On The Rocks (Love After Midnight Book 3)

by Elise Faber

Brooke wanted us both happy, and she’d given up the goods on all things Anabelle preferred then had sent me to Iris for additional information the next morning for further intel. Thankfully, Iris felt the same way, or at least that she wanted Anabelle to find someone who cared for her as much as Anabelle cared for the people in her circle.

  “She deserves to have someone want to learn all the little details about her,” Iris had said when I’d shown up at her bakery early that morning, wondering how I’d win her over in order to get more dirt and then purchase some baked goods to ply Anabelle with.

  “I agree,” I had said. Simple truth.

  Her eyes, a startling blue-green, had fixed me in place for long moments. “If you’re going to be with her, you need to be that guy.”

  “I intend to be,” I told her.

  We’d stood there in silence for several minutes as she’d continued to take my measure. Finally, she sighed and nodded, her face gentling. “I think you can be.” She touched my arm, sighed again. “Brent misses you.”

  “I miss him as well,” I said. “And I’m working on that, too.”

  “He’s stubborn,” she murmured.

  “Yup.”

  Lips curving. “Let it be known, he’s got a soft spot for cherry pie.”

  “Tequila, cherry pie, and cute little blondes who are obsessed with Christmas nutcrackers,” I teased. “Don’t think I didn’t see your very large collection. You trying to torment my friend?”

  She snorted and smacked me lightly, before returning to kneading a large pile of dough in front of her. “Okay, maybe a little.” A sly smile, finger and thumb held up, mere centimeters apart.

  “About that cherry pie,” I began, “happen to know where I can find some?”

  A finger tapping her lips. “Hmm. Maybe?” Then she’d patted my cheek, surprised me with a hug and said, “Come to dinner Saturday night. We’ll work on Brent.” A beat. “I promise I’ll lock up the nutcrackers.”

  I’d laughed, but my throat had gone tight from her teasing, from her help and acceptance. Brookie had done so good to surround herself with these folks.

  “Don’t be sad,” Iris murmured. “It’ll all work out.”

  “Yeah?”

  A nod. “Yeah.”

  “Thank you.”

  Iris had just given me another squeeze, and I could have sworn that there was a trace of mischief in her eyes when she stepped back and told me, “Bring a bottle of whiskey. Single malt.”

  But by the time I’d caught it, the trace was gone, her eyes on the counter in front of her and the intricate braid of dough she had laid out on the steel.

  We’d chatted a few minutes, the soft-spoken baker’s eyes narrowing dangerously when she told me that Anabelle liked the pumpkin muffins at a place in San Francisco called Molly’s better than Iris’s own.

  “I’ll defeat my enemy on the baking battlefield,” she’d growled, although the effect had been slightly diminished by the fact that she had a streak of flour on her cheek.

  “Of that, I have no doubt.”

  She slapped another pile of dough down, began kneading. “And then I will be victorious!” Grinning at me, she’d given the directions to Molly’s then shooed me out of the kitchen, so I had time to make the drive and get back to Anabelle’s place.

  Pumpkin muffins and an Americano.

  Not bad for an opening shot.

  But today, I had another plan.

  I was behind the large tree in Anabelle’s backyard, watching and waiting after having just deposited another bag on her porch.

  Not food this time, but something I’d had the merest glimpse of in the form of a tattoo on her wrist, something I’d confirmed from Brooke’s list of all things Anabelle.

  The doorknob rattled, and I shifted farther into the shadows, wanting to see if her reaction was going to be all I hoped. The wooden panel slid open, shapely jean-clad legs emerged, and I took my time allowing my gaze to drift from her calves up to her sexy hips, to the pale blue sweater draped over her frame. It hinted at curves beneath, made my fingers tingle with the urge to touch.

  But I forced myself to keep looking up, to take in her expression as she halted—eyes wide, lips parted, the palest pink appearing on her cheeks.

  Then she smiled.

