Feet aching after standing behind the bar hour after hour, Carly bent over, resting her weight on her left hand—yeah, her back hurt too—as she plucked another dirty glass from the tray. It was a mindless nightly ritual, dunking the glass in the first sink of soapy water with a scrub brush at the bottom, then moving it to the second sink of clear water for the rinse dunk, then dipping it into the third sink of sanitizer water before setting it on the drying rack.

There was something satisfying about seeing the glasses go from icky and cloudy to clean and clear. Made her almost believe things in life could change for the better. Except tonight she couldn’t help noticing the red, chafed skin on her hands—and couldn’t help thinking Jeff Rocklyn’s dermatologist fiancée probably had beautiful hands.

“There’s one of your faves, Carly. Don’t you just love her voice?”

Carly looked up at the two women who’d been seated at the bar for the last couple hours. They were Wednesday night regulars and she usually had great conversations with them, but tonight Carly wasn’t on game.

She smiled at the woman who spoke, hoping she couldn’t tell it was forced. “Yep, I sure do.”

“You know Gaga is a trained vocalist,” the woman said, waving her martini glass as she spoke. “And she’s even written songs for other performers. Can you imagine having that kind of talent?”

Carly agreed with a murmur, thinking, More than you’ll ever know. But she’d never say that out loud. That part of her life was gone. Now she just watched those talented people from afar, kept her head down, and filled the next drink order.

What a banner day. First she got smacked with the painful truth about the guy she’d been crushing on for the past seven weeks and now when she was about ready to keel over with exhaustion, one of her friendly customers unwittingly tossed her a sucker punch from her past. 

But the first one she’d set herself up for and walked right into it, blinded by grass green eyes, a sexy smile, and a hunky body that filled out those doctor’s office suits in a way that heated up her blood. Well, she would just have to get over it and take a lesson from the bar glasses—wash, rinse, and repeat. Go home, soak her tired body in the tub, and get back to work the next day. And stop wishing for the impossible.

About a half hour before closing, as she stood at the POS cashing out a tab, Taylor hovered near and said, “Don’t look now, but somebody’s back. And judging by the way he’s walking, I’d say the doctor is in rare form.”

“What?” Carly followed Taylor’s gaze and saw him. Dr. Jeff Rocklyn. Staggering his way across the floor toward the bar.

Taylor giggled. “He’s either really clumsy or really hammered.”

Carly had never seen him drink more than two beers. But Taylor was right. He was walking as if he were aboard a rolling ship.

Carly turned quickly away and said in a lowered voice, “Oh great. He’s obviously been celebrating. He and his fiancée probably went out for her birthday dinner and hit a few places afterward. The future Mrs. Rocklyn is no doubt trailing behind. I wonder what condition she’s in.”

“My guess is she’s probably the designated driver. No doubt she’s out there parking the car.”

Carly groaned. “Just what I need. Meeting the woman he loves. Hope they don’t sit at the bar so I have to serve them and make happy bartender talk while they play kissy face.”

Of course Jeff made a beeline for the seat he always took at her station at the end of the bar. His eyes found hers and he smiled. And her heart melted. If only his smile were for the reasons she wished.

“The usual?” she asked.

“No, Carly, I’m doing tequila shots tonight. Patron, please. With a chaser of water and lemon.”

So he does know my name. “And what is your fiancée drinking?”

He looked confused for a second, then said, “She’s not here.”

“You came here alone?”

He nodded.

“By car?”

He nodded again.

Oh no. Carly filled a glass with water, dropped a slice of lemon in it, and set it on the bar in front of him. He looked like he might fall off the bar stool. No way would she serve him any more liquor. Instead she ordered a coffee from one of the waitresses. Wouldn’t take long since they were only serving snacks at this hour and the place was emptying out. So she returned to stand near him in the spot she often did when they had their little chats.

Why wasn’t he with his fiancée? Duh, if he was drinking himself under the table he’d obviously had some kind of falling out with her. Should she ask? Or would it be too intrusive? Too cruel? He didn’t seem like the type who liked to talk about this sort of thing, although he was in a helping profession.

And Carly was dying to know.

Before she could formulate the right question, Jeff said, “Do you have a passport?”

“A passport? Uh, well, I got one about seven or eight years ago. I don’t know if it’s still—”

“Ten years. Still good.” He leaned toward her, wavering slightly. “You said you wanted to go to Paris, right?”

Suddenly Carly got an uncomfortable feeling telling her he was going to ask her to go with him now that there was trouble with his real lady. Did he think just because she was a bartender she’d be happy to be his mistress or escort or whatever it was he had in mind?

Her lofty image of him plummeted as he did exactly what she expected. He pulled the familiar envelope out of his suit jacket pocket and laid it on the bar. But then he surprised her by saying, “Here are two tickets to Paris. Take your boyfriend and have a great time. I’ll even tell the hotel you can have the suite I reserved and already paid for.”

“But…”

“Hey, I saw how excited you got when I mentioned this trip. Think I don’t know how hard you work?” He slid the envelope toward her. “Don’t worry. You won’t owe me a thing. I’ll just be happy to know somebody’s enjoying the trip I planned.”

