Page 1 of Grand Escape

Rylan

“What can I get you?”

I leaned on the bar, my elbow perched along the plastic drain, a good bit of my typically golden skin on display. It was a common stance for me—there was no reason to read into it. Focused solely on my newest customer, I was in work mode. After all, it was a Sunday, usually the slowest night of the week, and I was laying it on a little thick.

Hey, I work for tips.

Not really, but they were a very much-appreciated bonus to my well-paid bartending job in the islands. Also, it was fun to think of tips that way as I channeled my whole Donna Summer “She Works Hard for the Money” vibe.

It was worth mentioning, this new guest was easy on the eyes. Okay, more like smoking hot and in need of a drink, and I was here to serve him one.

Or several.

He aimed his baby blues at me, which were like a couple of Caribbean-blue plunge pools, encouraging me to dive right in. Although they were pretty, pain lurked behind those eyes, leaving them sad. Blond hair fell around his face, a tad too long for the serious businessman or lawyer I expected he’d turn out to be.

Vacation-mode hair was what we called it BTS. That means “Behind the Scenes,” in case you didn’t know.

His voice, rough and deep, dragged me out of my thoughts. “That depends on what you’re serving.”

“Oh, we’ve got a live wire tonight.” I stood up straight and my long wavy ponytail fell behind my back.

He let out a little snort as he stared at his hands, clasped together on the bar. “I don’t know about that. Long travel day. How about a Tito’s straight up with lime.”

Broken-heart alarms rang out in my head, and I wished we were busier behind the bar. Despite him being a hottie, I now dreaded listening to this one bellyache all night. Being the bartender/therapist wasn’t my strong suit. Brianna or Billy would have been a way better choice for that. They actually had feelings.

Without another word, I snatched the glossy bottle of vodka from the palm-frond-lined shelves behind me and a chilled lowball from under the bar. No need to measure—I’d been doing this a long freaking time. I poured the right amount of vodka in the glass and slid a lime wedge onto the rim.

“On me.” I set it in front of Mr. Sad Eyes and turned to move away.

Surprising me, he only said, “Thanks.”

I nodded without turning back around and went to check on Ronnie and Sheryl, the honeymooners who’d been here for almost two weeks. He was a techie and, wait for it ... she was an influencer.

Like every other night, Sheryl was busy shuffling her drinks all around the bar, mixing and matching with various other objects, taking pictures while Ronnie busied himself on his own phone. Tonight, she was occupying herself with a glass of sangria, a cocktail napkin, and a cocktail stick of Luxardo cherries, her freshly manicured nails matching their deep burgundy color.

I forced myself not to roll my eyes. The couple tipped well and were pleasant enough, so what did I care if her little vignettes were absurd?

“Anything else?” I asked, staring at the top of their heads as they were hunched over, scrolling or tapping on their phones.

Ronnie’s head popped up. “Oh. Hey, Rylan.”

Sheryl followed suit, giving me a broad smile. “Any chance we can get some chips and salsa?”

Knowing she wasn’t actually going to eat them, I nodded anyway.

“And a shrimp cocktail,” Ronnie said. “We had a late lunch and a rendezvous. It’s our honeymoon,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

When I first started, I thought this type of banter was unnecessary, but now I knew it to be part of the job.

Dragging Sheryl closer to his side, he kissed the top of her blond curls. “Isn’t it, baby?”

Ugh. I wished for a busier bar. At this point, the sad sack down the bar seemed more appealing than these lovebirds. I wanted to tell them to keep their smooches to themselves.

Putting on a fake smile, I said, “You two are never going to be able to go home after this honeymoon. Everyday life is going to be so drab.”

“I know, right?” Sheryl perked up, sitting tall and flipping her hair.

“Right. Well, you two go back to your stuff,” I said, wiggling my fingers at their phones. “I’ll get you those snacks.”