  And, just like that, I tumbled headfirst into love. I’d pretty much been there, whether it was McAlister genes or just the onslaught of this woman. But in my head, there was no more equivocating or saying it was too soon. This woman was it for me.

  Porches.

  My kryptonite.

  Well, if they kept bringing me this woman, then I wasn’t going to complain.

  She bent and picked up the bag, taking it to the top step and sitting down with it in her lap.

  Then she peeled open the flap and . . . burst out laughing.

  Exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for.

  Anabelle reached into the bag, pulled out the coasters I’d found that had sayings from one of her favorite shows—not that she’d told me that, since I still hadn’t even pinned her down on movies or cocktails yet. I had forbidden Brooke and Iris from telling me, knowing there were some things I needed to discover for myself.

  The TV show info I’d taken.

  And I’d been glad I’d done so when I’d seen the shop in San Francisco the previous day, merch from her favorite reality show on full display.

  Now, she had a set of coasters for her favorite drink that I still didn’t know.

  Her gaze lifted after she’d gone through the five wooden squares. “Come on out, secret agent man. I want to kiss you properly.”

  Seeing as I wanted that, too, I stepped out from behind the tree.

  Anabelle shook her head, lips still curved. “Okay, I can admit you still have some skills, given the way you just materialized out of shadows.”

  Chuckling, I made my way over to her. “You didn’t look below,” I said.

  Because while her tattoo didn’t relate to the show, it did relate to something else I’d seen in those San Franciscan shops.

  “What?” she asked, brows drawn together.

  I snagged the bag, pulled out the tissue paper, and handed her the tiny box inside.

  “Hayden,” she began.

  “Open it.”

  She tugged off the lid and froze, every single muscle in her body going stiff for long moments, long enough that I felt a trickle of fear in thinking that I’d done the wrong thing.

  But then she carefully tugged one of the earrings free. They were shaped like tiny hermit crabs, the pattern nearly identical to the small tattoo on her wrist.

  “I—” Her eyes found mine. “How?”

  I brushed my fingers over her wrist. “I pay attention.”

  She threw her arms around my neck, hauled me close, and gave me a kiss that sent my pulse skyrocketing, my cock hardening to granite. Her tongue brushed mine, her hands wove into my hair, the earring the smallest pinprick of pain.

  Because she was close.

  Because her mouth was on mine, her body was pressed to mine.

  Because her heart was slowly becoming mine.

  Measured and steady and persistent. I was going to win this girl.

  Fifteen

  Anabelle

  I watched Hayden’s back as he left, having turned down my invitation inside because he had a meeting for the house he was going to purchase.

  Apparently, everything had gone through as it should, and he’d have occupancy to his new place in two weeks.

  Two weeks he’d told me, after I’d managed to stop kissing the man for being sweet and thoughtful—and pushy—that couldn’t come soon enough. Apparently, living with newlyweds wasn’t ideal, least of all when one of those newlyweds was his sister.

  Either way, I could fully admit, without panic, thank me very much, that I liked the idea of him staying nearby.

  He was . . . special.

  And I . . . well, I really liked him. Maybe more than liked him, but that was a trail I couldn’
t allow myself to go down, not if I liked the whole not panicking thing.

  Regardless, I was happy he was staying.

  Especially if he kept showing up on my porch.

  Hay stopped at the corner of the fence, glanced back, and smiled. But damn, did the man have a sexy smile.

  I lifted my hand in a wave. He waved back.

  Then he was gone, slipping through the gate and disappearing out into the street.

  Disappointment. Yup, it was real.

  I glanced down at the box holding the hermit crab earrings. I’d explained to him what they meant as we’d sat on the porch, but I still couldn’t believe he’d noticed the tiny tattoo on the inside of my wrist, even with the long sleeves.

  I’d gotten the ink for my mom.

  She’d had a pet hermit crab named Ted for years when we were growing up, would always spend too much time decorating different shells for him to try on. Sparkles and rhinestones, fancy beads, all attached with superglue. That crab had more bling than most celebrities, and that didn’t even include the hours she’d spent drawing different “crabby” designs in fine point markers.

