Brenda Harlen - The Bachelor Takes a Bride

“How were your wings the other night?”

“They were great—thanks.”

“How are the wings here?”

“You checking out the competition?”

He shook his head. “I’m sure there’s some crossover between our customers, but I wouldn’t consider O’Reilly’s and Valentino’s to be in competition.”

“Our sweet-and-spicy honey barbecue are my favorite,” she said, setting a menu beside him. “But the dry-rub salt and black pepper are popular, too.”

“If I order the honey barbecue, will you share them with me?”

“No.” She smiled. “But thanks.”

“You’re good at that.”

She selected a clean glass and began pouring a Harp for another customer. “What am I good at?”

“The brush-off.”

“I work in a bar.” She lifted a shoulder. “It’s a necessary job skill.”

“So I shouldn’t take it personally?”

“I didn’t say that.” But the words were softened by another smile that made his heart do a slow roll inside his chest as she carried the draft to the end of the bar.

“Did you want those wings?” she asked when she returned.

“Do they come with your phone number?”

“No.”

“Not even the first digit?”

“No.”

“The last digit?”

One side of her mouth quirked at the corner. “No.”

“So the only thing I get if I order the wings is the pleasure of sitting here and making conversation with you for a little while longer?”

“That’s not true,” she denied. “You also get the wings.”

He smiled. “Sold.”

“Honey barbecue?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

She keyed his order into the computer that linked to the kitchen. “Anything else?”

“Not right now.”

She nodded and moved away to check on her other patrons, exchanging a few words here and there, smiling or laughing on occasion.

“What brings you in to O’Reilly’s?” she asked.

“I was looking for you.”

“Well, now you’ve found me.”

His smile was quick. “Can I keep you?”

“You wouldn’t want to,” she told him. “I’m very high maintenance.”

“In my experience, most high-maintenance women don’t realize they’re high maintenance.”

“See—I’m challenging your perceptions already.”

“About more than you probably realize,” he acknowledged.

“How did you find out where I worked?”

“You don’t believe it’s a coincidence that I decided to stop in here for a beer?”

“No.”

He grinned at the blunt response. “My sister, Renata, told me I’d probably find you here.”

“Renata and Craig,” she realized. “He’s the firefighter who plays third base for the Brew Crew.”

He nodded.

“Small world.”

“And strange that our paths never crossed until recently.”

“Or maybe not so strange considering that we probably work similarly unusual hours,” she countered.

The blonde waitress who was taking care of the tables sidled up to the bar. “I need two pints of Guinness, a glass of white and a G&T, extra lime.”

“Excuse me,” Jordyn said to Marco, and busied herself filling the order.

“It’s hard to have a conversation when you keep moving away or we keep getting interrupted,” he commented when the waitress had gone.

“I’m working,” she reminded him.

“I know,” he acknowledged. “And if you give me your number, I’ll gladly relinquish this stool to another customer.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I won’t tell Bobby,” he promised.

“I’m not worried about Bobby.”

“Then what are you worried about?”

“I’m not worried. It’s just that...” Her explanation trailed off and she shook her head. “I don’t know.”

He feigned surprise. “You don’t know your number?”

The hint of another smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want you to know my number.”

“Why not?”

“Because then you’ll call and ask me to go out with you, and I’ll either feel really bad for saying no or I’ll say yes and afterward wish that I’d said no.”

“There is a third option,” he told her. “You could say yes, have a fabulous time, fall head over heels in love with me, and want to spend the rest of your life as my wife and the mother of my babies.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“Because I work fifty hours a week serving beer to mostly male customers in a pub. Trust me, there isn’t a pickup line I haven’t heard.”

“That’s probably true,” he acknowledged. “But I would hope you’d learned to distinguish between the guys who just want a quick roll between the sheets and the ones who are sincerely interested in getting to know you better.”

“And then I’d recognize you as one of the sincere ones?” she asked doubtfully.

“You would,” he confirmed.

“I’m flattered by your interest,” she told him. “But I’m not going to go out with you.”

“You don’t believe I’m sincere,” he realized.

“Even if you are, I’m not looking to fall head over heels in love, get married and have babies.”

“My grandmother says that love often sneaks up when we least expect it.”

“I’m sure she’s a wise woman,” Jordyn said. “But she doesn’t know me.”

“Not yet.”

She huffed out a breath. “You’re relentless—I’ll give you that.”

“Persistent,” he decided.

“I really don’t date customers.”

“Is that your boss’s rule or a personal philosophy?”

“A personal philosophy,” she admitted. “Although the statement would be equally true without the ‘customers’ part.”

“You don’t date?”

“Aside from one recent and ill-advised setup, no,” she confirmed.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s more hassle than it’s worth.”

“Maybe you just haven’t been dating the right guy,” he suggested.

She looked away, but not quickly enough that he could miss the pain that moved in those beautiful green eyes.

She nodded to a man seated at the end of the bar and poured him another beer. She delivered his glass, taking a few minutes to chat and smile as they exchanged beverage for money, then took a few more orders before she returned.

She picked up the plate of wings from the pass-through window and delivered them to Marco, along with a refill of his beer.

“So what’s with you and Bobby?” he asked.

“Nothing. He’s just a regular customer.”

“And the number you gave him?”

“It’s a game we play,” she admitted. “Random numbers that he tries to guess the significance of.”

“Since you’ve made your phone number off-limits, what number would you give me?”

She held his gaze for a minute, considering. “Three,” she decided.

“Three,” he echoed, as he selected a wing from his plate. “Is that the number of dates we’ll have before you let me see you naked?”

She rolled her eyes, but the color that rose in her cheeks suggested she wasn’t as unaffected by the idea as she was pretending to be. “The number of times you’ll come in here to hit on me before deciding to turn your attention in another direction.”

“That response shortchanges both of us,” he told her. “You, because you’re worth a lot more effort than that. And me, because it suggests I’m fickle and/or shallow.”

She lifted a shoulder—a dismissive half shrug. “I guess time will tell.”

* * *

Of course, Marco wasn’t the type to turn down a challenge.

He went back to O’Reilly’s on Wednesday and again on Thursday, but he stayed away over the weekend. His absence was for both strategic and practical reasons. Strategically, he wanted her to have some time to think about him and, hopefully, to look forward to seeing him again. Practically, he had his own responsibilities at Valentino’s and he knew that the pub would be too busy for them to talk.