Tinsel (Lark Cove #4)(12)

I stumbled sideways and right into a neatly organized grid of clean glasses. My elbow caught four of them and sent them crashing onto the floor. Of course, they landed on one of the non-rubber-matted places and shattered instantly.

Dakota had cursed and then stomped over to help me clean them up. Correcting my mistakes was pretty much all he’d done today.

First it was the peanut shells. Then he’d taught me how to clean a table.

After that I’d learned that my way of dusting liquor bottles was wrong. My way of delivering the beer bottles he opened was wrong. My way of clearing the empty beer bottles was wrong too.

Everything I’d done today was wrong.

“Why don’t you take a break.” Dakota sighed. “I’ll finish this.” He walked away, leaving me still hovering over the floor.

I swiped my eyes dry so he wouldn’t see the tears gathering.

I’d been on the verge of a full-on meltdown all day, but somehow I’d managed to keep it in. I think the shock had made me numb to a degree.

I was the crier in our family. I cried even more than Mom had during menopause.

And my crying annoyed everyone.

Aubrey would purse her lips whenever I started to tear up. She’d tap her foot on the floor, like she was counting how many taps it would take me to pull myself together. That tapping always made it worse, knowing that my own sister didn’t care about my bruised feelings.

Logan would just clench his jaw or shake his head. Dad would look up from his phone or computer then narrow his eyes, silently telling me to stop so he could concentrate on whatever email or message was more important than his daughter’s silly emotions.

Mom was the only one who didn’t make me feel awful for the tears, though she encouraged me to cry in private.

My family didn’t understand me. They didn’t realize I was softer than they were. I didn’t have an edge or a protective shell that made me tough. I was just . . . me. And when things got difficult, I cried.

It made me feel better.

But crying wasn’t allowed in this modern age when women were empowered to rule the world, when we were supposed to be made of steel and iron, stronger than the men who would hold us down if we showed a moment of vulnerability. In today’s society, a crying woman was just pathetic. I was weak. My tears were pitiful.

But could I stop them from springing up? No. Even as I willed myself to stay strong, the tears came of their own volition.

At least I was able to choke back the sob that wanted to work its way free.

I dried my eyes, taking a few deep breaths, then stood.

The man sitting on the other side of the bar a few seats down was staring. He looked to be in his late fifties, his brown hair streaked with gray at the temples. He’d sat witness to the entire dishwasher, glass-breaking fiasco.

And he knew I was about to lose it.

But instead of a frown or a roll of his eyes, he gave me a reassuring smile. “It’s just a couple of glasses.”

“Today’s not my day.” This year wasn’t my year.

“I’m Wayne.” He extended his hand. “I come in here about every day to say hello and drink a beer. I guess some would call me a regular.”

I shook his hand. “I’m Sofia. Sofia Kendrick.”

From an early age, I’d gotten in the habit of using both my first and last name with introductions. People in New York heard the name Kendrick and paid attention. Except . . . was it pretentious to add it when Wayne hadn’t offered his own?

“Kendrick. As in Logan and Thea Kendrick?” he asked.

I nodded. “Logan is my brother. I came out to visit them for New Year’s, but they actually just left on vacation. I’m here trying to, um . . . help at the bar while they’re gone.”

Behind the bar, Dakota walked by with the dustpan and brush. He made short work of the remaining glass bits on the floor then tossed them into the garbage. With another one of my messes corrected, he scanned the bar to see if anyone needed anything. Seeing as our few customers were happy, he turned without a word and walked down the back hallway again.

My gaze lingered on his long legs, the way his jeans molded to his thighs and the globes of his really, really nice ass. It was grossly unfair that I had to share my lowest of low days with a man who was so devastatingly handsome.

Dakota’s wide shoulders and towering frame filled doorways. His arms were so long he could reach the tallest liquor shelf, nearly to the ceiling, without a stretch. They reminded me more of wings than arms because he moved with such grace and silence. Even his thick-soled boots landed gently on the floor.

“So how long are you here?” Wayne asked.

“Ten days.” I tore my eyes away from the hallway where Dakota had disappeared. “I came out here for a last-minute vacation, so I don’t have a set schedule. But I’ll probably go home once Logan and Thea get back from Paris.”

“Good for you. I’m on vacation myself. I work as the chief maintenance officer at the school here in town. That’s a title I gave myself a few years ago, by the way. Thought it sounded fancy. Anyway, the kids are all on break so I’m enjoying some downtime. Gotta love vacation.”

“It’s the best.” I forced cheer into my voice, not wanting to tell him that I now considered vacation an evil word.

Taking one of the surviving pint glasses, I filled it with some ice. Then I went for the soda gun. I’d been studying Dakota today, not just because I found him so appealing, but so I could try and avoid embarrassing mistakes. Carefully, just as he’d done at least ten times today, I pointed the spout on the gun and pressed the white button for water.