Chapter Sixteen
BULLET HELD THE pink ribbon he’d tied to the gift he had for Finlay and dragged the cool metal lightly along her bare hip as she slept Thursday morning. Tinkerbell lay with her chin resting on his calf, her dark eyes following his movements along Finlay’s waist and up her arm. Finlay nuzzled against Bullet’s chest, making a sweet, sleepy noise. Between interviewing candidates for the kitchen staff at the bar, working on menus, and coordinating the fundraiser, which Bullet had gotten unanimous approval for Monday night, she’d been on a dead run. He was thankful she’d been brave enough to overcome her fear of dogs and get to know Tinkerbell, which allowed them to spend the nights together at his place, as they’d done ever since.
He brushed his beard along her shoulder and kissed his way down her breastbone. She rolled onto her back with a heady sigh, eyes still closed as she reached for him. He loved how she always wanted him as much as he wanted her, but this time he gently moved her hands to the side and lowered his mouth over her nipple, teasing her with his tongue. She bowed off the mattress, mewling, her hands fisting in the sheets.
Tinkerbell sat up, and Bullet whispered, “Down, girl.”
The pup slinked off the bed, used to the command she’d heard a lot over the past several days. Bullet set the gift on the pillow, so he could give Finlay the attention she deserved. He moved over her, settling his hips between hers, and laced their hands together. He loved that extra connection. A smile lifted her lips and she blinked sleepily. He loved her sleepy smile as much as he adored all her others—the excited one that reached all the way up to her beautiful eyes, the playful ones that were usually accompanied by a shy fluttering of her long lashes, her seductive smile, the one that turned her eyes midnight blue, and one of his favorites, her sated, happy smile, which she probably didn’t realize she made. He saw that one when she was curled up in his arms, her body flushed and warm, still damp from their lovemaking. That was the sweetest smile of all. The one that told him that she was falling for him just as deeply as he was falling for her. The smile that said, I’m yours. Please don’t let me go.
He knew he never would.
“Mm,” she said sleepily. “I do like my Bullet in the morning.”
He brushed the head of his cock against her center, and she spread her legs wider. “I seem to remember you liking me in the middle of the night, too.”
He dipped his head and glided his tongue over her taut nipple again. When she arched up, he moved to the other one, teasing her with light flicks of his tongue, then circling the tip until she was panting. Her hips rose off the bed, and he pressed the base of his cock against her slick heat. He took one nipple between his teeth and tugged.
“Oh—” She whimpered, and he did it again.
With each tug she grew wetter, and her hips rocked faster. Each time they made love was a new adventure born from his dire need to be closer to her, to have more of her. And more came in nips, invasions of his tongue and fingers, tugs on her hair, and dirty talk. He wasn’t into restraints or other kinky shit, like some guys he knew were, and before Finlay, he’d never given two thoughts to what he liked sexually. Sex was always good, hard, complete. A much-needed release. But with Finlay, he wanted to touch all of her, to hear how much she wanted him and in what ways. Not because he got off on control, but because the trust and emotions they shared in those moments did him in. He craved those things more than the act of sex itself.
He sealed his lips over her nipple and sucked hard.
Her entire body craned up. “Bullet—”
“Sorry, babe. Too hard?”
She shook her head vehemently, and that seductive smile he loved so much sent rivers of heat washing through him.
“Too good,” she whispered.
“God, lollipop, you destroy me.” He traced the swell of her lower lip with his tongue. “Tell me what you want, babe.”
“You,” she said breathlessly.
He pumped his hips, pushing his cock along her slick heat, covering his balls with her wetness, thrusting again and again, until he was drenched in her arousal from base to tip and she was trembling.
“Want my cock?” he said against her neck. “Or…” He reached between her legs and teased her with his fingers. She was so wet, he couldn’t resist pushing his fingers into her tight heat. He sealed his mouth over hers in a rough kiss as she rode his hand, their other hands tightly laced. She reached between them and fisted his slick cock. He pumped his hips, fucking her hand as he fucked her with his fingers. God, she knew just how tight to hold him, just how fast to stroke, and she did this thing with her thumb over the head that drove him out of his fucking mind.