  Ted had enjoyed a charmed lifestyle, with fresh food and water, those shells, and a palatial enclosure.

  He’d died just a few weeks before my mom, as though part of him had known the end was coming.

  Great. Now I was anthropomorphizing a crab.

  Still, I couldn’t deny they’d had a connection. I’d seen him crawl far too often over my mom, perching on her hand, slowly making his way up to her shoulder and hiding in her hair.

  Ah, Ted. She’d loved him, and I’d put him on my arm. After far too many drinks one night in Berlin, in a sketchy looking tattoo studio, all while blabbering to the artist about sparkly seashells.

  It was a miracle it had turned out as great as it had.

  I ran a finger over the silver charm. And now I had another memory to add to the box I had tucked deep inside my heart. My mom. Ted. Hayden and his thoughtfulness.

  Sighing, in happiness rather than impatience for once, I headed into the house.

  Enough mooning over Hayden.

  I had errands to run, groceries to buy, laundry to do, and . . . I grinned because I had one other stop to make before I went into work that night. I had no doubt that Hayden would show up, but this time I wouldn’t be empty-handed.

  He’d been paying attention. Well, so had I. He’d been slowly winning me over. I wasn’t going to be the only one falling. He’d pushed, and I was going to push right back.

  Nodding to myself, I headed into my bedroom, setting the box on my dresser, taking a moment to run my finger over the tiny claw on the earring, not needing to make the decision, not when it had already been made. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it had happened, but I thought it correlated with pumpkin muffins, or maybe it was warm sand beneath my toes, or maybe it was porches.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I whispered, using the mirror to slip the earrings on and feeling closer to my mom . . . to myself . . . to another person than I’d felt in so many years.

  Accepting the choice was almost easy, as though Hayden had the key to unlock my shields. Or maybe it was effortless because he’d opened his wide.

  Regardless, the decision to stop hiding and to explore whatever it was between me and Hayden was similar to the one that had kept me in Europe, instead of the one that had made me go in the first place.

  I was going to live rather than run.

  And the first thing I did in the living category was text my brother back, instead of ignoring the messages like I normally would have, instead of just bearing the brunt of his anger and trying to dutifully move forward.

  I wasn’t doing that anymore.

  I was standing up for myself. I was done with shouldering more guilt and blame and self-recrimination.

  It was just . . . enough.

  My fingers flew across the keyboard, typing the words fast and furious, and before I could second-guess myself, I hit the button to send the message.

  I didn’t kill her, and you’re an asshole for saying that.

  Maybe not the nicest or most mature words, or even the most eloquent.

  But it was a start.

  And as Hayden had pointed out, sometimes knowing that something had to be done or wasn’t right, didn’t always translate to feeling whole and healed. I needed to be patient and take those baby steps and keep moving forward.

  A month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to get there.

  With him in my life, I knew that it was an inevitability.

  Last call had come and gone.

  Hayden hadn’t shown.

  I had a box burning a hole in the bottom of my purse, and the man hadn’t come.

  “Fucker,” I muttered, stacking the last glass in the tray, knowing I was being unreasonable. He hadn’t actually said he was going to come into the bar that night, and it was Kace’s day off. He and Brooke and Hayden were probably doing family things.

  The glasses rattled as I shoved them into the dishwasher.

  It was the final tray. The bar was empty, its front door locked, the alarm set behind Brent as I’d shooed him out the door to get home to Iris.

  At least they’d invited me to dinner on Saturday. I’d get yummy baked goods and get to hang out with my friends before heading into the bar to work my closing shift.

  We used to alternate the big nights—Friday and Saturday—but Brent had asked for them off not long after things had gotten serious with him and Iris. Not that he wasn’t willing to fill in, but he preferred to have his off days line up with Iris’s, and since he’d gone back to school and his degree was nearly complete, I knew that his nights of working closing shifts alongside me were numbered.

