CHAPTER EIGHT

M ore butterflies than ever before swarmed in Chloe’s belly when she pulled up to work on November first.

Last night on the beach with Dom had been … unexpected. But also, wonderful.

He apologized more than once for his terrible behavior, but more than that, talking with him allowed her a deeper understanding of who he was as a man.

She also told him about Elliott—and she’d never told a soul about him or what happened since she left North Dakota in her van. He was her hidden pain. Her secret grief.

Until now.

And the unanticipated relief she felt opening up to someone about her son, gave her one of the best sleeps she’d had in years.

Not even the wild twenty-somethings coming into the hostel hours past midnight hooting and hollering managed to rouse her from her catatonic state of rest. It may have also been the earplugs and melatonin. But either way, she didn’t wake up until her alarm, and felt more rested than ever.

She met Vica, Brooke, Justine, and Jordana at the yoga studio again, and after they came to meet her that first time at the bar, they refused to let her put her yoga mat anywhere but beside theirs.

It’d been ages since she’d forged any real bonds or friendships, and didn’t realize how sorely she missed that kind of companionship until it was thrust upon her.

She double-checked her minimal makeup in the rearview mirror, unnecessarily fiddled with her hair that was in a loose fishtail braid over her shoulder with pieces around her face, and touched up her lip gloss, before heaving a big sigh and stepping out of her car.

It was almost as if Mother Nature had given them one final day of temperate weather yesterday so the kids could get out trick or treating, because the moment she stepped foot into the parking lot at the pub, she was damn near frozen to the bone from the icy wind whipping off the water. Add in the rain that came at her sideways, hitting her face like little bullets, and she ducked her head and ran the rest of the way to the back door of the pub.

Winter was on its way now and there was no escaping it.

She entered through the kitchen like she always did, saying hi to all the kitchen staff. Burke was off for the day, so it was Wyatt on the hot side. He flashed her a big grin as he plunked a delicious-looking burger and the pub’s famous Beer Garlic Fries up into the food window.

She burst through the swinging door into the pub, only to hear a thunk and a, “Fuck! Ow!” on the other side.

Oh no!

She recognized that irritated voice.

“Oh my god!” Chloe scrambled behind the door to see Dom holding his palm to his forehead and giving her an evil glare out of one eye. “I am so sorry.”

“Jesus,” he groaned.

“Dom …” Resting a hand on his shoulder she tried to peer around his palm to see if there was any blood. “Let me go get you some ice.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled.

“No. Hang on.” Then she disappeared back through the door into the kitchen where she filled up a Ziploc bag with ice from the ice machine and put it into a tea towel. Then she ran back out, once again shoving her hand into the door.

Thunk!

“Fucking hell!”

NO!

“Oh my god!”

“Did you just smoke him in the head again ?” Quinton asked with a chuckle as he came to get his customers’ orders from the food window. “Brutal.”

Chloe raced behind the door again to find Dom once again holding his head. He glared at her with one eye. “Why are you shoving the door open so hard?”

She bit her lip. “I … I don’t know. I’m so sorry.” She held out the ice. “Here.”

With a slight growl that did all kinds of things to those butterflies in her belly, he accepted the ice. “Thank you.” He wandered back behind the bar.

She practically scampered after him, hating herself more than she did the first time she bashed the door into his face. “I am so sorry, Dom.”

She’d been a bundle of nerves since she got in her car to drive to work, and those nerves were just on overdrive now, which meant she wasn’t thinking clearly.

After their chat and time on the beach, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Dom. The prospect of seeing him made her brain stop working, which then caused her to throw open the door.

Dear god. How embarrassing .

“Can I take a look?” she asked, stowing her jacket and purse under the bar and tying the apron around her waist.

“It’s fine,” he grunted as an order popped up. They both reached for it, an electric zap yet again making them jerk their fingers away.

Their eyes locked.

“I’ve got it,” he said slowly, ripping it off the till.