She moaned into his mouth, her legs flexing beneath him, her sex constricting around his fingers, and he intensified their kiss. He found that spot that made her moan and moved his thumb over her clit, applying just enough pressure to earn a full-body shudder. He quickened his efforts, loving her faster, kissing her deeper, until long, low moans flew from her lungs into his, and she bucked and rocked, squeezing his cock like a vise.
He tore his mouth away and ground out, “You’re going to make me come on you instead of in you if you don’t stop.”
She blinked up at him. He knew dirty talk was hard for her, and when she stroked him faster, the love in her eyes was the only response he needed. Their mouths came together like a gust of wind, insistent and gentle at once. His emotions reeled as he loved her with his whole body. Their tongues tangled, hands joined as he took her up, up, up and she stroked him toward the edge. Blood pounded in his ears, their hearts slamming to their own frantic rhythm, as they both cried out, succumbing to soul-drenching waves of passion.
He collapsed over her, the proof of their love sticky and warm between them as he showered her with kisses. “I need more of you, Fins.”
“More?” she panted out. “You have all of me.”
“Then I want you to have more of me.” He reached for the pink ribbon and dangled her gift between his finger and thumb.
“A key?” Her eyes widened. “Is that to your house?”
He pressed a kiss to her lips. “I don’t want to have to call you when I’m finally off work and worry about you driving over.” He worked from noon to midnight four days a week, four to twelve on Thursdays, and Mondays from noon until eight, which allowed him to attend church.
“I don’t mind.”
“I know you don’t, but I do, babe. You’re doing twice as much work with the fundraiser and the expansion of the bar. You need your rest, and part of resting is chilling out, not waiting around for a phone call and then driving across town in the middle of the night.” They’d talked about him picking up Tinkerbell after work and coming over, since he couldn’t leave Tinkerbell overnight, but that would delay his arrival for at least half an hour, and neither of them had wanted to lose that time together.
She reached up and took the key chain from his hand. “You’re so thoughtful, but how will I know you want me here if you don’t text or call? I don’t want to feel like I’m imposing on your alone time.”
“There won’t be a time I don’t want you here.”
She glanced at the key again, looking more closely at the two charms hanging from the key ring. “The Dark Knights emblem? But girls can’t be members, and I don’t even ride a motorcycle.”
“You haven’t ridden yet,” he said, and kissed her again. “You can’t be a member, but now everyone will know you belong to one.”
“Ah, it’s an ownership thing,” she said with a more serious expression.
“No.” It’s a love thing.
One step at a time.
“It’s a protection thing. No one will mess with you, knowing you’re involved with a Dark Knight.”
“No one messes with me anyway,” she said sassily, and then her gaze heated up a notch and she said, “But I’ll carry this proudly, as a symbol that I’m yours.”
“Good, because I got myself something, too.” He reached over to the bedside table and snagged his keys. He lifted the charm he’d bought when he’d had her key made, and laughter fell from her lips.
“A lollipop!”
“You’re my sugar rush, baby.” As he said the words, he realized they didn’t even come close to how important she’d become to him. “You’ll always be my sugar rush, but you’re so much more. You calm my ghosts enough for me to fall asleep and stay asleep, which I can’t remember ever doing. You’re not only my lover”—he kissed her cheek—“my friend”—he kissed the top of her nose—“and my secret keeper, but you’ve become an extension of me, always wanting to know more about me, to understand the whys and hows of my thoughts and actions.” He touched his forehead to hers and said, “I never knew I was capable of opening up the way I do with you, and I never imagined wanting as much companionship and intimacy as we have, but now I can’t imagine going to sleep or waking up without you, Fin. You’re my angel, the salve to my wounds. You’re my other half I never knew I was missing.”
