added. “And I own just as much of the place as he does.”

“Can’t pour beer for shit though,” Dom muttered.

“I have Clint’s proxy and Jagger has Bennett’s,” Wyatt added. “They’re our other two brothers, but they’re with all our kids right now. So it’s really a four to one vote.” He glanced sideways at Dom. “Are you voting ‘no’ on hiring Ms. Voss? The most qualified applicant we’ve had so far.”

Dom’s gaze shifted between his brothers.

How did she miss the resemblance between the three of them until now? Sure, Wyatt and Dom had the same eyes. But all three of them had similar noses, cheekbones, smiles—not that she’s seen Dom smile since that fist time before he knew she was there for the interview—of course they were related. Were the other two brothers just as handsome? That was a family with some good genes.

Finally, Dom exhaled. “We do a three-day trial period. Then a three-month probationary period. But your references have to be glowing.”

Chloe beamed at all of them. “They will be. I assure you.” She had to keep herself from bouncing on her toes she was so excited.

Jagger grabbed the Caesar from Wyatt again and drained it. “Do you think before you go, you could make me another one of these though, please? And maybe write down your recipe?”

Did Dom just growl?

But Chloe was too excited to care. She nodded. “Absolutely. Coming right up.” The lightbulb in her brain flicked on. “Oh! I almost forgot. My calendar is completely open except for Halloween night.” She glanced between the three of them. “I really need that night off.”

“Oh! Do you have kids? In the … hostel?” Wyatt asked. She could see that he was immediately reconsidering her job offer if she’d gone and left a child alone in the hostel.

Swallowing past the pain that instantly hit her whenever anybody asked if she had children, she shook her head. “Uh … no. I just really need that evening off.”

Dom shook his head. “No. I need that night off to take Silas to the Halloween party at the school and trick or treating. If you can’t work it then this isn’t going to work.”

Wyatt and Jagger glared at their brother.

“What?” he asked. “She doesn’t have kids. Why the hell does she need Halloween off? The whole reason we’re hiring another bartender is so that I can spend more time with Silas. So I can be there for the important shit.”

Jagger rolled his blue eyes and shook his head, then focused on Chloe and smiled. “Ignore him. We will make it work. But you absolutely get Halloween night off if that is what you need.”

The inflated mood from her securing the job was rapidly losing air the longer Dom glared at her. But she did her best to ignore it and went to work preparing Jagger’s Caesar.

She should have known that the universe wasn’t going to throw her a bone without some hidden caveats. Like sure, she was going to get the job, right on the ocean like she always dreamed. But she was also going to have a boss that hated her.

Her mom’s voice rung in her ear again. “ It takes more muscles to frown than smile. Just grin through the pain, and soon enough, your smiles will become real.”

So that’s what she would do. She would smile until the pain was numb—or maybe one day gone—and maybe in time, her handsome boss with the man bun and scowl wouldn’t hate her.

Or maybe he always would.

Oh well.

He could never hate her as much as Chloe hated herself, because she was childless, and alone and it was all her fault.