Page List


Font:  

The bar itself is in a three-story building, on the ground floor. The apartments are on the top floor. He uses the floor in between for storage, which means no noise from the bar reaches the apartments. I clap my hands in excitement as I survey the building once more: fresh, energetic, promising a good time if you step inside.

The bar is already buzzing with customers, despite it not even being five o’clock. Then again, most tourist guidebooks or websites list it as a recommendation, so chances are many of the customers are tourists who aren’t bound to their work schedule. Two bartenders are behind the counter, but Blake sits at one of the high, round tables right next to the bar. He’s with two other men and a woman who are wearing suits, and from what I can see, they are pointing to some papers on the table. He’s in serious business mode, and it’s a damn good look on him. Even though he’s talking to a group, he dominates the space and, as far as I can tell, the conversation.

I wave discreetly at Blake, then hop on one of the stools in front of the bar in a move I hope conveys that I’ll wait for him to finish the conversation. But Blake nods at the three strangers and heads toward me. The crowd parts for him as he stalks through the room. Blake emanates power and confidence in a subtle way. Everything about him makes you stand taller and pay attention.

“Hello, future neighbor. I’m wrapping up things with the group there, and we’ll go up in a few minutes, okay?”

“Sure, take your time. I’ll wait and have a glass of whatever in the meantime.”

“Great.” Blake motions to the closest bartender. “Whatever the lady here drinks is on the house.”

“Blake,” I admonish. “No way—”

“When you drink in my bar, you don’t pay.”

He smiles, but his tone leaves no room for argument.

Before I even have time to open my mouth and argue, Blake leaves, returning to his group. I order a glass of ginger lemonade and, while sipping from it, inspect the bar closer.

Before I know it, Blake is ushering his conversation partners toward the entrance. Quickly, I try to pay for my drink, and I’m smart about it, approaching the bartender Blake hasn’t instructed to provide me with free drinks. I almost manage to hand him ten dollars when Blake catches my forearm midair.

“No,” he says simply. The bartender’s eyebrows climb into his hairline but he steps away, finishing the cocktails he was mixing when I approached him.

“I want to pay for my drink,” I insist.

“Family and friends don’t pay in my bar.”

His voice holds equal parts domination and determination, and it sends my pulse into overdrive. He holds my gaze captive, and my forearm, his fingers applying a gentle pressure on my skin. The contact sends waves of heat through me. Oh crap. Any day now, I will grow immune to his charm. Any day now. But today is not the day. At least the attraction is one-sided, thank goodness.

Licking my lips, I pull back my arm, placing the ten-dollar bill back in my bag. “Okay. Thank you.” I down the last few gulps of lemonade.

“Let’s go upstairs. Unless you want another drink?”

“No, I’m good. Let’s go.”

“Follow me. There’s a separate entry though the back, so you wouldn’t have to walk through the bar every time. I’ll show you.”

Blake leads the way, opening doors for me and tucking me into his side as we step outside on the street and round the corner. His protective streak is most endearing. When Blake pushes the door to the apartment open after we climb two flights of stairs, I smile. It’s love at first sight. The place, at least what I can see of it, is even better than I imagined, even though a blanket of dust covers it.

“I’ve done improvements,” Blake explains as we step inside. “But the building has an old infrastructure.”

“I like old things. They have a soul, a history.”

“True.”

The apartment is a lovely blend of old and new. Blake gives me a quick tour. The living room is spacious and the bedroom a little on the small side, but I love it. It’s quaint.

“My bedroom is on the other side.” Blake points to the wall. “The two apartments used to be one single unit, but the owner before me divided them by a wall and made a separate entrance.”

Briefly I wonder how thick the wall is and barely manage to keep myself from asking out loud. That’s a rabbit hole if there ever was one. I suppose I’ll find out as soon as Blake has a lady friend over. My stomach churns unpleasantly at the thought, which is ridiculous. I have no business being jealous. No business at all.

“It‘s dusty, but I’ll call a cleaning company before you move in,” he says as we return to the living room.

“No need. I’ll do it myself.”

“I’ll bring in a cleaning company.”

“Is there any point in contradicting you? You’re extra bossy today.”


Tags: Layla Hagen The Bennett Family Romance