  He’d switch to swing, or to days, and then when he moved on from bartending, I wouldn’t see him as often.

  Sighing, I glanced around the bar that had become home in so many ways and couldn’t stop the pulse of sad from creeping through me. But that sad was tempered. Brent would soon have a career that brought him bigger and better things . . . and a schedule that aligned more closely with Iris’s early mornings.

  Brent wasn’t a lifer. Had never been.

  And what was I?

  That I wasn’t sure of yet. Not an academic. Not an East Coast, familial black sheep who moved in with her sister and father.

  Just a bartender.

  For now, that was enough.

  Kace was different. He had a clear path. He was the owner, enjoyed being behind the bar, though on quiet weeknights, disappeared into the office to do owner things.

  Snorting, I perused the space behind the bar, made sure we were set for the next day, before pulling the tray of glasses out of the dishwasher when it dinged. One final walk into the front room, a glance to confirm the door was locked, the space empty, before I headed to the office to grab my backpack.

  Heavier because of the box inside. A box that Hayden hadn’t shown up to receive. Ugh.

  I made a face before turning off the alarm so I could leave without triggering it. Then I punched in the code on the panel to start the countdown timer for a second time, walked down the hall, and pushed open the door.

  “Hey, Rocky.”

  I nearly screamed as I all but jumped out of my skin.

  Hayden was there, in the shadows.

  I clasped a hand to my chest, glared over at him. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  A flash of white in the dark of night, the tall, beautiful, wonderful man I’d just started to call my own coming to my side, tugging lightly on a strand my hair before tucking it behind my ear. “You locked me out,” he said with all the charm of a schoolboy, leaning close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath on my skin.

  “Well, you missed last call,” I said tartly, pushing past him and heading to my car, even though I wanted to lean closer, wanted to turn my head and press my lips to his. “If you’d come before we closed, you wouldn’t have gotten locked out.”

  He beg
an walking beside me. “I was busy.”

  I sniffed, kept moving to my car.

  “Itching for a fight, Rocky?”

  “No.” Though, I supposed I was. I had been waiting for him all night, the need to see him a perpetual prickle under my skin.

  Hot breath on my ear. “Liar.”

  I reached into my backpack to extract my keys, but instead my fingers grasped the box, tugged it out. “Here,” I grumbled, slapping it against his chest.

  “What’s this?” he asked, taking it.

  “Nothing,” I muttered, grabbing my keys next and unlocking my door. “Did you drive?”

  He was staring down at the present, wrapped in Christmas paper since I’d had some left, and it fit . . . and also because I wasn’t the type of woman to have wrapping paper of various kinds at my place. More power to those peeps who did, but I usually defaulted to gift cards, and if I did have an idea for a present for my friends or family, then I defaulted to a gift bag and tissue paper.

  Sometimes it matched.

  Sometimes it didn’t.

  I could never get the floof of paper coming out of the top of the bag right.

  But it wrapped the gift, and it was what was inside that was more important anyway, right?

  Right.

  Inner monologue about wrapping paper choices aside, I realized Hayden hadn’t moved, was frozen, holding the box to his chest.

  “Hay?” I asked.

  He blinked. “Yeah, Rocky?”

  “Did you drive?”

  His eyes met mine, and I was confused by the slight haze in them. As though he were shocked that I might have bought him something, even after he’d been peppering me with treats. Not to mention, Brooke was generous with her affection. I couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t have bought him presents.

  Or maybe it wasn’t that?

  “No,” he said, shaking his head, that haze disappearing. “I didn’t drive.” One half of his mouth curved up. “I thought I’d bum a ride.”

  I sighed, pretending to be put out, but instead I grabbed the handle to the driver’s door, inclined my head to the other side, and said, “Get in.”

  “Bossy.”

  “You like it,” I said, starting to sit in the driver’s seat when his voice drifted to my ears.