She swallowed. “Please let me take a look. Are you bleeding?”

Rolling his eyes as he scooped ice into a lowball glass and filled it with rum and coke, he pulled the ice away.

She gasped. There was not only an enormous, blue goose egg on the right side of his forehead, but a split that was bleeding too. “You are bleeding.”

He glanced at the towel. “Huh.”

“You need to go see Justine and get her to stitch that up.”

“I’m fine,” he said again. “I’ll put a Band-Aid on it when I get home.”

“But then it might scar.”

“Scars are cool.” A few new people arrived through the front door, and he jerked his chin at them and said hello.

“Dom,” she protested, a sick feeling swirling in her stomach, “I feel so bad.”

“It’s fine. We’re getting busy so you should probably get started.”

He wasn’t wrong. The orders were rolling in. She grabbed the next several tickets and lined them up so she could start knocking them off the list, all the while keeping an eye peeled on Dom and his forehead. What if he had a concussion?

It was six o’clock before she had a chance to take a breath or look at her watch. She gasped. “You were supposed to leave ninety minutes ago.”

His gaze was hooded as he slid it her way, and plunked a filled-to-the-brim, dark pint onto the bar. “Couldn’t exactly leave when the orders were rolling in the way they were.”

“I’ve got it from here. Go be with your son.” She shoved down her grief over her own son being gone and smiled at Sunflower Patrick who was slowly making her way toward them at the bar. “Hi, Sunflower. What can I get you?”

Sunflower might have been in her eighties, but the woman had a very aware, sharp gaze about her. She placed her pale, wrinkled hands on the bar and leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you could make me one of those Caesars I’ve been hearing so much about?”

Chloe smiled. “Mixing it up today? No old-fashioneds?”

Sunflower batted her hand at an invisible fly. “Oh, I’ll always go back to the classics. But all I hear these days is how great your Caesars are. I figured why not take the plunge?”

“Walking on the wild side today, huh, Sunflower?” Dom grabbed the next ticket off the machine, then brought down a wine glass and reached for the house white.

“Well, Jolene won’t shut up about the damned things. The woman is The Island Mouth and the world’s biggest badger. She is relentless. Badgering me to try it. I just need to shut the woman up.”

Dom and Chloe exchanged sideways looks and smiled as she went to work preparing a Caesar for Sunflower. “How spicy do you like things?” Chloe asked. “And do you like horseradish?”

“I like my life, my food, my drinks, and my men muy caliente , dear. Don’t be shy with the spice.”

Dom snorted.

Sunflower’s nod was all business and her milky-blue gaze followed Chloe’s hands at each step.

“All right then. No scrimping on the spice.” Chloe finished making the drink and slid it onto the bar in front of Sunflower. “There you go. Let me know what you think. And I won’t be offended if it’s not your jam.”

Sunflower scoffed as her slightly trembling hand brought the pint glass to her thin lips. She took a big sip, and her eyes lit up. Then she took another sip. “Well, that is downright delicious. Oh! And there’s the spice.”

Dom and Chloe both chuckled.

“Now I have to listen to Jolene go, ‘I told you so’.” Sunflower rolled her eyes. “Damn woman can be insufferable sometimes.” She winked at Chloe. “Thank you, my dear.”

Still laughing, Chloe smiled. “Anytime.”

“You’re certainly winning over the whole island with your Caesars,” Dom said, still making drinks.

“Have you tried one yet?” She raised her brows at him.

He exhaled and shook his head. “No. I don’t believe I have.”

“Jolene Dandy will be the first to say you’re missing out.”

“And the first to say, ‘I told you so.’ Apparently.”

That made them both laugh, and their gazes remained locked for several heartbeats even though their smiles faded.

Then the grating sound of orders coming through on the machine popped their weird little bubble and they jumped back into bartender mode.

“I’ve got this, Dom. You should go. Really.”

“Silas is over at Wyatt’s house with his boys. They’re making pasta with Vica. I’m okay for a little bit longer.”