With tears in her eyes, she wound her arms around his neck, the light in those tears matching the light in his heart. As their mouths came together, Tinkerbell leapt onto the bed and barked, and they both smiled into the kiss. Tinkerbell stretched her paws out and lowered her belly to the mattress, inching up beside them until her big body was parallel to theirs. She licked Finlay’s cheek, and with a loud, contented sigh, as if they’d righted everything in her world, she rested her chin on her paws and closed her eyes.
He couldn’t have expressed it better himself.
CROW HAD FINISHED the renovations at Whiskey’s, and the kitchen flowed as wonderfully as Finlay had envisioned it would. She was thrilled to give it a trial run that night. She made a plethora of finger foods, tweaking her best recipes to come up with unique menu ideas for the bar. When she’d arrived earlier in the afternoon, she’d let the customers know there was going to be a tasting session later that evening. She assumed a few people might stick around for it, and she was hoping to discuss the fundraiser with Red and the girls anyway, so staying at the bar would kill two birds with one stone. But word had spread about Finlay’s delicious treats, and the place was packed. Even Bones, Bear, and Biggs had shown up for the impromptu event, and it looked as though chatting about the fundraiser would have to wait.
Chicki Redmond sidled up to Finlay by the buffet table. She was Bud’s wife. Bud had been a member of the Dark Knights forever, and he was also co-owner of the Snake Pit. “Do you need some help, hon?” She gathered discarded napkins with a tsk.
“No. It’s okay. I’ve got it.”
Chicki was around Red’s age, with beautiful olive skin and chocolate-brown eyes. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a severe bun, and her makeup was done to perfection. According to Red, Chicki was a beautician and had taught half of the women in Peaceful Harbor how to do their makeup. Her black leather pants looked painted on, and her heels were higher than any Finlay had ever worn. On anyone else, the whole look might appear harsh, but Chicki looked elegant, like a model, and she swore like a sailor, a combination that was as foreign to Finlay as it was entertaining. She found everything about Chicki Redmond quite appealing.
“These fuckers think their mothers work here,” Chicki said as she looked over the discarded napkins on the table. “What the hell is this? You’re not their maid.”
Before Finlay could respond, Chicki turned toward the packed bar and clapped her hands. The din of the bar quieted, and she held up the pile of dirty napkins. “Okay, animals, on your feet. This nice young lady is feeding you for free. She is not your maid and she is not your mother. Let’s go.”
With groans and mumbled apologies, every man in the place began picking up empty dishes and discarded plates and napkins.
Chicki made a show of tossing the napkins in the trash and said, “That, my dear, is how it’s done around here.”
Dixie sauntered over, balancing a tray of glasses in her right hand as she swiped an empty glass from a table with her left. “Nice, Chicki. Can we hire you?”
“Not on your life,” Chicki said. “I did my time at the Snake Pit. A decade, to be exact. Now, give me some grandbabies to watch like Babs, and I’m there.” Babs was Bud’s brother Viper’s wife. She’d recently started babysitting for Kennedy and Lincoln, and the kids called her Nana Babs.
Dixie scoffed. “With my brothers around, I can’t get close enough to a man for a kiss, much less baby making.”
Dixie headed into the kitchen, and Finlay took advantage of the opening to ask about their business. “I’ve heard good things about the Snake Pit. It’s more upscale than here, I know, but what type of foods do you serve there?”
Chicki’s eyes narrowed. “Checking out the competition, little miss?”
“No. I, um…”
Chicki crossed her arms, and a slow smile lifted her lips. She put an arm around Finlay and said, “It’s okay. Bullet told me he was going to bring you down to compare menus.”
She felt her cheeks flush, wishing she had the kind of constitution that would allow her to hide her embarrassment, like Penny or Isabel. They were unflappable. “I’m sorry, yes, that’s true, but in a friendly way.”
