Lexi nods and then gets back to filling orders with Shawn.
I’ve just taken a bite of my stew when Keegan approaches and sets a glass of wine on the bar for me. I take a sip and then stare at him in surprise.
“This is the wine I showed you today.”
“It is, yes.”
“You didn’t have to go back out and get it.”
“It’s not a big deal.” He wipes the bar with his white towel. “You look knackered.”
“If that means exhausted, you’d be right. Maybe the past couple of days finally caught up with me.”
He nods and watches as I eat my dinner. “Well, go on up when you’ve finished here and make yourself at home.”
“Thank you. Really, Keegan.”
“You’re welcome.”
And with that, he wanders away to fill drink orders and chat with the customers. Keegan is an attentive bartender. His patrons enjoy sitting at the bar rather than the high-top tables so they can sit and chat with him as they drink a pint of beer or eat their dinner.
Keegan’s a good listener and knows when to refill a glass or cut someone off who’s had a bit too much. He reads the room well, and he’s quick with a laugh, or even to join Maggie for a song—which surprised me.
He has a wonderful singing voice.
It’s been fun watching Keegan, Maggie, and Shawn together. Their love for each other is evident. I didn’t realize that families got along like this outside of fiction.
Once I’ve finished my dinner, I take my dishes to the kitchen and then climb the stairs to Keegan’s apartment above. Finally, with no eyes on me, I can move a bit slower.
My feet are screaming. The blisters are bad enough, but add in my sore ankles and achy toes, and I want to cry.
Still, I make it upstairs and flop down on the couch. I turn on the TV to have some noise and lean my head back against the cushions.
I must fall asleep because the next thing I know, Keegan is standing over me and shutting off the TV.
“Oh, sorry. I fell asleep.”
His lips twitch as I stand, and then he scowls when I turn to walk away.
“Why are you limping?”
“My feet are just a little sore.”
“Sit.” His stern voice leaves no room for argument.
I do as he asks, and he kneels in front of me and unties the shoes Maggie lent me. When he peels off the socks, he gasps.
“My God, you’re fucking bleeding, Izzy.”
“Yeah, the blisters are a bitch. And my ankles are sore.”
“You needn’t have worked your feet into bloody stumps.”
“I’m fine,” I insist, but he stands and stomps into the bathroom. I hear the tub filling, and then he returns and lifts me right off the couch. “I can walk, you know.”
“Not on these feet, you can’t.” He sits me on a stool next to the tub, and when it’s the temperature he likes, he urges me to put my feet in. “It’s going to sting on those blisters for a second, but you need to soak your feet, lass.”
Honestly, as long as he calls me lass, I’ll do whatever he wants.
He’s right. The blisters sting when they hit the warm water, but after a few moments, it subsides. Keegan disappears for a bit, but when he returns, he has a hot cup of tea.
“I added honey because you like your drinks sweet.”
“How do you know that?”
“The wine you like is sweet, and you added sugar to your coffee this morning.”
I eye him as I sip the tea. “It’s delicious, thank you.”
He kneels next to the tub and reaches in to see to my feet. It’s quite nice to simply sip a hot drink while someone washes my feet in a warm tub.
He drains the water, then gently pats my skin dry. Once again, he lifts me to take me to the bedroom.
“You can change.” He takes the teacup out of my hand. “I’ll be right back.”
I blink at him. He’s being so nice to me.
I quickly change back into Maggie’s sweats and T-shirt just as Keegan knocks on the door and comes in carrying another cup of hot tea and a bottle of lotion.
“Go ahead and get comfortable,” he says.
“You really don’t have to do this.”
“I’m the reason your feet hurt like this.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s because I’m wearing shoes half a size too big.” But I do as he asks and get comfortable on the bed. He’s careful not to rub the lotion over the blisters as he massages it into my skin. His hands are so strong. When he digs his thumb into the arch of my foot, I have to bite my lip so I don’t moan in delight.
I lean back and close my eyes.
“If you keep rubbing my feet, I’m going to fall asleep,” I warn him.
“That’s not a bad thing,” he murmurs, not stopping at my warning. His hands feel good on my skin, and with the warm tea in my belly, I relax and feel all the stress of the day melt away.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“If the whole bar ownership thing doesn’t work out for you, you could go to massage school.”
I open my eyes, expecting to see him with that sexy smirk on his lips, but his gaze is intent on my face.
“Keegan?”
He shakes his head as if pulling himself out of a trance. “You should be good now. Sleep well.”
And with that, he leaves the room and gently closes the door behind him.
Was it something I said?
Chapter 3
~Izzy~
It’s been a whole two weeks since I left my life and everything I knew. My feet are healed, with the help of shoes that fit—thanks to several nights’ worth of tips. It also didn’t hurt that Keegan insisted I take a day off to rest them and fronted me one day of sick time.
I don’t know how I stumbled across such a generous group of people, but I’m so grateful. Someday, I will pay it forward.
“These are the last of the empties from my tables,” I inform Keegan as I set the heavy tray on the bar. “I can wash them if you’d like.”
“No, you’ve had a full day.” He flashes me a smile that makes my toes curl in my new sneakers. Another something that’s happened in the past two weeks…my attraction to my boss has grown by leaps and bounds. But I’m a professional, and not one to try to seduce the hand that feeds her.
I’m not stupid.
Not to mention, he’s never given me any indication that he’s being anything but nice to me.
He pours me a glass of wine and offers it to me with a wink. “Why don’t you take this upstairs and unwind, Izzy?”
“I will not turn down that offer.” I accept the wine and turn to head upstairs to the apartment. I climb the steps and take a sip of the sweet wine that Keegan always has on hand now.
I feel a little guilty that he still won’t let me sleep on the couch. I know it has to be uncomfortable for him sleeping on that thing, but he won’t even entertain the idea of trading with me. I’ve looked for a small apartment, but I haven’t been working here long enough to afford first, last, and a deposit.
And there’s no way I’ll ask my father for help—not that he’d give it, even if I did ask.