“You don’t want to go make pasta with them?”

He shrugged. “I’ll head up in an hour and put him to bed. Renée’s off, so it’s just you, and the place is slammed. It wouldn’t be right to just abandon you.” He’d set down the towel with ice so he could use both hands, but that only repeatedly drew her attention to his forehead and the enormous welt she was responsible for.

“I’m fine, Chloe. Stop staring at my forehead,” he grumbled. “It will heal. I will live.”

She rolled her eyes and blew out a long, slow breath. “Fine then. But if you get a concussion and can’t play in your peewee hockey tournament this weekend, don’t come crying to me.”

A snort and rumbling chuckle emanated from the man down the bar, and when she hedged a glance his way he was smiling and shaking his head.

Phew.

At least he wasn’t pissed at her anymore.

Time flew by as they endlessly poured drinks. They were in the groove until a static sound followed by a little voice going, “Come in, Admiral Awful. This is Spiderman. Over,” rattled her back to reality.

Dom reached into the pocket of his jeans and brought out a blue walkie-talkie. “Hey there, Spiderman. This is Admiral Awful. How goes the pasta making, little man? Over.”

“We’re all done and full. We saved you some though. Are you coming home? Over.”

“Are you ready for me to come home? Over.”

“Yep. Over.”

“All right. I’ll just finish up here then run home. Over.”

“That’s a Texas-sized 10-4. Over.”

Dom snickered and stowed the walkie-talkie again.

Chloe’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard at the adorable little father-son exchange.

“Things seemed to have died down here. You going to be okay?” he asked, skewering an olive then tossing it into a martini.

“You know I will be,” she said. “Go be with that adorable-sounding little boy of yours.”

His smile stole every last ounce of oxygen from her lungs and she had to grip the counter she grew so woozy.

He finished up the order he was fulfilling, then sucked in a deep breath through his nose. “All right then. I guess I will see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good night. Enjoy the pasta.”

He flashed her another smile, but that somehow just drew more attention to the bump, bruise, and cut on his forehead.

She blanched. “And I’m so sorry about your head.”

“Accidents happen,” he said. “Let’s just call it payback for what I said your first day. Hmm?” Then he shot her a wink and she damn near flooded her panties.

The evening remained steady, but not unmanageable.

Chloe liked being busy. It made the clock tick by quickly and kept her from over-analyzing things—like how she felt about Dom.

The pub closed at ten on the weekdays, and the place was basically empty by nine forty-five.

But it wasn’t until the servers went to cash out and the kitchen staff were making their way to the front to collect their after-shift drinks, that she realized she hadn’t had anything to drink all shift.

Dammit. She really needed to figure out a way to remember to drink more water.

Wyatt came out of the kitchen with his jacket on. “Not sticking around for a drink, but I just wanted to say great job tonight, Chloe. You’re a machine.”

She grinned as she sipped water from her paper straw. “Thanks. And thanks for my pesto chicken wrap for dinner. It was amazing.”

“Anytime. You have a great night.”

“You too.”

Then he was gone.

The servers filed out one-by-one and set her tips down on the bar. Then they took their drinks and sat with the kitchen crew. Chloe cranked up the music, choosing some AC/DC, that got everyone’s heads bopping.

By ten fifteen the place had cleared out and she was by herself.

But that just meant she could turn the music up even louder, lock the doors, and rock out while she finished cleaning up. The bar and bottles were in desperate need of dusting. She located the extended feather duster in the cash out room and went to work.

She was singing along to Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” when a figure to the left in her peripheral vision made her nearly jump clear out of her skin.

Dom wandered behind her to the speaker and turned the music down a little. “You’re going to go deaf,” he said.

Her heart still thundered wildly against her ribs. “And you’re going to give a woman a heart attack if you keep sneaking up on her like that.”

He smirked. “I guess that is the second time, huh? Sorry.”

“The music isn’t too loud. Is it? It’s not keeping the kids awake?”