“Honey, there’s no competition. We’re all family, and now that you’re with Bullet, you’re family, too. You can come down and get a tour of the kitchen, meet the staff, whatever you’d like. Dark Knights families stick together.”
Chicki headed over to the pool table, where several of the club members’ wives were gathered. Just a few weeks ago, Finlay had wondered why anyone would want to be involved in a motorcycle club, and Monday night, when she’d learned the women weren’t allowed at the meetings, she’d questioned it again. But as she looked around the bar, she took in Tru and Gemma dancing beside Bear and Crystal. Biggs sat at a table with a group of men, each of whom wore Dark Knights patches, including the high school principal. Penny stood at the bar beside Tru’s brother, Quincy. Quincy hadn’t taken his eyes off her since he arrived. Beside him, two other women who she’d seen arrive with two members she recognized from the clubhouse were leaning in to hear something Jed was saying from the other side of the bar. Bones approached, wearing a leather jacket with the Dark Knights emblem on the back. He put an arm around Quincy and Penny, weaseling right between them. Her gaze shifted to Bullet, who was pushing two drinks across the other end of the bar to a couple of bearded, tattooed guys who were also wearing Dark Knights shirts—men she once might have overlooked, or dismissed as trouble. One of them did a fist bump with Bullet, and she saw deep friendships and lasting connections. Now she understood what it really meant to be a member of the Dark Knights.
She barely had time to process her thoughts before remembering she’d been on a mission to refill the food trays. She stacked the empties and carried them into the kitchen and set to work preparing the next round of food for the tasting session. A short while later she was concocting what were quickly becoming known as her specialty—sliders topped with her special Whiskey sauce and coleslaw and sides of bourbon fries—when Red breezed through the kitchen doors.
“How’re you holding up, sweetie?” Red set an empty tray down on the counter beside Finlay.
Finlay had learned a great deal about the spunky, take-no-guff redhead since Monday night. Red was no queen, that was for sure. She was not afraid to get her hands dirty. It was clear that she was the cog in the wheel that held the Whiskey family, and the club, together. She nagged and pushed when people needed it, and Finlay had quickly realized that Red was the one who coordinated most of the Dark Knights family-friendly events.
She looked up from the sliders she was preparing and smiled. “I’m good. Thanks for asking, but this is fun for me. I can’t believe how many people showed up. Thank goodness Jed is here to help with the bar. I’m starting to wonder if having two cooks on staff is going to be enough. We’ve been interviewing with the thought of hiring two for different shifts. But based on tonight’s turnout, I don’t think it’s going to be enough.”
Red helped Finlay finish filling one tray with sliders and fries and another with sandwiches. “Well, that says something about your cooking, doesn’t it?”
“I think it says more about Whiskey’s reputation and what this place and your family mean to all those people out there. But I am really worried about staffing. You and Dixie can’t waitress twelve hours a day, and Dixie has found something wrong with every candidate I’ve brought in to cook.” She hadn’t realized how much this was worrying her until just then. “I thought you guys could do this on a smaller scale, but I’m not so sure.”
Red set a hand on her hip with an unsurprised look in her eyes. “I hear you on that, sweetheart. I have to believe that the right thing for Whiskey’s will show itself at some point. Between the fundraiser and the expansion, there’s a lot on our plates. Dixie is either not thinking clearly, or thinking more clearly than ever. Time will tell.” She shrugged. “We have a family meeting here Sunday to discuss the hiring. Can you be there?”
“I have a catering job Sunday midmorning, but I’ll be here in the morning. Bullet said it would be okay for me to use the kitchen to prepare for the event. Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Our kitchen is your kitchen.”
“Thank you. But about the staffing, I’m worried that this might turn out to be more than you guys bargained for. Bullet already works more than sixty hours a week, and Jed isn’t full-time. You might need to beef up the bar staff, too.”
Red waved a hand dismissively, as if none of that was a big deal. “Bullet could have handled tonight on his own,” Red said with pride. “He’s run this place for so many years now, he could do it in his sleep.”
