Ryan finished applying her lipstick—a deep crimson that she’d never be caught dead in outside of Daisy’s—and touched up her eye shadow. For someone who didn’t ordinarily wear this much makeup, she’d gotten pretty skilled at putting it on. Her eyeliner came to a point outside of the corner of her eye, and the dark gray along the crease created a smoky look that she supposed some people liked. Just not her.

And that was the very reason she didn’t mind putting it on. Because she wasn’t only putting on a “face” in the literal sense. She was putting on a face that she only wore when she was here.

When she was at Daisy’s, she was somebody else entirely. And it had to be that way. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have lasted more than a few hours there, and she needed to last much longer than that. She finished getting ready and tossed her bag into her locker, shutting it with a loud clang. Then she tied her little black apron around her waist and headed out toward her section.

Ever since she’d returned to Daisy’s, Paul had made it a point to give her the tables closest to the stage. The son-of-a-bitch probably got a kick out of watching her carry trays filled with drinks as far from the bar as possible. She couldn’t walk for shit in stilettos anyway, and the extra distance took a toll on her feet after a long shift.

“I’m glad you’re here early,” Chrissy said when she saw Ryan approaching to relieve her. Chrissy had always been one of the servers that Ryan connected with. She didn’t take herself too seriously, and she was as sharp as she was stubborn. Ryan had loved her from the moment they’d met. “My daughter has a birthday party to go to tonight, and I wanna drive her so I can make sure this girl’s parents’ll actually be there. I know nothing about this Becca person, and the last thing I need is for my fifteen-year-old to wind up passed out and pregnant.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll wake up before she’d technically be pregnant.”

“You’re not helping,” Chrissy joked.

“Sure I am. You’re getting out fifteen minutes early.” She offered Chrissy a warm smile. “You’re a good mom,” she said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Chrissy rolled her eyes good naturedly. “Don’t jinx it. She’s still got most of her teenage years ahead of her. I definitely have time to fuck things up.”

“Yeah, but you won’t,” Ryan said.

Chrissy smiled in appreciation. Ryan knew the single mom didn’t have much help at home, and she was doing her best to raise her two girls to be independent, self-assured young women.

Before she left, Chrissy gave Ryan a rundown of what was happening with all her tables: There was a sixteen-person joint bachelor and bachelorette party at one of the tables, which was why she only had two other small tables to worry about. “The party table got pretty rowdy earlier, but they seemed to have calmed down the last half hour or so.”

“Jesus, who has their parties on a Tuesday afternoon? And why would the bride-to-be want hers to be at a strip club?” Ryan tried to stop her mind from remembering Natasha’s party, but her thoughts wandered there anyway. The night had been one she’d likely always remember, even if the thought of it caused other memories to resurface that she was trying to avoid.

“Who knows,” Chrissy said. “They were drunk when they got here an hour ago. They said something about extending their long weekend. Guess they aren’t from around here.” She shrugged. “Hopefully they’ll at least stay a while and you’ll get a good tip.”

“You mean we,” Ryan corrected her. “I’ll text you later and let you know what they left. Now get out of here so you can make sure Hannah stays pure.”

Chrissy laughed before heading to the back room to get her things and clock out.

The next half hour or so passed by more quickly than usual. Running drinks and appetizer after appetizer out to the party table kept her busy. Every time she’d return to the table to bring out more drinks or food, someone would order something else. Ryan hoped Chrissy was right about the tip.

Finally there was a lull in their orders, and she was able to make it over to the table of two that was sitting near her large party. She knew she’d been neglecting them more than she should, so she put on a wide smile as she approached. “Can I get you fellas anything?” she asked, clearing their empty glasses.

“A waitress would be good,” one of them said.

Smart-ass. “Sorry about that,” Ryan said in the sweetest voice she could offer. “I’m working this section alone, and there’s a big party over there.”

The other man sighed in what Ryan recognized as annoyance, but when he gave her a small smile, it eased her nerves somewhat. “We’ll take two—”

“Hey, hey!” one of the women yelled from the other table. “Can we get some more pitchers?”

Ryan held up a finger toward them to let them know she was busy. “I’m sorry. What was it you’d like?” she asked the man who’d just been speaking.

But he didn’t get a chance to answer before the woman spoke again. “Did that waitress hold her finger up at me?”

The way she said “waitress” made Ryan’s muscles tense. Like somehow sitting at a table in a strip club instead of serving one made her a better person than Ryan. Slowly, Ryan turned to see the soon-to-be bride glaring at her. “I’ll be there in a moment,” Ryan said, trying to remain calm. She would not let these people get to her. They weren’t worth it, and she knew that.

