"AN OLD FASHIONED."

I wiped a few beads of sweat off my brow with the back of my hand and then turned toward the gruff voice at the end of the bar.

Ah, it was my favorite grumpy, tropical Santa Claus. Given his lack of manners when he'd announced his order like a demand, I should have known it was the innkeeper.

I smiled at Mark. "Hi there."

He grunted in reply, and I wondered if maybe he didn't remember me. But then, after a long pause, he raised a brow. "Makin' yourself at home, huh?"

"Sure am." My grin widened as I wiped off the bartop before him, ridding it of residual spilled beer. "Might as well make myself useful while I'm here."

He gave a succinct nod. "How 'bout you make yourself useful and make me an old fashioned."

Just as lovely as always.

"Be nice to our guest, Mark."

I felt August's presence before I heard him. He hovered behind me, similar to how he'd been hovering the whole day. And while I didn't mind having him close, having his arms brush mine when he reached around me to grab something, it made it awfully hard to form coherent thoughts. Or to pour glasses of beer without spilling.

""Scuse me," Cohen muttered, sliding behind us as he grabbed another glass, forcing August to step even closer. His arms caged around me as he leaned on the countertop, and his hard, broad chest grazed across my back.

"I'll get you your old fashioned," August said to Mark. His lips had to be just above my ear, his breath fanning against my skin as he looked at Mark over my shoulder.

Mark nodded his thanks. Well, I wasn't entirely sure if he was saying thank you, but I decided to pretend he was. It made me dislike him less.

"I can get it," I said to August, facing him.

That had been a mistake.

August still hadn't stepped away, meaning his face was only inches from mine. And God, was it a handsome face. I could see all the little bits of stubble in his five o'clock shadow and had to resist the urge to run my fingers over it, just to see what it felt like against my skin.

And then he spoke in that deep, husky voice of his, and I nearly melted into a puddle on the floor.

"You're good at slinging at beers, I'll give you that, Castle." His lips twitched in what I suspected was amusement. Or at least I hoped it was. He dropped his voice even lower before continuing. "But Mark here is a little...uh, particular."

I could only imagine.

I ducked under August's arm, afraid that if he stood that close to me any longer, I'd simply cease to exist. I grabbed a tumbler from the counter and then searched for the rest of my ingredients: bitters, simple syrup, orange peel, Makers.

A quick glance over my shoulder told me that August was watching me with keen eyes. He leaned against the bar, ignoring the chaos behind him and the five people trying to get his attention to order a drink. Although truth be told, I didn't even need to look back to know he was staring. I could feel his gaze following my every move as I got to work.

He wasn't kidding when he said he was going to keep an eye on me.

"Good thing an old fashioned is my specialty, then," I said, giving him a wink.

He shook his head slowly, trying not to smile as he did. He brushed past me, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "All I'm saying is don't come crying to me when he's an ass."

I looked over at him as he poured a beer for the guy impatiently tapping his credit card on top of the bar. "You have such little faith in me, Fletcher."

"No," he said, keeping his eyes on the beer. "It has nothing to do with you. I'm sure most people would love your old fashioned." He dropped his voice to muffle his words even though the volume in the packed bar was almost unbearably loud. "But Mark is not most people."

"Oh, I know," I assured him, mimicking his focus as I kept my eyes trained on my glass and the whiskey I was pouring into it. "We had a lovely first meeting."

"Ah, that's right," August muttered as I watched him run the man's card out of the corner of my eye. When he was done, he closed the distance between us and found my ear to whisper in again. "If you want to poison the man because he's responsible for you having to stay with me, might I suggest you don't do it with dozens of witnesses?"

I spared a glance at August, steeling myself for his smokey gaze. Sure enough, there it was. Boring a hole straight into me.

"Maybe that was why I wanted to make the drink," I countered. "Because I was worried you'd poison him for the very same reason."

August rolled his eyes as he stepped back again. "You've got it all wrong, Castle."

I gave him a disbelieving look before adding the finishing touches on my old fashioned. "Do I?"

August didn't answer. He simply crossed his arms over his chest and watched me bring the drink to Mark, who looked at it with heavy judgment. I had a feeling that Mark was the kind of guy who had only ever had three people make an old fashioned for him–August, Sunny, and Cohen. And I bet he didn't even know how to make one himself.

I held my breath as Mark lifted the drink to his lips. My parents had a wet bar at their house, and my dad was a self-taught mixologist who'd passed me a few tips for the more straightforward and well-loved drinks. When I went to college, I sort of fell in love with it, too. Mixing drinks in the back of frat houses became my best party trick.

Both of Mark's brows shot up as soon as he took a drink, and then a satisfactory nod followed. There might have even been a hint of a smile. It was hard to tell.

"Good."

One word, but I'd take it. Good.

I flashed August a triumphant grin, and he was already shaking his head with disbelief. A ghost of a smile played on his lips, and his heavy-lidded gaze landed on me, telling me things I didn't fully understand.