Finlay didn’t understand why Red wasn’t more concerned and made a mental note to bring her worries up again on Sunday.
They fell silent as they loaded up the trays. Red lifted her gaze, meeting Finlay’s, and said, “Speaking of sleep, my boy seems far less restless than he ever has, and my heart tells me that’s because of you.”
Finlay warmed, knowing Red had noticed the difference in Bullet, too. She turned toward the other counter to prepare the garnishes. “We talk a lot. I think it’s helped to get things off his chest.”
“Brandon talking,” Red said with disbelief. “My word, girl, what have you done?”
Finlay turned at the somber sound of her voice and was shocked to be met with teary eyes. “Um…Is there something I don’t know about? Should he not talk about things? He seemed to want to.”
Red’s hand covered her chest as she blinked several times. She looked up at the ceiling and used a napkin to carefully dab at her eyes, somehow managing not to smear her dark eyeliner. “It’s good, honey. So very good.” She paused, and her brow furrowed, and then she sighed and said, “My boy is so sensitive. He’s struggled his whole life, trying to keep everyone safe, and in doing so, he’s turned himself into some sort of…”
“Secret keeper?” Finlay offered. “I’ve been thinking about that. He hasn’t yet shared with me the stories behind his tattoos, but I know they have important meanings. It’s like he takes everyone else’s pain and doesn’t just try to eradicate it, but holds on to a piece of it.”
“Secret keeper,” Red said softly. “I couldn’t have defined him better myself. My boys are all so different. Bobby—Bear—wears his emotions on his sleeve, while Wayne—Bones—has always been able to distance himself from people just enough to see them clearly and evaluate his feelings without getting too involved. But Brandon—your Bullet—he struggles with it all. As a boy, if one of the kids got in trouble, he would take the blame, and he wasn’t sneaky about it. Imagine trying to keep a straight face when he told me he scratched ‘Wayne Rules’ into the kitchen table, or when I followed a blue paint trail of Bobby’s four-year-old footprints from the patio, up the carpeted stairs, into his bedroom, and back down the rear steps to the utility room, where I found Bobby, his feet stained from the paint they’d washed off and Brandon painting his own feet blue.”
Finlay laughed and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry, but I can so see him doing that.”
“Oh, it gets better, hon. You couldn’t argue with Brandon. When he took the blame, it was as if he believed it to his very soul. We tried to punish him for lying, but come on. He lied to protect his brothers. In the end, we’d punish him for what he didn’t do, with the hopes the others would learn that there were ramifications.”
“And did they?” she asked, unable to stop smiling as she pictured Bullet—her Bullet—painting his feet to save Bear.
“I don’t know if it helped, but Brandon then took it upon himself to teach the younger ones right from wrong. I heard him talking to Bobby later that afternoon, and I’ll never forget how much he reminded me of my Biggs as he told him about respecting property and how lying was wrong. Bobby asked him why he’d lied, and his answers told me everything I ever needed to know about my eldest son. He said, ‘Because Papa taught me to always do the right thing. And protecting you is the right thing.’ My heart broke and grew that afternoon, which I never knew was possible until I had children.”
Finlay had experienced her heart breaking and growing at once the first night Bullet had opened up to her, when she’d seen his tattoos, and it had happened several times since. She wanted to share that with Red, but those moments seemed too intimate to reveal.
“We should take these out there before there’s a rebellion on our hands.” Red picked up a tray and grabbed a handful of napkins. “You already have quite a fan club.”
“My mom used to say, if you want to have a happy crowd, all you have to do is feed them and smile.” Finlay picked up a tray, smiling as she thought of her mother. She’d told Red about losing her father and her mother moving away, and now, as she picked up a tray, she realized why she wanted to share her thoughts with Red. Red had a way of making people feel special, the same way Finlay’s mother did.
Red pushed open the door with her hip and held it for Finlay to pass through.
