Page 2 of Baby for the Bartender
He raised an eyebrow. Just barely.
“Miss Laine.”
I opened my mouth. Closed it. The thing was—and this was not helpful even in the slightest—Garrison Nash wasextremelygood-looking. I’d noticed it before, I guess, but only in the way you notice an expensive car driving by. Like…a thing that exists and is objectively nice and has nothing to do with you.
But I’d only ever seen him at school dropoff and pickup, in daylight, usually while I was wrangling five-year-olds and he was wrangling Nell and there was a very appropriate amount of distance. Sometimes I got a wave. Usually not.
Now I was face to face with him, and he looked very, very good.
He was wearing a black henley that made it very clear he worked out; pushed up to the elbows, which made it even more clear he worked out. His salt-and-pepper hair was messy, but in this way that seemed intentional.
And he was watching me with hazel eyes that felt like they were staring directly into my soul.
“I want a shot,” came out of my mouth, even though I was trying to say,nice to see you, I should go.
Mr. Nash narrowed his eyes…just slightly.
He did that, I guess. Little faces that said a lot and were extremely devastating.
“What kind of shot?”
I looked up at the bar, skimmed it…
“Whiskey,” I said.
He snorted and shook his head. “Nah.”
“Excuse me?”
“Girl like you doesn’t want a shot of whiskey,” he said. “What do youactuallywant?”
I didn’t like the way he said that. Or maybe I liked it too much, I couldn’t tell.
I bit my lip. “I like…sunshine in a glass,” I said. “And honestly, I need it tonight.”
He nodded. “Comin’ right up.”
He turned around, made me my drink, then set a glass in front of me. It looked like orange juice.
I frowned.
“This…is orange juice.”
“It’s a screwdriver,” he corrected with a short laugh. “You said sunshine in a glass. What’s better than a little Vitamin D?”
I picked it up and took a sip. It tasted like orange juice. “I promise I’m allowed to drink,” I said.
“Well, we don’t really ID here, so I wasn’t going to ask,” he said, “but now I feel like I should.”
I fumbled for my ID anyway, because apparently I was going to do everything embarrassing tonight and I might as well commit. He waved it off before I got it out of my wallet.
“I’m twenty-three,” I said.
“I know.” He looked at me for a moment. “You look?—”
“Like shit,” I said. And then immediately wanted to dissolve directly into the barstool. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry. That was — I teach your daughter. I don’t know why I said that.”
The corner of his mouth moved. “I was going to say you look different than usual.”
