Cleansed by the fire.
Chapter One
One year later
“Smile, honey. It can’t be that bad.”
Behind the bar, Lani Abuel grit her teeth. This dude was on her last nerve, and tip or no, she was about to go off on him. “Hey, you really don’t know what someone else might be going through, so—”
“You’re too beautiful to frown like that,” he persisted without missing a beat. “C’mon, baby, gimme a smile.”
She’d had enough. She planted her palms on the bar top and stared the guy right in the eye. “I don’t owe you a smile,” she said evenly. “In fact, I don’t owe you anything, unless you want to order another drink. What’ll it be?”
Spinning around on his stool, the guy stalked off, muttering “Bitch” under his breath. Lani grabbed his empty glass and threw it in the dishwashing basket, where it made a most satisfying clatter.
With a few vicious swipes of her towel, she got rid of the condensation rings he’d left behind. Then she tossed the damp towel away and dusted her hands together, the guy effectively erased from existence. Her existence, anyway.
“Is it safe to sit down?”
She glanced to the side, where a different man now stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets, eyebrows raised in inquiry. Shrugging, she waved at the empty barstool. “Be my guest. Smiles not included in the service tonight, gotta warn you.”
“Good thing all I want is a Jack and Coke, then. Actually, make it two.”
She mixed both drinks with brisk, efficient motions and placed the glasses in front of him. “Sorry. Not up for small talk right now.”
“Works for me. Just came to drink and people watch.”
“Great. You wanna run a tab?”
With a nod, the dude fished his wallet out of his back pocket and passed her his credit card. “Please. Just keep ’em coming.”
“You got it.” Lani turned to her register and set up the tab, swiping his card and taking a peek at the name before handing it back to him. “Thanks, George.”
“I go by Geo.” The man put his wallet away. “But I guess it doesn’t matter since we won’t be talking, though, right?”
“Right.”
True to his word, the man—Geo—didn’t try to speak to her, and luckily, the rest of the upstairs bar was relatively quiet on this Wednesday night. Lani kept busy filling the cocktail servers’ drink orders and making sure Geo’s Jack and Coke was periodically refreshed.
She noticed he only drank from one glass, though, leaving the second one untouched. Curiosity pricked her. What could that be about? Was he waiting for someone who didn’t show?
Grateful for the distraction, she indulged in spinning a few different scenarios. A Tinder meetup? An illicit affair? An undercover cop leaving a signal for his contact that it’s safe to approach?
Think you’ve watched one too many episodes of Law & Order, my girl.
At last she leaned her hip against the counter to take a breather, the pesky nausea rearing its ugly head once again. Fishing a sleeve of saltines from a shelf underneath the register, she took a few discreet nibbles before washing the cracker down with a gulp of ginger ale.
She saw Geo watching her and sighed. “Morning sickness—it’s not just for mornings anymore.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “Congratulations.”
“Oh, Mama ain’t happy.” She had no idea why she’d said that, and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. “Sorry. Forgot we’re not talking.”
He shrugged. “I never said I wouldn’t talk. It’s up to you. If you want to talk, I’m all ears. If you don’t, I’ll just drink.”
They spent a moment appraising each other. He was olive-skinned, with dark hair and eyes. Italian, she suspected, with that last name—Monteverdi—but his husky voice held a faint hint of the South.
He wore his hair close-cropped, and his ears stuck out just a tad to frame a pleasant but unremarkable face. His eyes, though, were anything but ordinary. A deep brown surrounded by thick black lashes, they held a wealth of self-confidence tinged with an arrogance that sent an unwilling quiver down Lani’s spine. Pair that with muscular shoulders, bulging biceps, a torso without a hint of fat on it, and she just knew...
“You’re a team guy, aren’t you?”
To her enormous satisfaction, she could tell she’d surprised him.
“Good guess,” he said slowly. “You married to one?”
“Almost. My ex-fiancé is a PJ attached to Team Three.”
“Ex?” When his gaze dropped to her stomach, Lani could feel herself flush.
“Baby’s not his, and yeah, it’s quite the mess,” she said, then caught herself and snapped, “Why am I even talking to you? I thought we weren’t gonna do that.”
She spun away to draw the man at the other end of the bar a beer. Stomping back over to her register, she fully intended to ignore Geo, but he said, “You know, sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger than it is to friends. Just saying.”
Biting her lip, Lani finished ringing up Beer Guy, then busied herself wiping down the bar. Geo didn’t say anything more, but she was aware of his steady gaze. At last she grabbed a couple of lemons and a knife, plopped her cutting board down in front of him, and began slicing them into wedges.
“Most of my friends were other team wives, so my ex—Rhys—took them with him. I haven’t heard from any of those women in months.” Chop, chop, chop.
“What about the baby’s father?” Geo asked softly. “Is he in the picture?”
She barked out a bitter laugh. “I don’t even know his real name.”
Before she knew it, she was telling him about that stupid weekend hookup at a house in Malibu, a house she’d driven back up to one weekend to see if she could track the guy down, only to find out it was an Airbnb and the owner wouldn’t disclose her renters’ names or contact info.
“I asked her to pass along a message to call me, but so far nothing.”
She appreciated the lack of judgment, and pity, in Geo’s eyes. “That’s rough,” he said. “What’re you going to do?”
Thoughts of all she’d lost welled up again. Without answering, she walked over to greet the small, rowdy group of people who’d just arrived. As she worked filling their drink orders, she couldn’t help but glance at Geo.
He didn’t have his nose buried in his phone, like virtually everyone else did. Instead he sat loose and relaxed, glass in hand, watching the room. And her.