Mari laughs. “That’s terrible.”
Soph scrunches her forehead. “I don’t get it.”
I nudge a napkin across the table, hoping Soph will take the hint and wipe ketchup off her chin. “The bartender used psychology to get a bigger tip from the guy,” I explain. “There are lots of jokes about bartenders being like therapists because they’re good at listening to people’s problems.” I swing my gaze back to Mari, who’s watching me with a guarded look. “Which is why I think Mari should fill in for Jen at the event.”
Mari blinks. “What?”
“You’d be great,” I tell her. “You could have a jar on the counter that says ‘tips,’ but instead of putting money in it, they’d pull out slips of paper with helpful therapy hints like, ‘stop self-sabotaging’ or ‘ask for help when you need it.’”
She shakes her head slowly, but the edges of her mouth tug up. “That’s—impractical.”
“It’s not, and you know it.” I grin and lift my beer. “You’re hell-bent on being behind the scenes with this thing, but you belong in the center. You’re smart and funny, and a therapist bartender would be a great gig.”
“Yeah,” Soph adds, rallying. “And psychologists are cool. Dad was just telling me about a guy you know who works with teenagers.” She bites her lip, looking strangely shy. “I think I’d like to see him.”
“Really?” A smile spreads over Mari’s face. “Soph, that’s wonderful.”
It is wonderful and a little surprising. “I’ll book an appointment right away,” I tell my kid, ignoring the niggle of nerves telling me a thousand ways this could go wrong. “That’s a really healthy, mature thing to do.”
“Yeah.” Soph smiles at Mari. “Trying new stuff is good, right?”
“Yes, absolutely.” Mari fishes a card out of her purse and hands it to me. “That’s Dr. Joel Adams’s information.”
Soph’s smile turns thoughtful as she studies Mari across the table. “So if I’m trying new things, maybe you can, too.”
God, I love my kid. I grab the rope she’s just tossed me. “Being a bartender psychologist would certainly fit the bill, wouldn’t it?”
Mari laughs, but her gaze skitters to where her sisters are sitting. “Wouldn’t I need some sort of permit to serve alcohol?”
I fight the urge to do a fist-pump. She’s actually considering it. “I’ve got a friend at the OLCC who owes me a favor. He can do a rush job on your Alcohol Server Education Class and Alcohol Service Permit. You’d be set by the big day.”
Her silver-gold eyes lock with mine. She’s got her mask of professional indifference in place, but it’s slipping. There’s a yearning in her eyes, a quiet craving to be part of things. I’m no shrink, but I’m sure that’s what I’m watching.
She flicks another gaze at her sisters. I can see her wavering, wanting to belong. “I don’t know…”
“Ask Lana,” I tell her. “She’ll back me up on this. It’s a great PR stunt to put the family psychologist behind the bar. The ultimate family production with all of you playing a role.”
When Mari’s gaze swings back to mine, her expression softens. “All right,” she says. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“This is my new English brown ale.” I fill the taster glass with an ounce of amber liquid and pass it over the bar to Amy Lovelin, the off-duty police chief. “It’s a little higher on the ABV scale at almost six-percent, but most folks like the toasted nut notes of the northern English style.”
The pretty blonde cop smiles and takes a sip. “I love that we’ve got our own brewmaster at Juniper Ridge.”
“Cut!” Lauren steps around the camera and touches Amy’s shoulder. “Good job. We’ve got what we need, so go mingle.”
“Thanks.” Amy sets the glass down and ambles off, and Lauren fixes her gaze on me. “That goes for you, too. We’ve got lots of extra hands to sling drinks. Go play so we can grab footage of you having a good time.”
I swear I don’t mean to, but my gaze flicks to Mari. She’s behind the bar across the room, hair loose around shoulders bared by a sexy-as-hell drapey black top. Her cheeks are flushed, and slim jeans hug curves I’ve touched with my bare hands. I only mean to sneak a peek but realize I’m staring open-mouthed when Lauren clears her throat.
“That’s what I thought,” she says.
I blink back to her. “What?”
“Nothing.” She flashes her cagey smile. “Pretty good turnout, huh?”
“I didn’t expect this many people to show.” I survey the space, admiring the twinkle lights strung along the bunker walls and the bistro tables topped with black tablecloths. Doctors and lawyers, teachers and grocers, families and singles—they’re all here sampling craft beer and soda and having a good time.
I swing my attention back to Lauren. “Are you getting the shots you want?”
“Always do.” She jerks a shoulder toward the other bar. “Mari’s a hit.”
I’m pretty sure she’s baiting me, but I don’t care. I let myself look back at the corner where Mari’s deep in conversation with a woman I recognize as the community’s dentist. “I should go see if she needs anything.”
Lauren smirks. “You do that.” She steps back toward the camera where Gabe is fiddling with buttons. “Great work getting her to do this, by the way. We owe you.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to suggest they pay me back by putting in a good word for me with Mari. Maybe a nudge for her to date me instead of dodging me the way she’s done the past couple days, but I bite back the words. As far as I can tell, Mari hasn’t breathed a word to her family about what’s happening between us.
That doesn’t mean Lauren hasn’t picked up on it. She’s a helluva lot more perceptive than Mari gives her credit for.
“See you around,” I say as I start across the room.
On my way to Mari, I pass Cooper Judson holding a ginger beer and talking with a cluster of starstruck women. In the opposite corner, CEO Dean Judson is faking a serious conversation with CFO Vanessa, but I see them sneaking kisses anytime the camera’s pointed away.
I notice it all, but my gaze is on Mari. God, she’s beautiful. I’m used to seeing her in yoga pants or pencil skirts, but the jeans lend a new dimension to her magic. This Mari is smiling and casual and girl-next-door gorgeous.
“Dad!” Soph’s voice pulls me off-course, and I turn to see my girl sipping one of my craft root beers and smiling. “Cool party, huh?”
“Not too shabby.” I glance around for her friends, hoping she’s not struggling with her social game. “Having fun?”
“Yeah. Olivia just went to the bathroom. I’ve decided I might want to go to that sleepover.”
I breathe a sigh of relief and put on my dad hat. “Were you invited, or is this just your plan for inviting yourself?”
“Daaad.” She rolls her eyes. “It’s a bunch of girls from school, and it’s tonight, and I really want to go, pleeeease?”