He frowned and shook his head. “No. It’s fine.”

She swallowed and resumed dusting. “D-did you forget something?”

“Wyatt is sitting at my house. Silas is asleep.”

That didn’t answer her question.

“I, uh … I should probably learn how to make a Caesar, huh? Considering they’ve taken the island by storm?” The way his mouth lifted just on one side was impossibly cute and it was all she could do not to grab him by the man bun and take those lips for herself.

She cleared her throat and stepped to the side to put a bit more space between them. “Sure. I-if you’d like.”

He nodded. “It was too busy earlier. And I did say I should probably try it. See what all the fuss is about.”

“Right. Um … well, Wyatt ordered Clamato juice so we’re not having to use clam juice and tomato juice anymore. It’s in the fridge below.”

Nodding, he crouched down, which of course put his head right at the same level as her butt, and he brought out the Clamato. “Now what?”

“Worcestershire, tabasco, lime juice, celery salt, vodka, horseradish.”

He gave one curt nod and gathered all the ingredients.

Unlike earlier that day where they worked together behind the bar like a team, but on opposite sides of the bar, she was keenly aware of his presence now and just how close he was to her. His heat. His scent. His breath. It encircled her, wrapped around her like a weighted blanket, lulling her into a loopy, lightheaded state.

She swallowed, closed her eyes, and took a few deep breaths.

He was her boss.

Up until last night, she was certain that he hated her.

He was a grumpy, grieving widower.

She was a broken, grieving mess.

Nothing about them made sense.

Except … when she licked her lips, she desperately wished that it wasn’t her freshly applied lip gloss that she tasted, but rather Dom’s lips.

“You okay?” he asked, breaking her from her trance and forcing her to open her eyes.

She cleared her throat again. “Yeah. Sorry. Just … not sure that happened there. Anyway. Make it like you would a Bloody Mary. I’ll salt the rim.”

His shoulder bumped hers as he measured out all the ingredients into the shaker, and heat instantly filled her body. Her pussy spasmed, her breathing and pulse picked up again.

“H-how was the pasta?” she asked, needing to keep the conversation light and platonic.

“Really good. They made sun-dried tomato linguini.” He put the lid on the shaker and lifted it up, bumping her again. “Sorry.”

She stepped half a step to the side, her body now completely on fire as his biceps bunched and tightened while he shook the drink over ice in the air.

Her mouth went dry and her jaw dropped open at just how big those biceps were. Holy shit. They were like softballs under his skin.

He removed the lid, then strained the beverage into the glass over ice.

“Don’t forget the beans,” she said, reaching behind them for the jar.

“Can’t forget the beans.” He used the tongs to dig out four, then stuffed them into the glass before lifting it up. “To clam juice?”

That made her smile and some of the heated, horny tension inside of her settled. It didn’t fade, it was all still there. It just … relaxed a bit. Allowed her to breathe deeper and not wish like hell he’d take off his shirt.

Okay, that was a lie. She still really wished he’d rip off his shirt.

She watched without blinking as he brought the glass up to his full lips and took a sip.

Then he was quiet.

“You’re deliberately torturing me,” she said, transfixed on his tongue as it slid across the seam of his lips to gather the leftover droplets and some of the celery salt.

That made him smile. “It’s good. It’s really good.”

Now she was smiling like an idiot. “See? I know what I’m talking about. And so do the Canadians.”

“Apparently.” He took another sip.

“How’s your head?”

“I took a Tylenol and iced it for a few hours at home. Justine also put some surgical glue on it. I thought I’d get some of those cool, white butterfly bandages to look all badass, but she said I didn’t need any. It was either the glue or a Spiderman Band-Aid, and those are for Silas.”

“I’m really sorry,” she said again.

“I know you are.”

Silence fell between them.

Her gaze landed on his mouth once again.

He had really nice lips. They were full and even though they tended to tip downward, even while in rest, that frown didn’t detract at all from how beautiful he was. Because the man really was beautiful.

