Page 19 of Devoured By the Forbidden Mountain Man

Georgia caught the other end.

“I can move this,” she said.

“I know. There are two ends.”

Her mouth curved. “That is annoyingly reasonable.”

We carried it across the room together.

The table wasn’t heavy for me, but Georgia handled her half without trouble and maneuvered backward between chairs with the sure footing of someone used to moving through cramped service spaces. She pointed with her chin toward the wall, and I followed her lead until she had the clearance she wanted.

“Two feet farther.”

I moved.

“Perfect.”

She stepped back and looked over the new path.

Case came up beside her and folded his arms.

“I would like the record to show that I told them this before you got here.”

“The record can show whatever helps you sleep,” Georgia said. “Now tell me why three specialty cocktails require smoked garnish when you’re expecting a full bar.”

Case sighed. “Because one of them photographs beautifully.”

Georgia closed her eyes, and I laughed.

She looked over at me. “Don’t encourage him. You don’t have to say anything for it to count.”

There was no bite between us, only the easy familiarity that had developed faster than I would have expected. Georgia turned back to Case and started working through the drinks one at a time, asking which ingredients were pre-batched and which had to be built individually.

I listened while folding black table linens.

Her questions made it clear she understood the difference between something that sounded appealing on a menu and something a bartender could make sixty times without wrecking service. When Case pushed back on cutting one drink, she didn’t dismiss him. She asked why he wanted to keep it, listened to his answer, and adjusted the garnish instead.

Competence was attractive on her, and so was everything else.

When she leaned across the bar to taste a small spoonful of cider mixture, her sweater drew tight over the curve of her breasts and waist. I deliberately looked at the folded linen in my hands instead.

Case was watching me when I glanced up again, his expression brightening. He said nothing, which almost made it worse.

Georgia tasted the adjusted cider and nodded. “That works. Keep this one. Drop the drink with the smoked garnish and make the bourbon cocktail the second feature.”

“My last boyfriend would be devastated,” Case said as he put the spoon in the rinse sink. “He believed every cocktail should involve at least one piece of equipment the average person doesn’t own.”

Georgia laughed. “Your last boyfriend thought a kitchen torch was a personality. The fact that he was very handsome was the problem.”

I set the stack of linens on the bar. He’d said boyfriend, and the relief that moved through me was immediate enough to be irritating.

Georgia looked at me, then at Case.

His smile became very slow.

“Interesting,” he said.

Georgia’s eyes closed for a second. “Please don’t. You said one word with your entire face.”