“But…what about your fiancée?”

“Don’t have one anymore.”

Whoa. A tiny spark of hope ignited in Carly, but she felt guilty for it when this man was clearly hurting. Besides, she warned herself, he would no doubt make up with his lady, and even if he did not, he wasn’t going to replace her with the local bartender.

Carly handed him the envelope. “I can’t accept this.”

Jeff looked like he might debate that with her, but then he shrugged and put it back in his jacket pocket. He took a long drink of his water and said, “Can I please have my tequila shot?”

“Um, how many have you had tonight?” Aside from her unrequited crush and her responsibility as bartender, she genuinely liked this man and was not going to allow him to lose his license on a DUI, or even worse, cause a car accident.

His eyebrows knit and he tilted his head, obviously trying to answer her question by counting on his fingers, but he was having a difficult time of it. He looked so adorable it was all she could do not to reach across the bar and kiss him.

“Dr. Rocklyn?”

“Jeff,” he corrected her. Carly soared inside. She’d been waiting for him to ask her to call him Jeff for so long. Still, she reminded herself not to get too excited. This was a liquor-induced conversation.

“Okay, so, Jeff…”

He glanced up at her. Even intoxicated, his green eyes with those dark lashes drew her into their depths, reaching something inside her. Momentarily forgetting what she was going to say, she stood there in a silent exchange with him that warmed her to the core.

Then he said, “This isn’t who you really are.”

“What?” Her mind reeled and raced, at first reverting to the escort fear—she’d heard the gossip about women who took on “extra work” in the summer when the celebs and other wealthy folk arrived to hang out in the Hamptons.

But he said, “Are you working toward some kind of degree? You know, in something that actually means something to you? Not that there’s anything wrong with this job, but you must get sick of waiting on assholes like me.” He chuckled to himself.

Carly was stunned, not only that he could see there was more to her, but also at the realization that he’d been looking at her. Not just at her butt in jeans—which seemed to be the case with most of her customers—but thinking about her as a person.

“I’ve always wondered about that,” he added, then hiccupped and his eyes wandered to her hands. “What happened to your finger?”

“I slipped when I was cutting lemons.” She was grateful he was drunk enough to ramble on past his other question because she did not want to have that conversation.

He reached for her hand. His touch was warm and gentle yet firm and sensual—everything she’d imagined. “Did you clean it and use an antiseptic?” he asked, those green eyes so sincere and caring.

“Yes, Doctor, I did.” Sliding her hand out of his before her heart wanted more, she stepped away and grabbed the coffee the waitress brought, along with the sugar packets and creamer, and served it to Jeff.

He studied it, looking puzzled. “I didn’t order coffee.”

“I think you should drink it,” Carly said in the softest, least critical voice she could manage. When he hesitated, she lifted a sugar packet. “Do you like it with sugar?”

He nodded and she tore open a packet and spilled it in. Then she lifted the creamer. “Half and half?”

“Okay.”

She stirred it and slid the cup and saucer closer to him.

He took a sip, staring at her the whole time. “Not everybody can do that, you know.”

“Do what?”

“Get a person to avoid bad behavior without shaming them. I try to do that with my patients. Now I know what it’s like to be on the other end.” He gave her an affectionate look that nearly turned her to jelly.

“Night, Carly,” some other customers called to her as they left. It was almost closing time and she still had cleaning up to do. Taylor, bless her, showed up with a second cup of coffee for Jeff, and as he drank it, Carly went about her duties. Luckily she wasn’t head bartender here, so she could leave at closing.

When she returned to Jeff, he pulled out his wallet.

“On the house,” she said. Then she mentioned the thing that had been worrying her. “You said you drove here?”

“Uh-huh.”

OMG. “Is there someone you can call to pick you up?”

“Don’t need to. I’m good.” He placed his foot on the floor next to the bar stool and began maneuvering himself off of it, but his stance wavered.

“Forget it, Jeff. You can’t drive. You’re over the legal limit. You’d flunk the sobriety test big time.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine,” he said, but with his first two steps he stumbled and down he went.

Carly raced around to the front of the bar and grabbed him under the armpits as he struggled to get up. Once he was standing, she put an arm around his waist. His other arm went over her shoulders, something that would have thrilled her if staying on his feet weren’t the only reason it was there.

She walked him to the nearest table. “You are going to sit right here while I get a cab or an Uber. Driving in this condition, you could end somebody’s life, and you don’t strike me as someone willing to risk that.”

He just sighed, eyelids drooping, then mumbled, “Yeah, you’re right.” By the time she pulled out her phone, he’d slumped forward, his arms and forehead resting on the table.

After trying both Uber and the two local cab companies, she had no luck. What did she expect? It was 2:00 a.m. and this was the Hamptons, not Manhattan.

Carly tapped his shoulder, gently at first, then a bit harder when he didn’t respond. “Come on, Jeff. Wake up, buddy. You’re going home. I’ll take you in my car.”

He gazed at her a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Wow. Guess I really did it to myself,” he said, slurring his words. “Not much of a drinker.”

“Be glad of that.”