The woman let out a sharp laugh and peered over her girlfriends toward the bar. “Where’s the other girl?” she asked, and Ryan assumed she was asking about Chrissy.

“She went home for the night. I told you that when I introduced myself and said I’d be taking over your table.” Ryan heard the edge to her voice, but she was careful not to be rude.

“Oh yeah. What’d you say your name was again?”

“Ryan.” When she’d originally introduced herself, she’d told everyone her name was Paige, like she always had. But right now she couldn’t bring herself to cover up who she was. She couldn’t suppress her identity in order to adhere to some set of standards she didn’t give a shit about. She’d nearly suffocated under the weight of it.

And somehow the proclamation lightened her, as if revealing her real name let a part of her escape that she’d always been so careful to keep concealed when she was here. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe she simply couldn’t be someone she wasn’t any longer.

“Oh. Well, Ryan,” she said. “Just so you know, that bitch who was here before you is a thousand times better.”

Ryan’s only reaction was to glare at her, and she found herself wishing she had some sort of superpower that allowed her to sear this woman’s skin with her stare. Because she would not say any of the expletives that were swirling inside her mind like a storm. She would not jump over that fucking table and punch this chick in her smug little face. Because that would be stooping to her level. And if there was one thing Ryan knew for sure, it was that this woman and Ryan were not on the same level. Not even fucking close.

“Yeah, well just so you know,” Ryan said, “you should be ashamed of yourself.”

A slow smile grew across the bride’s face as she seemed to contemplate what Ryan had said and was gearing up for her verbal retaliation. “Really? I should be the one who’s ashamed? I’m not the one waiting tables next to poles and pussy.”

Ryan almost had to laugh. If this chick thought she was going to get under her skin by criticizing what Ryan considered to be hard work, she was dumber than she looked. Ryan couldn’t give a fuck less what other people thought of her or her job. She stared at the woman for a moment longer, before she felt a hand on her shoulder blade. Shit, she thought, catching the scent of Paul’s spicy cologne.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He didn’t sound mad necessarily, more like annoyed.

“Everything’s fine. I didn’t—” His hand gently squeezing her shoulder stopped her from saying anymore.

“I know you didn’t. Why don’t you take a break and let me handle this?”

After giving Paul a nod of appreciation and getting her purse from the back, she headed for the door. When she passed the table where she’d been moments before, she saw Paul handing over the table’s bill. He was doing something so uncharacteristically Paul: He was kicking out paying customers.

It’s not like he hadn’t before. But this . . . girl hadn’t gotten too loud or showed any sort of physical aggression. She’d simply made a rude comment, and Paul had taken Ryan’s side, protected her even though she didn’t need protection. It brought on a surge of emotion that Ryan struggled to keep inside as she headed for the door.

She could already sense her eyes welling up with all the feelings that had been threatening to bubble over since she’d broken up with Ben. Her steps were heavy and urgent as she rushed for the door. Her head throbbed with the need to let her emotion escape. And as she pushed open the heavy door, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the outside air.

Until something stopped the door’s progress and nearly pushed her back with the force of it.

“Shit,” she heard a deep, muffled voice say.

If she hadn’t been fired before, she sure as hell would be after injuring a customer. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry,” she began, slipping out the door. “I didn’t mean to . . . Are you okay?” Her eyes rose up the length of the body standing in front of her. He wore a dark gray suit, his jacket open to reveal a crisp white dress shirt with the top few buttons unbuttoned. And despite the fact that the man’s hand covered his face and he was leaning over slightly, she recognized him anyway. How could she not?

“Ben,” she said, almost gasping at the sight of him. “What . . . What are you doing here?”

* * *

Her voice came out as a whisper, and if it weren’t for the fact that Ben was used to playing hockey through much greater pain than this, he might not have heard her at all. Once he was certain he wasn’t bleeding, he brought his hand down from where it had been on his face and straightened himself. If he was going to try to talk to her, he sure as hell wouldn’t have much luck bent over like a wounded animal.

But when he rose to look at her, the expression on her face didn’t match the softness of her voice when she’d said his name. There was a hardness to her eyes, a rigidness to her jaw. He couldn’t say he hadn’t been expecting it.

He cleared his throat and steadied his voice, not wanting her to hear his nerves. Now that she was in front of him, he wasn’t sure of the best way to begin. So he decided to go with whatever came to mind first. “I’m sorry,” he said. That’s the best you could come up with?

“You said that already, remember?”

“Yeah. I did. But I’m sorry for a whole lot more than telling my family about . . . our arrangement.”