“I don’t think that heart phenomenon is reserved for parenthood,” Finlay said as they left the kitchen. “I think it’s just reserved for those you care deeply about.”
Red leaned in close as they approached the table they’d set up for the buffet-style tasting and said, “Thank you.”
“For what?”
Red motioned toward the bar. “Nothing makes a mother happier than seeing her child leading with his heart.”
Bullet’s gaze was locked on Finlay, and he had what could only be described as a goofy smile on his lips. Finlay’s insides melted. She didn’t think it was possible for Bullet to do anything that could even be mistaken as goofy, but that I’m-so-gone-over-you smile proved her wrong. And goofy had never looked so hot.
AS THE EVENING progressed, Bullet watched his beautiful girl work the crowd, and a few things became clear to him. That pang of jealousy he felt every time she smiled at another guy needed to be dealt with. No matter how much he’d like to have her all to himself, Finlay Wilson was a people person, and he’d never want to steal that joy from her. Accepting the latter helped him with the former. He knew he’d never slay the green-eyed monster, even though he had never believed it really existed until Finlay came into his life. But he’d dealt with enough painful situations to know this one was a different type of pain. A good pain. He looked down at the tattooed letters on his fingers, each one gracing a knuckle—Y-O-U-’R-E on his left hand and A-L-I-V-E on his right—written upside down, because the message wasn’t meant for anyone other than himself. He’d thought he’d always need that reminder to push past the pain of knowing he’d left a piece of himself on the battlefield, but now that he’d found Finlay, he didn’t need words to move past it. She lit up parts of him he’d thought hadn’t existed.
His father’s large hands appeared on the bar across from his. The hands that had once carried him across streets, taught him to toss a ball, ride a bicycle, and later, ride motorcycles. The hands that had taught him the importance of embracing and the strength of a handshake. The hands that were now wrinkled and covered with age spots and had never once met his flesh in a slap or a spanking—though Bullet knew there were plenty of times he deserved it. But that wasn’t the way Biggs worked. No, lessons were hands- or eyes-on. How many times had his father lifted a chin in the direction of a man saying nasty things to a woman and then pointed a finger at Bullet and said, Men don’t need to demean to make a point. You got a beef with a woman, you sit your ass down and talk eye-to-eye. Hear what she has to say. Got it? A good percentage of the time, she’s gonna be right. And when she’s not, she deserves your respect for speaking her mind. Harsher lessons came when Biggs would drag him out of bed to drive a drunk customer home, or tell him to get his ass on his bike and meet the Knights at some address in town, where they were taking a stance against one form of trouble or another.
Bullet met his father’s serious eyes, and he wondered how he could have ever been resentful of the man who had not only given him life, but had tried his damnedest to teach him right from wrong.
“Your little filly is quite the salesgirl,” Biggs said slowly. He nodded toward Finlay, who was sitting at a table with Dixie, Gemma, Crystal, and Penny, while Red, Chicki, and two other club members’ wives leaned over the girls’ shoulders. They’d been discussing the fundraiser ever since the crowd had thinned. “She talked with all the members tonight, got the business owners to agree to hold some sort of raffle for the Beckleys. Digger’s auctioning off twelve hours of his own time, equipment included. And Bud’s offering up a bouquet delivery a month for a full year. You mind gettin’ me a beer?”
“Sure, Pop.”
As Bullet filled a frosty mug, Biggs continued telling him what Finlay had accomplished.
“Butcher’s raffling off a side of beef. Heck, son, she used that sweet smile of hers to convince Rebel and two other firemen to get into a dunk tank, which Crow’s going to build. She’s got ticket sellers lined up and everything. And your gal’s not stopping there. She and the girls have plans to visit local businesses and get them in on it. It’s liable to be the biggest event to hit Peaceful Harbor in years.”
“She’s pretty amazing,” Bullet said proudly.
His father lifted his beer in a toast and said, “A miracle worker if you ask me. We haven’t been this busy in years.”
“People like to eat.”
