1. Chapter One

My smile was crooked. Undeniably lopsided. I pressed up on the downward side, forming an abomination of a grin more like baring teeth than an expression of happiness.

Dropping my hand, I blew out a breath. The back of my head connected with my headrest. Sitting in my car in a bar parking lot, dreading the thought of going inside when it used to be fun, I came to the conclusion I'd been spending too much time frowning. Not that I was a ray of sunshine on a normal basis, but my current situation had crossed a line even I wasn't comfortable with.

I sat up straight, thinking happy things.

Camping in the rain.

Beating my genius younger brother at Final Jeopardy.

Finally breaking in my new Docs and healing my mangled feet.

Creating the perfect icing rose.

Piping its twin right beside it.

German words like Backpfeifengesicht and Kummerspeck. Grief bacon was my way of life.

I checked my reflection again in the rearview mirror. The lazy side of my mouth had decided to come out to play. My smile was small but even. Hopefully in the face of making tips, I could dredge up a little more enthusiasm from deep in my stores. After all, it had been a month since I'd been to my second job at High Bar. Fortunately, I had history with the owner, Nick, so he was letting me come back after my sabbatical.

That was what I was calling the last month of doing nothing but what was absolutely necessary. It sounded a lot better than "breaking up with the man I thought I'd marry and taking to my bed to reevaluate every decision that had led me here."

Nodding to myself, I zipped my hoodie up to my chin and hopped out of my van, circling to the trunk. My method of packing everything I'd need tonight was an art form. As few bags as possible were involved since making more than one trip was out of the question.

Bags, tray, and box in hand, I breezed up to the entrance.

Duke, the bouncer, unfolded himself from his long-suffering wooden stool the second he laid eyes on me. Duke had once played professional football. I wasn't certain what position since I'd never understood the point of sports, but I had to assume he'd been the guy who tackled everyone. Duke was a big, big boy, the shape of a brick wall gone a little soft in the middle.

"Be still my fucking heart, Daisy's back," he boomed from his barrel chest.

"I'm back."

A grin swept across my face, and I instantly kicked myself. How had Duke not been on my list of happy things? Nice guy Duke who could crush skulls just by looking at them but would never hurt a fly. The protector of High Bar and unofficial mascot. Since I'd started my little business here last year, he'd become the highlight of my night.

He clapped me gently on the shoulder. "Things are looking up?"

"Sure." That dimmed my sunshine a smidge. Duke knew. Everyone probably knew. "How are tricks here? Do the rabble rousers keep you busy?"

He pressed his massive fist into his palm, eyeballing the group waiting their turn for entry. "They know better than to mess with me." Then he winked, just for me. "Get inside, girl."

"I will. Have a good night, Duke."

"Save a cupcake for me," he called.

I grinned as I pushed through the bar entrance. "You don't even have to ask."

This was what I'd missed while rotting on my mattress: the beginning of the night, when anything could still happen. Big tips or obnoxious drunks—who knew? Experience said it was most likely a whole heap of the second, but obnoxious drunks were more entertaining than my four walls.

I passed Bea on my way to the back. She stopped in her tracks, a tray of drinks held above her shoulder, one sardonic brow raised. As always, her pale blue victory rolls were on point, her nails were a perfect glossy red, and her attitude filled the room.

"Hey, Daze. I heard you died."

I gave her a nod since my hands were too full to wave. "The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

"You're funny," she deadpanned. "Now, if you're over yourself, can you please get your cute ass in your costume and work the floor with me? People have been nagging me for your treats. I can't take it a second longer."

I glanced around the modern speakeasy. More tables were full than empty, and the bar was buzzing with customers. Two other waitresses weaved around the floor, but no one worked as hard as Bea.

"Stop talking to me and I'll get to it."

She managed to flip me off while holding her tray, and I let out a noise strongly resembling a laugh. It had been so long since I'd heard myself make that sound, I startled. Bea shot me a dirty look that wasn't quite joking, spurring me to get going.

I beelined it to the back and set my things on the table Nick had declared mine. It pleased me he hadn't found another use for my table in the month I'd been absent. Then again, my ingenious business idea brought him an extra stream of revenue without any effort, so it benefited him to keep my space available.

I rushed through setting up so Bea didn't kill me. Placing cupcakes and charcuterie cups on my tray, I made them look as orderly and appetizing as I could in as little time possible. Once done, I sprinted into the bathroom to whip off my hoodie and sweats and swipe a layer of crimson on my lips.

Despite my month of bed rotting and grief bacon, I didn't look half bad. Red lips and fishnets worked wonders. My little flippy skirt and platform heels didn't hurt either. Twisting back and forth, I studied myself in the mirror, recognition lighting in my belly.

This is me.

Duke might've been able to crush skulls, but I looked like I could stomp the hearts of unsuspecting men.

I couldn't—I wouldn't—but projecting that kind of attitude made me feel good.

Plopping the little pillbox hat on top of my head, I now looked like I belonged in Nick's speakeasy.

I scurried out of the back, stashed a box of cupcakes under the bar—easy access to refills was a necessity since my cupcakes sold the fastest—then slipped the strap that held my tray over my head and went to work.

I hoped the crowd was hungry tonight.