Love on the Lake (Lakeside #2)(17)

“He was a POW in Kuwait.” Again, he answers the questions I don’t have the courage to ask.

I fumble the glass and he catches it, setting it in the freezer. “Where’s his family?”

“Right here.” Louis motions to the bar. He pats me on the shoulder. “You’re new here. It takes some time to figure it all out.”

I nod, although I feel like he’s saying a lot more than his words imply.

Five minutes later a man settles on the stool at the end of the bar. The spot has been empty all day. I glance over and my breath catches. Even with the brim of his ball cap covering half of his face, I’ve come to recognize that set of shoulders. Which should be concerning since I’ve only seen them a few times. But Aaron Saunders has a presence. Something about him makes the room buzz with new energy. Women sitting at booths cross and uncross their legs. They sip their drinks and whisper to each other.

He touches the brim of his ball cap and says something to the two older ladies who sat down at the bar and shared a special while nursing bottled beers. They do what every woman who seems to be given his positive attention does: giggle like schoolgirls and touch their hair. They throw their heads back and laugh, and he smiles in return, lighting up the entire bar. Based on what I’ve witnessed so far, Aaron Saunders is a shameless flirt, and the women around here eat it up. They chat for a minute or two, at least until Aaron’s phone screen flashes, and his attention shifts to the incoming message.

The women go back to sharing the remains of their cold fries, still stealing starry-eyed glances at Aaron. I find it a little annoying. Especially since he’s been anything but flirty with me.

I take a deep breath and make my way down the bar. His phone is in his hands, the corners of his mouth pulled down in a frown. At my approach he sets the device facedown on the bar and lifts his head. His mouth opens and closes, that frown deepening and a furrow appearing between his brows. Here we go. I steel myself, ready for his prickly demeanor.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he barks.

Mike and Jerry, who are still sitting at the bar several stools down, food long eaten, beers replaced with coffee, both glance our way.

I smile brightly, not wanting him to see how his sharp tone affects me. “I work here.”

“Since when?” His furrow turns into something between shock and annoyance.

“Since today.”

“I thought you were here for the weekend.”

“Plans change.” And mine have changed a lot in forty-eight hours. “What can I get you, Aaron?”

He blinks a couple of times and blows out a breath. “I’ll wait for Louis.”

I lift one shoulder and let it fall, as if his snub doesn’t mean a thing to me. But it drives me bonkers that he has clear disdain for me for no reason I can see. I shouldn’t care, and yet it feels a lot like a challenge I want to take on to get him to change his tune. I saunter down the bar, checking on customers, making sure drinks are topped up or bills are handed over and change is made as I go. It’s a full five minutes before I reach the other end of the bar, where Louis is.

“Aaron want his usual?”

“I’m not sure. He said he’d wait for you.”

Louis raises a single eyebrow. It seems to be his thing. “Do you know how to make a root beer float?”

“Isn’t it root beer and vanilla ice cream?”

“Yup, but he likes his topped with whipped cream and a cherry.”

I glance over my shoulder to the end of the bar, where Aaron is once again chatting up the two older women, and then back at Louis. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope. Think you can handle it?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem.” Ice cream and soda should not be something I can mess up.

“Then go for it. And put in an order for the special, but he likes Caesar salad instead of fries, and one onion ring on his burger. And you don’t need to bring him the ketchup and mustard; he takes barbecue sauce instead.”

I repeat the order back to him to make sure I got everything, then key it into the system and get to work making the root beer float. I fill a float glass two-thirds of the way with root beer before I disappear into the kitchen.

There’s a teenage boy-man working on salads, listening to music. It sounds more like someone is beating the instruments in a tuneless, angry battle and stabbing the singer with pins, but to each his own. He bobs his head to the maniacal beat. When it looks like he’s about to break into a drum solo, I interrupt.

“Hi.”

He nearly drops the metal bowl full of romaine lettuce, dressing, and imitation bacon bits. He spins around, eyes wide. They skim over me, stopping at my feet for a second before rising back to my face. His cheeks explode with color. “Hi. Uh, who are you?”

“I’m Teagan. I just started working the bar today. Actually, I’m in the middle of my interview. And now I’m supposed to make a root beer float for Aaron Saunders. Do you know him?”

He nods twice. “Sure do.”

“Is he particular about his root beer float?”

“He sure is.”

“Wanna help a girl out so my interview goes well?” I tip my head to the side and smile.

“Yeah. For sure. I’m more than happy to help. I’m Tanner Freelton.” He wipes his hand on his white shirt and holds it out.