Biggs’s mustache twitched as a crooked smile appeared on his face. “They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. You and I both know that’s not true. We got much needier parts than our stomachs.” He took a swig of his beer.
Bullet chuckled. Biggs had never been one to mince words.
“Nope,” his father said. “It’s not the food that brought everyone here tonight. That helped, of course. Finlay can cook like nobody’s business. But word’s gotten around that Whiskey’s has a new gal on board, and she’s got a knack for making every single customer feel special.”
“Pop, she’s not here for good. You know that, right?”
His father took another pull on his beer, and his expression turned serious again. “I’m aware. But I’m thinkin’ you probably ought to fix that.”
Bullet shook his head and crossed his arms, steeling himself for an internal battle. “My girl’s not going to spend her nights in a bar.” He wanted Finlay where he was every minute of the day, but no matter how much he wanted that, he knew it wasn’t best for her. She had dreams of expanding her catering business, and she hadn’t come to Peaceful Harbor to give those dreams up.
“She’s got a catering business to get off the ground. Hell, Pop. We’re coming in Sunday so she can use the kitchen to get ready for an event.”
“You’re coming Sunday? Not going riding with your brothers?” Biggs wrapped his fingers around the head of his cane and pushed to his feet.
“Maybe while she’s at the event, but Sunday’s my only day off. If she’s here, I’m here.”
His father’s gaze drifted down Bullet’s torso to his hands. “Sometimes words take on new meanings and what seemed like a penance turns into a celebration.” He motioned for Bullet to reach across the bar, and he gave him an awkward one-armed hug. “I love you, boy, and if I don’t tell you enough, I’m damn proud of you. Always have been.”
Bullet cleared his throat in an effort to quell the surge of emotions his father’s praise unleashed. He watched Biggs limp over to Red and pull her into his arms. He must have said something charming because his mother’s gaze softened, and she touched his cheek before pressing her lips to his. Bullet looked away, his eyes immediately finding his girl, and his father’s words pushed through his mind. Sometimes words take on new meanings and what seemed like a penance turns into a celebration.
He had reason to celebrate life all right, and she was sitting across the room holding up her phone. She and the girls were talking on a video call.
As quickly as his father’s words had come back to him, they were drowned out by another thought. She’s not here for good. You know that, right…? I’m aware. But I’m thinkin’ you probably ought to fix that.
Maybe his father wasn’t referencing the tattoos on his fingers after all.
Finlay’s eyes shifted, as if she felt the weight of his stare, and she waved him over. “Bullet! We want to ask you something!”
He headed over to the table and ran his fingers through her hair. “What’s up, lollipop?”
“Lollipop!” came from the phone with a snort.
He recognized the voice as Finlay’s mouthy friend, Isabel. They talked often, and he liked her; she was a firecracker.
“How many licks does it take to get to Fin’s sweet cent—”
“Izzy!” Finlay cut her off, earning giggles from the peanut gallery.
Christ. He didn’t want to get involved in this hen party. He started walking away, and Finlay grabbed the back of his shirt.
“Wait, please?” She glared at Isabel. “She’ll behave. She’s just had too much wine to drink.”
Isabel held up an empty wineglass. “That might be true, but I’d say it anyway, because it’s funny.”
“How about we not talk about my girl’s body parts.” He glanced at Finlay, who was smiling so brightly, he couldn’t help but smile, too. “What’s up, angel?”
“We were just thinking. If we bring on kitchen staff, we might need another bartender and a waitress, and we were thinking about hiring Izzy. She could work for my catering company part-time, and work here part-time.”
His mind selfishly went to cutting back his hours. He looked at Dixie, then at his mother, and that guilt noose he sported tightened again. He needed a fucking clone to protect the people he loved, so he could spend more time with the one he loved most.
“Why don’t we discuss it Sunday?” Red suggested.
Sunday. My only day off, and I’m spending most of it without Finlay.
Sunday was going to fucking suck.