Chapter Four

Connor checked the address on his phone and turned onto the main road that wound through Gold Mountain. He knew he should be home working on the menu, proving to Mack he was serious about what they could do. But every time he tried to focus, all he could see was Mack leaning against the bathroom door. Her eyes sparking as she told him he was the kind of guy who walked away.

So when a woman messaged him inviting him to her hotel for a drink, he knew he should ignore it. But who did Mack think she was to dismiss him? He laced up his worn leather boots and told the soon-to-be hookup he was on his way.

Outside, the sky was thick with clouds. A bad storm was coming, and the weather advisory had said to get off the roads. Already rain pelted his car, but Connor wasn’t worried. He was about to be warm and dry in a fancy hotel room, tangled in sheets.

As he drove by the Dipper, he marveled at how quickly demolition had begun. Sam had pushed to get a head start on the renovation, and a dump truck was already out front. It was a reminder that he and Mack needed to figure something out—fast. Otherwise he might as well light his father’s money on fire, because that was all it was going to be good for.

But even though the place was closed, there was a car in the parking lot. Connor could guess who it belonged to. For all he knew, Mack had been in there for hours and had no idea about the storm.

He pulled in without thinking and took out his phone. Gotta make a quick stop, he texted. I’ll be over soon. He ran inside, the cold rain soaking him to the bone.

It was dark and eerie with so much of the space emptied out. But Mack had the work lights on, and she was behind the bar, a dozen or so small bottles spread out in front of her. Trees moaned in the wind, but she was so absorbed in what she was doing she barely noticed, taking a drop of liquid from one of the bottles and rubbing it between her fingers to let the aroma bloom.

Connor had no idea where Mack had learned her tricks. He’d be the first to admit he’d had everything handed to him—the right schools, the right connections, all the privileges he’d thrown away like he thought he could just waltz back whenever he wanted and be welcomed with open arms.

As far as he knew, Mack was self-taught. When he used to ask her about it, she’d shrug and change the subject, so closed off she wouldn’t even tell him where she’d gone to school.

He watched her work, her hands quick, her focus determined. He didn’t even know why he’d come in here. It was dusty, empty, everything except the kitchen and the bar itself torn out. He should leave, head straight to the hotel, do what he usually did and not worry about things like work or responsibilities or what one sexy, obstinate bartender thought of him.

But then his phone vibrated, no doubt with a message back from the woman at the hotel, and his cover was blown. Mack looked up with a start, nearly dropping the bottle she was holding.

“Holy shit,” she said, clutching a hand to her chest. “You scared me.”

He thought she might still be mad from the last time they’d seen each other. Or if not mad, then…weird.

But he walked over to the bar anyway.

“You’re soaking wet,” she said when he stepped into the light. “What are you doing here?”

“Escaping the rain.” He peeled off the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing.

He had on a T-shirt underneath, but it rode up along with the waffle knit. He could feel Mack staring at the line of skin exposed between the T-shirt and his low-slung jeans. Was he an asshole if he took his sweet time tugging it down?

“Seriously, Connor,” she said. “I don’t need you checking up on me.”

“I was driving by when I saw your car,” he said. “What are you doing out when this storm is getting bad?”

“I had work to do, and home wasn’t cutting it.” She held up an eyedropper and flashed him the label. Blackberry and vanilla.

“What’s that?”

“Bitters,” she said, like it should have been obvious.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. I thought it might go well on the menu. Have the drinks highlight different bitters, go through a rotating menu to draw people in. Just because I want Mackenzie’s to be down-to-earth doesn’t mean the drinks won’t stand out.”

“That’s—”

“Don’t tell me it’s not good enough before you’ve even tried it,” she interrupted.

“If you’d let me finish, I was going to say that’s a really good idea.”

He didn’t know which of them seemed more surprised by the admission. “Let me try one,” he said.

“Now?” she asked.

“You’re here, I’m here. Why not?”

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

“You have somewhere to be?” she asked.

“I have a few minutes.” He slid it back in his pocket, unanswered. This would only take a second.

He leaned against the bar as Mack poured him a combination of rye, cardamom, and something called gentian. He could smell the bitterness of the root, but there was another layer, a hint of sweetness. He closed his eyes, focusing on smell, taste, the feel in his mouth as he drank.

When he opened his eyes, she was staring at him intently. “Oh,” he said. “Was I supposed to spit it out?”

Mack laughed. “Depends on how much you’re planning on drinking before you get back in the car.”

“It was a small shot.”

“And you don’t want to be wasteful.”

“Exactly.” He let the last drop coat his tongue.

“So?” Mack asked.

“Can I be honest?”

Her face crumpled. He couldn’t believe it. “I didn’t say ‘Can I be an asshole,’ did I?”

Mack wrinkled her nose. “I wasn’t aware you needed my permission for that.”

“Very funny.”

“Was I laughing?”

“It’s good,” he said, before she could keep convincing herself of whatever she imagined he was thinking. He hadn’t expected his comment to surprise her. She had the ego to name an entire restaurant after herself. Obviously she thought her drinks were good.

But there was something a little sweet about the shot, and he suggested adding a lemon twist. Mack scribbled a note to herself in her notebook and then rinsed the glasses and poured them both a different combination. The more flavors Connor tasted, the more he could picture it: the sleek design, classy lighting, the dishes that would make everyone who dismissed him after he left New York stand up and take notice.

“This is too good for a regular bar,” he said as he sipped another concoction. “It belongs somewhere so much better than the type of place you’re proposing.”

He didn’t mean it badly, but he saw Mack’s hand waver as she held the bottle.

“Come on,” he said. “Admit that I’m right.”

“Can you at least pretend to be a little less pretentious?” she said. “We’re supposed to think about what would be a hit in this area. Not what would alienate half our existing client base.”

He was about to respond that having standards didn’t make him a dick when his phone vibrated again. He was pretty sure it had been going on for a while. When he pulled it out and looked at the time, he groaned. He’d definitely lost track of how many drinks he’d had with Mack. He was supposed to have left hours ago.

“You should go,” Mack said, as if reading his mind.

He finished the last sip in his glass. “Actually, I’m running late.”

Really, really late. Asshole levels of late. Confusing, what the hell are you doing with yourself levels of late.

Mack said something that sounded like, “Figures.”

“What?” he asked.

“It’s just so typical,” she said. “You obviously have someone to fuck, so why waste another second trying to figure out the business you supposedly care so much about?”

“Jesus, Mack,” Connor sputtered. “It’s not like that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a woman who’s been texting you all night?”

How did Mack even know? It could have been his parents, his brother, other friends…

But of course she knew. It wasn’t like he’d tried to keep secret how many women he met who were passing through town. And why should he? Just because she wasn’t getting any didn’t mean the rest of the world had to suffer.

“I’m sorry things aren’t going better for you on the app,” he said. “You sure you don’t need any pointers?”

“On how to be a dog? I don’t think so.”

Connor stood and went to pick up his long-sleeved shirt, still damp where it hung on a beam. “A pleasure talking with you, as usual.”

Mack made a noise in the back of her throat—was she laughing at him? Still hell-bent on making sure both their careers went nowhere by leaving them stuck at some backwater dive called Mackenzie’s that wouldn’t last any longer than the Dipper?

Honestly, he shouldn’t have bothered. He shouldn’t have ever thought he could work with her at all.

But just as he opened his mouth to tell her to get over herself, there came an enormous crash, and the restaurant plunged into darkness.