Page 5 of Island Girl

“I think so. Nervous, but ready.”

“Good. Nervous means you care.” He set down the knife and wiped his hands on a towel. “Come back here. Let me show you where everything is.”

She walked behind the bar and stood next to him. The space was tighter than it looked from the other side. Rubber mats covered the floor, and everything had its place. He pointed to thevarious stations: the beer taps lined up in a row, the liquor bottles organized on shelves by type, the wine fridge humming underneath, the glasses in different sizes stacked within easy reach.

“Ice is here.” He tapped a metal bin. “Backup ice is in the kitchen. If we run out during a rush, which happens, you yell for someone to grab a bucket. Don't try to do it yourself while you've got people waiting.”

She nodded, trying to take it all in.

“Garnishes here. Napkins here. Straws here, but we don't give them out unless someone asks. Trying to cut down on waste.” He opened a small refrigerator. “Mixers. Juices. Cream for the occasional White Russian, though honestly, nobody orders those anymore.”

“Got it.”

“You don't have to memorize everything today. Just get a feel for the layout. You'll learn the rest as we go.”

“Okay.”

He closed the refrigerator and leaned against the bar, crossing his arms. “Before we get into all this, I want to be straight with you about something.”

Merritt felt her stomach tighten. “Okay.”

“I know you're not a bartender. You told me you taught music to third graders for seven years. I didn't hire you because of your experience pouring drinks.”

“Then why did you hire me?”

Justin picked up a lime and turned it in his hand. “Because I can't keep anyone. This island looks like paradise, and it is, but it's also small and expensive and far from everything. People show up thinking they're going to live the beach life, and then reality hits. They get bored. They miss their friends. They can't afford rent. They leave.”

He started slicing again, the knife moving in quick, practiced strokes. “I've hired six people in the last year and a half. Thelongest anyone lasted was four months. Most don't make it past six weeks.”

“That's a lot of turnover.”

“It is. And every time someone leaves, I'm back to doing everything myself while my grandfather pretends he's not too old to be working twelve-hour days.” He shook his head. “He is too old. He won't admit it, but he is. The man's seventy-eight and still thinks he can close the bar at midnight and open it again at eleven.”

Merritt glanced toward the back hallway where Crocker had disappeared earlier. “He seems pretty sharp.”

“Oh, he's sharp. Sharp as they come. But his knees are shot and his back gives him trouble, and he needs to be sitting on his deck making pottery, not hauling cases of beer up from the storage room.” Justin set down another perfectly sliced lime. “That's why I'm here. That's why I need someone who's actually going to stay.”

“So what made you think I'd be different?”

Justin set down the knife and looked at her. “Because you're not running to something. You're not chasing some fantasy about island life. You told me you were starting over. That you needed to figure out what comes next. That's different.”

“How?”

“Because people who are figuring things out tend to stay put while they do it. They're not looking for the next adventure. They're looking for solid ground.” He smiled. “Besides, you drove more than twenty-four hours to get here. That's commitment.”

Merritt laughed. “Or desperation.”

“Sometimes they're the same thing.” He grabbed another lime and pushed the cutting board toward her. “Here's the deal. I don't need you to know how to make a perfect martini. I need you to show up, work hard, and be willing to learn. I'll teach you the drinks. I'll teach you the food. I'll teach you which regulars want to talk and which ones want to be left alone.”

“And in return?”

“In return, you get a job, a place to live, and a chance to figure out your life without anyone breathing down your neck.” He nodded toward the cutting board. “You know how to slice a lime?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Good. Start there. We'll work our way up to the complicated stuff.”

Merritt picked up a knife and a lime. The fruit was firm in her hand, the smell sharp and clean. She cut it in half, then into wedges, the way she'd seen bartenders do a hundred times.