She swallowed hard, still staring at his mouth.

His gaze drifted sideways to the rows of clean glasses behind them. “Grab a wineglass, would you?”

Narrowing her brows, but following orders, she grabbed a stemmed glass.

“Set it in the sink there,” he said, reaching for the bottle of house red.

She did as she was told and watched as he unscrewed the wine and poured a very healthy amount into the glass.

“Now turn on the tap and let it flow into the glass.”

She looked at him like he was crazy.

His smirk wasn’t amused, but almost pained. “Trust me.”

With a slight nod and a lot of confusion, she did as he instructed and turned on the tap so the water flowed into the glass, filling it to the brim and eventually flowing over.

“This is what healing actually looks like.”

Her mouth dropped open, and she looked up at him in utter shock.

He met her gaze and merely pressed his lips together into a thin line. Then they both focused back on the wineglass and the way the color of the liquid inside slowly grew paler the more the water replaced the wine.

Her heart was heavy in her chest and the back of her throat burned near raw as she tried to fight off the tears. Eventually, she couldn’t fight them off anymore, a few slipped down her cheek.

After what was probably at least two minutes, the wine was gone and all that was left was water. The glass was full, but clear.

“See how it took time?” he asked, his voice a deep rasp. “We all have different sized wineglasses with different amounts of wine in them. And our faucets all flow at different speeds.”

Another tear slid down her cheek and she glanced up at him. “Thank you for this.”

His nod was curt and even though the moment was sad, the way he was looking at her stirred things in her belly that were absolutely undeniable.

“Chloe.” His voice still a husky grit that made her nipples pebble in her bra.

“Yeah?”

“You’re standing on my foot.”

She glanced down and sure enough, they were close enough—how that happened she had no idea—and she was indeed standing on his foot.

As if his Blundstones had caught fire, she leaped back. “I’m sorry. Oh my god. I’m just constantly hurting you today. What is wrong with me?” Shaking her head, she grumbled mostly under her breath. Was this what good sleep did to a person? Made them totally unaware of their surroundings or the people around them?

It’s not good sleep. It’s impure thoughts about your boss and lack of orgasms as of late.

Impure thoughts? What was she now? A nun?

She was horny. Damn horny.

And nearly every thought she had about Dom lately was impure. In fact, it was downright filthy. And she’d yet to do anything about it, because that would just make working with him so much worse.

She absolutely could not come into work having just made herself come, back at the hostel, thinking about his blue-hazel eyes tipped up to hers as his head bobbed between her legs.

Her face was one big flame now and she was sure he could see the red in her cheeks.

“Chloe.” He stepped forward. “It’s okay.” He grabbed her hands to keep them from shaking.

“No, it’s not. You’re my boss.”

“Yes … and accidents happen. I’m not going to fire you for standing on my foot, or hitting me in the head with the door. I know I’m an ass, but I’m not that big of an ass. Besides, my brothers would outvote me. I couldn’t fire you even if I wanted to.” He smirked. “But I don’t want to. You’ve proven me wrong. You’re great at this job.”

Her whimper was louder than she thought, and he tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy.

“Is there something else?”

She broke free of his grasp and stepped back, but he stalked forward. She held out her hands. “I … maybe I need to quit?”

He reared back. “What? Why?”

“Because you’re my boss .”

Confusion swam laps in his gaze. “I’m still not following.”

Was he being deliberately obtuse? Or did he really not understand what she meant? Or was this entirely one sided and she was gearing up to make a massive fool of herself?

But then it clicked, and understanding flashed in his eyes. He stopped in his tracks.

She swallowed and whimpered again. “You’re my boss.”

“I’m your boss,” he said softly.

Their eyes met.

Her chest heaved.

So did his.

Her fingers itched to grab his shirt, to rake through his hair and scrape his scalp.

His throat bobbed on a hard swallow, and like a gun went off at a race, they both stepped forward in a panicked rush and their lips and bodies crashed together.