He sighed. "What am I gonna do with you, Castle?"

I crossed the space and poked him in the chest. "I think the main thing you've learned here is not to underestimate me, Fletcher."

He chuckled. "Never."

It went on like that for the rest of the afternoon. We worked in unbearably close quarters to ensure everyone was well-supplied with drinks while Sunny mostly handled the food, ushering trays between the cooks in the kitchen and the crowded tables. Cohen bounced back and forth between the bar and the kitchen, checking in with us whenever it got too busy. And August glared at the poor men who attempted to flirt with me while I poured them a drink.

Around the time the sunset blazed through the windows, casting a pinkish glow over the bar, August grabbed me by the wrist and tugged me toward an empty table. The rush had died down, leaving us with a few spare minutes, and I happily plopped into an open chair, giving my aching feet a rest.

"Sit." He put a glass of water before me, followed by a beer and a basket of fried food. "Drink. Eat."

August Fletcher had always been a man of fewer words, but even this was a bit more utilitarian than I was used to. I looked up to find his brow beaded with sweat and his eyes tired.

"You," I said, patting the chair next to me. "Sit. Drink. Eat."

That got a thread-bare laugh out of him, but he just shook his head and stalked away, returning to his place behind the bar.

I shrugged, deciding not to let the food go to waste. I bit into a hot French fry and damn near moaned out of delight and hunger. It was just as good as drunk-me remembered. After washing it down with a sip of beer, I relaxed into the chair, letting my eyes drift over Sunny's. They caught on a man with loose, jet-black curls. A man who was walking directly toward me.

When he didn't so much as slow down as he neared, I straightened in my seat, eying him cautiously.

Maybe August had been right about not letting me on this side of the bar.

"You must be the reporter," the man said as he invited himself to sit beside me. "I know everyone in this bar besides you, so I'm guessing you're Quinn."

I relaxed when I heard his voice because it was one I hadn't been able to forget it. Not after it had said, "Oh, is it the one you like?" earlier today. I couldn't forget that.

I grinned as I wiped my hands off on a napkin. "And you must be Finny."

He matched my grin, clearly pleased that I'd figured that out so quickly.

Call it my other party trick–being able to match voices.

"I'm surprised Auggie left you sitting here alone," he said, plucking a fry from my basket without asking. I pushed it forward, indicating I was more than willing to share.

I swallowed a laugh. "Well, I think it was either that or watch me pass out from hunger."

Finny pushed the basket of fries back toward me. "Oh shit."

I shook my head with a smile. "No, please have some. I'm fine." Finn responded by flashing me a doubt-filled look, so I insisted. "Really."

With a shrug, Finn plucked another fry from the basket and resumed his munching, giving me a chance to get a good look at him. He was handsome. Not as handsome as August, granted, but he had a similar ruggedness to him, which made sense considering he was a contractor. Like August, he looked like the kind of man who worked with his hands and didn't mind directing other people who did the same.

"So, how long are you in town?" he asked after a beat of silence.

God, I hated that question. The uncertainty of it. "Until I'm not, I suppose."

A sly grin slipped onto Finny's face. "I bet August loves that."

I flicked my eyes up–a slight roll. "Oh, I'm sure he does."

Finny chuckled. "I wasn't being sarcastic."

My stomach flipped at his implication. But I knew that couldn't be true. Even if heat occasionally flickered between us, I was a pain in August's ass. Plain and simple.

But speaking of heat...

I risked a glance over at August only to find his eyes on me. I'd felt them. They'd announced themself loud and clear when they landed on the side of my face, causing a blush to work up into his cheeks. It was unnerving.

I quickly looked back to Finn, unable to handle the glare August was giving us.

Finny wore a smirk that told me he was the troublemaker of the group. And it also told me he was enjoying this.

"I bet he'd love it if I asked you to dance, too," he said, jerking his head behind us to the floor that had been cleared for an evening of dancing. Someone must have been manning the jukebox I found a couple nights ago because it had been blaring hit after hit for the past hour. 

I lifted a brow. "No sarcasm, right?"

He laughed, his curls bouncing as he tossed his head back.

"All the sarcasm." He nodded toward the food in front of me. "But finish eating first."

It didn't escape notice that he hadn't actually waited for my reply on if I even wanted to dance and briefly wondered what it was like to be that confident in life.

Curiosity was what was going to get me tonight. I could feel it in my bones. Because even though I didn't really care to dance with Finny, I sure wanted to see what would happen if I did. After all, I was here to experience Evergreen Isle. And this seemed to be the thing to do on Wednesday nights.

So, a couple minutes later, I let Finn guide me onto the dance floor. His eyes twinkled with a friendliness that put me at ease, and I laughed as he grabbed my hand and twirled me across the floor.

He twirled me so hard that I landed in another man's arms.

Arms I knew immediately belonged to a certain grumpy, retired football player.

☀️

a/n:

fun fact: dance scenes are my ✨favorite✨

thanks for reading!
xoxo amelie