She felt sorry for Ned, but she was also angry at him.
Alcoholism was a disease, but her dad had taken Ned at his word that he’d work to straighten himself out, and he hadn’t put in a single bit of effort. Her father and the present cook were old Navy buddies, and when Ned had called, her dad had helped . . . as usual. Dale Moore had assisted his friend by finding him a reasonably inexpensive place to live and giving him a job without too many questions. In return, Ned had taken advantage of her dad’s friendship and kindness, never even attempting to get help or to attend one single AA meeting.
Without another word, she carried the plates to the customers. When she got back, she told Ned quietly, “Just keep your voice down, okay? It’s annoying for the diners.” And me!
She heard him curse none-too-quietly before she turned her back to him and started to carefully mix up some cocktails. She could muddle through bartending, but she was slow with cocktails she wasn’t familiar with making. Most of the locals came here for the beer or simple alcoholic drinks. In the summer, a very large percentage of tourists came in to try the microbrews.
“Mai tai,” she muttered to herself, her brows crinkling as she reached for the cheat sheet she used for fancier drinks.
“I got it, missy,” a friendly male voice told her confidently as he set out a glass on the counter.
She looked up and saw the kindest face she’d seen in quite some time, a man about her dad’s age who winked at her and gently pushed her aside.
Strangely, he looked like he belonged behind the bar more than she did, and that fact kept her silent for a minute, trying to figure out why he was here.
He talked while he worked. “A great mai tai is deceptively hard to make. Anybody can throw the ingredients together, but they don’t always do it right.” The unknown man started tossing glasses and bottles of alcohol in a fancy juggling act as he alternated pouring ingredients into a shaker. “They shouldn’t be yellow or red. A good mai tai is smooth and tan.”
Kristin knew she should step in and ask what in the world the stranger was doing behind her father’s bar, but she was caught up in his showy style of bartending. It was clear the guy knew how to make a drink. In fact, he knew his way around a bar better than anyone she’d ever seen before.
She finally opened her mouth as he garnished the drink. “Who are you? And why are you behind my bar?”
He put a hand on his chest. “My bar now. From the looks of things, you could use the help.”
Kristin looked around in panic, wondering whether the man was crazy. There were a lot of strangers in town for the festival, and he was obviously an out-of-towner. He was wearing a pair of knee-length shorts, a T-shirt, and flip-flops—an insane kind of outfit considering it was almost winter in the Northeast.
Her gaze found and locked with a pair of gorgeous blue eyes that had haunted her wet dreams for months, a guy so stunningly gorgeous that her heart skipped a few beats.
It didn’t matter that she knew him, or that they were unfriendly acquaintances. Involuntarily, her body reacted every single time she saw him again.
Julian Sinclair!
He was leaning against the bar, grinning at her as his too-azure eyes continued to stare at her mischievously. “He’s your replacement for a while. We have a wedding to attend.”
Kristin felt a pang of sadness over the fact that she wasn’t attending Micah and Tessa’s wedding. She’d grown close to Tessa, a hometown Olympian who had tragically lost her hearing years ago. Since her best friend, Mara, was now married to one of the wealthy Sinclair men, Kristin had slowly come to know and like most of the family . . . well, maybe except for Julian. For the most part, he was an annoying pain in her ass.
Tessa was marrying Julian’s older brother, Micah Sinclair. Kristin was one of the few non-family-members invited to the Vegas wedding, and even though Micah was paying all expenses, Kristin couldn’t leave her parents or the bar.
She’d been feeling melancholy since the afternoon, when Sarah had left the office early to fly out to Vegas with her husband.
“I’m not going,” she told Julian with a confused expression. “I already told Tessa I couldn’t make it.”
“You’re going,” Julian answered confidently. “I’m here to pick you up. Tessa would be disappointed if you didn’t go.”
Kristin was more than a little disappointed herself. She’d never been to Vegas, and she had desperately wanted to see Tessa’s happy ending after so many years of heartache.