Letting out a bitter laugh, she leaned back against the brick exterior of the building. “God, I’m so fucking stupid. To think we were anything more than that. That I meant anything more than that to you. All I was to you was a purchase that gave you some temporary relief from your family.”

“You weren’t a purchase. Is that really what you think you were to me?” He knew he’d hurt her. But Jesus, the idea of her thinking she was some material item he’d bought made him sick to his stomach.

He hated the way she dropped her gaze to the cracked concrete beneath them, like it hurt her to even look at him. “Then tell me, Ben. What was I to you?”

He wanted to reach out to her, wrap her up in his arms, and hold her until her pain stopped. “You were everything to me,” he said. His voice came out husky with emotion. “You still are. And it hurts like fucking hell to know I threw it all away. That I made you feel . . . God, I don’t even want to think about what it must have felt like to hear me say that.”

He had the urge to put a thumb under her chin and guide her face up to look at him, but the last thing she probably wanted was for him to touch her.

Her heard her sniff before she said, “I can’t do this now. I’m on a break.” She pointed with her thumb over her shoulder. “I need to get back soon.”

“Okay,” he said. His voice was calm, understanding. “You don’t even have to say anything if you don’t want to, but I need you to know some things. I need you to know how much I miss you and how sorry I am. I’m sorry, Ryan. For so much. I’m sorry I assumed you were something you weren’t, I’m sorry I told my family I used you to impress them. But what I’m most sorry about is never telling you I loved you because, Christ . . .” This time he couldn’t help moving toward her and putting a hand on her cheek, wanting to remember what her skin felt like even if it was for the last time. “Ryan, I love you so fucking much.” At his words, her eyes lifted so they locked with his. “But of all the things I have to apologize for, there’s one thing I’ll never be sorry about.”

Her voice was low, soft as she uttered, “What?”

“I’m not sorry about us. What we had . . . It was real. And it was good. And if there’s one thing I learned from everything that’s happened, it’s that I’m done running.” He shook his head slowly, his eyes feeling the pressure of hidden tears.

“There’s no taking back what you said, Ben. No taking back how it made me feel.”

“I know there isn’t.”

“I can’t forget about that.”

“I’m not asking you to,” he said quickly.

Her eyes pinched together as she studied his face. “Then what are you asking?”

“I’m asking for a second chance. For you to decide that what we had is worth another try.”

“You expect me to pretend none of that ever happened so you can start with a clean slate?”

“We. So we can start with a clean slate.”

“You think changing a pronoun makes a difference? It doesn’t. Because the truth of the matter is that we didn’t cause this. You did. So you’re the one who’s going to have to deal with the consequences of your actions.”

“I know that. I’ve been beating myself up about it since it happened. And I deserve every ounce of pain I’ve caused myself.” His hands found hers, his fingers grazing her skin lightly, cautiously. “But you don’t,” he said. “You don’t deserve any of what I’ve put you through. All the pain I’ve caused, the heartbreak. You shouldn’t have to go through any of it.” She inhaled deeply before letting out a long sigh. “I know you don’t need me—that I could leave right now and you’d go on with your life and be fine. You always are. But you deserve better than fine. You deserve to be happy. And even though I made you incredibly sad, I’m confident I can make you incredibly happy too. If you let me.”

“Ben, I don’t . . .”

“Look at me. Look at me and tell me you’ll be happier without me. If you can do that, I’ll leave right now and you’ll never see me again.” Her eyes raised to meet his, and he could see the sadness in them. But he thought he also saw a glimmer of hope that had been missing until now. “So tell me, Ryan. Will you be happier without me?”

She continued to look at him, her eyebrows pressing closer together. “Is it true?” she said.

He shook his head, confused. “Is what true?”

“That you loved me.”

His lips lifted into a tight smile. There it was—the hope he’d seen. She couldn’t let him walk away. “No,” he said. “I didn’t love you. I still love you.”

He saw her wipe away a lone tear from her cheek and give him a smile of her own. “Why do you have to be so damn charming?”

Ben shrugged a shoulder. “It makes up for all the shitty stuff.”

This time it was Ryan who lifted a hand to his face. “It’s not all shitty stuff.”

Ben huffed a laugh. “Really? Because I feel pretty shitty.”

Ryan smiled. “That only shows what a good man you are.”

He was going to ask what she meant, but then her lips were on his. And as he wrapped his arms around her and deepened the kiss, he decided asking could wait.

She pulled away and rested her head against his cheek. “I love you too,” she said softly.

Ben hugged her tighter. “Enough to forgive me and give us a chance to start over?”

“Yeah,” she said. “All that.”

And then they were kissing again like they had all the time in the world. Because they did.