She went to help him up, and he said, “I can manage.” A part of her felt rebuffed and she had to admit she liked the idea of pressing their bodies together again. But he was a guy and she knew guys had male pride issues.

Jeff managed a wobbly walk through the parking lot and she directed him to her black Chevy Cruze.

Getting him into the front seat felt more like slow motion judo, as Carly applied a touch of leverage from her hip, allowing Jeff’s body to roll safely onto the car seat.

She took the wheel, and before pressing the start button, she asked her impromptu passenger the question of the night. One she hoped he might be able to answer.

“What is your address?”

Oh no. He’d already started dozing off. She nudged him. “Wh-what?”

“Jeff. I know you live in Bridgehampton, but I need to know what street you live on and the number of your house. Tell me so I can drop you off.”

“Drop what?”

She turned the air conditioning on full blast to hopefully wake him up. “Jeffff. Come on. Now help me out here. I’m taking you home. What’s your address?”

“Oh, right. Umm. Jobs Lane.” His head started bowing forward, but she reached over, put a hand to his chest and pressed him back against the seat.

“What number, Jeff?”

“Oh, um…you know…”

“No, I don’t know. You’re the one who lives there.”

“Hmm, uh, I’ll know it when I see it.”

Carly couldn’t help laughing.

Jeff then gave her the sweetest sexiest smile and Carly forced herself not to be pulled into any romantic notions. She instead rummaged in her bag for a chocolate bar and tore open the wrapper. “Here. You need this sugar to help revive you.”

He took a bite and then held it our to her.

“No, it’s for you.”

“Have you eaten?” he asked. “You look like you skip meals.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No, you’re beautiful, but you seem like you need some care and I like to take care of people.”

Wow. He thought she was beautiful? But did he feel sorry for her, see her as a loser who needed help? Her mind reeling, she turned to him and said, “Well, I like to take care of people too. And right now you’re the one that needs it. So eat the candy bar.”

Another painfully sexy grin. “Okay, but I think you take care of people because you’re a good person and very responsible. I don’t believe you really like it.”

Talk about hitting the nail on the head. For all his somewhat run-together intoxicated speech, his mind was razor sharp. Unable to come up with anything to say to that, Carly started the car and pulled out of the bistro’s lot.

Jeff straightened himself up and for a brief moment did a pretty good imitation of a person in charge of his faculties. “Why won’t you accept those tickets to Paris? I’m not some creepy guy who’d want payback. I’d just be happy knowing you’re using them.”

“Because you’ll want those tickets tomorrow when you make up with your fiancée.” Carly was sorry she brought that subject up when she saw how it wiped the boyish grin right off his face.

He turned away and looked out the window and they rode through the dark streets in silence.

When they reached Jobs Lane, Carly said, “Okay, tell me which one is your house.”

“Here on the right.”

All the homes in this area were sizable, expensive, and gorgeous, and Jeff’s was no exception. She pulled into the driveway, then got out of the car, figuring Jeff might need wobble protection to make it to the door. She just hoped his fiancée didn’t come storming out with accusations. Carly had no idea what their tiff was about, but she sure as heck didn’t want to be caught in the middle of it.

When she reached the passenger-side door, Jeff had already gotten out. She went to put an arm around him and had to tamp down her disappointment when he once again said, “I’m okay. Kind of embarrassed, but okay.”

Then he took her right hand in both of his and she told herself she wasn’t feeling that zing of desire from his touch.

“Thanks, Carly. You’re a rare gem.”

Carly felt her face go hot—not to mention some other regions. The voice in her head told her to calm down, to control that silly side of herself that let her imagination run wild. He was merely grateful someone drove him home. And his slightly slurred words told her he was still drunk and not as lucid as he seemed. He probably wouldn’t even remember who got him home when he woke up tomorrow.

“Well, I better get going,” she said, retrieving her hand. Did he seem reluctant to let it go?

“Hope you haven’t gone too far out of your way for me,” he said.

“Don’t worry about it,” Carly said and got back in her car.

Truth was, she did have to now drive in the opposite direction, so it was pretty far out of her way, although if the ferry were running at this hour, it wouldn’t have been. But hearing Jeff’s observations about her and finding out what it felt like to have his hands wrapped around hers made it well worth it.

She drove home with a semi-sweet glow that lingered and she savored that same special feeling she’d gotten the first time she had seen him. Meanwhile, he was probably waking up his fiancée right now and having makeup sex—no, she wouldn’t go there. Didn’t need that image in her head. She focused on her drive back to the North Fork.

Two skinny fingers at the eastern end of New York’s Long Island, the North and South Forks had two distinct identities. Both had small villages and farms and beaches, but the Hamptons in the South Fork, where homes worth several million were the norm, teemed with celebrities and high-rollers who used it as a summer resort, while the lower priced North Fork had middle class families and year-round farming and fishing communities.

Carly finally reached the house in Greenport where she and Taylor rented a second floor that had been turned into a two-bedroom apartment. She parked in the driveway, and as she was getting out of the car, she noticed an envelope lying on the passenger seat.

“Oh no. He didn’t.” Carly reached over and picked it up.

Sure enough, it was the birthday card with the printout of the ticket codes for a flight to Paris.