Interesting. Maybe he wasn’t there for women. Maybe he had a woman at home. The thought had Jo taking another mental step back. Shit. Did he? No ring, she could see that easily enough with his hand wrapped around the bottle. And no tan line or indents from a recently-removed band. But not all men wore wedding rings, especially if they worked with their hands all day.
This was one of the few times not listening to gossip would get her into trouble.
And why did she care? No. She didn’t care at all. That was Amanda’s problem, not hers. She finished off her beer and headed around the bar to dispose of the bottle.
“Working even when you’re off.”
She smiled at Trace as she got a rag to wipe her place down. “I’m not one to leave a mess for others when I’m capable of handling it myself.”
“I’m capable of handling this.” He held up the empty bottle. “Should I go back there and toss it myself?”
She laughed and shook her head, holding out a hand for the empty. “No, but thanks for the offer.”
“My Emma raised me right,” he said with a smile.
“Your Emma?”
“Housekeeper when we were growing up. Mama was … not quite into the whole motherhood thing. Emma stepped in and did her best for us. Which was pretty good.”
But not the same as having a mom there. Jo understood. Hadn’t she spent much of her life growing up wishing for a father? A real one, not the constant “new stepdaddy” types her mom brought around who seemed to change as often as the seasons.
“So, Jo from Jo’s Place.” Trace balanced his elbows on the bar and gave her a focused look. “Tell me about yourself.”
She rolled her eyes. “Bad. Really bad, cowboy.”
He shrugged. “Wasn’t a line.”
“Oh.” She busied herself with the rag, wiping down the already-pristine stainless-steel bar sink. “Not much to tell. I own a bar, I work in it, and I live above it.”
“Sounds tidy.”
“Easy,” she corrected. “Bars are rarely tidy.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” He looked around. “This one’s pretty good. And trust me, I’ve seen some shithole bars in my time.”
So had she, which was one of the reasons she prided herself on keeping a clean place.
“Where were you before here?”
“New Orleans.”
“Never been. Did you like it?”
She shrugged and tossed the rag into the hamper below the ledge. “It was a place to live and work. Nothing to get too attached to.”
“Before that?”
“L.A., Chicago, New York, Houston … I could go on. Should I?”
Jenna walked by and offered Trace another beer. He hesitated a moment, then nodded. After taking the bottle, he waited for her to elaborate.
Instead, she found something to do with her hands. She got out a cutting board and a knife and started slicing fruit for garnishes. He said nothing, just watched her. And, when she peeked from the corner of her eye, she was amused to see he watched her hands more than her face, or down her shirt.
“Got a hankering to be a bartender?”
“Nah. Tried it once, when I needed some cash. Didn’t have the knack.”
She settled a sliced lemon in a container and closed the lid. “And what is the knack, exactly? Short pours and steady hands?”
“That helps. But a lot of it’s got nothing to do with liquor. Good listening skills, or the ability to fake it. Pleasant personality. The ability to upsell.”
She smiled. Observant. “Am I really listening, or faking it?”
He looked her dead in the eyes. “I hope it’s the real thing.”
The moment sent shivers down her spine, and she used finding a towel to wipe her hands on as an excuse to break the eye contact. There was nothing more keeping her behind the bar. Tuesdays were slow evenings. She had two choices. Either head to her apartment upstairs, or sit back down next to Trace.
The apartment was a safer choice.
She sat down and settled in for danger.
“Why a bar?”
Jo took her eyes off the screen and glanced at him a moment. “Why not? Every town needs a bar, right?”
“We have a few.” Not nearly as nice as this, granted. But the town did have two other bars, ones that did an okay business on the weekends. Probably did better before Jo came into town.
“I know bars. I practically grew up in them, and I’m good at the business. Some people have an eye for retail, others for selling insurance. I know my beer, and I know how to sell it.”
“No argument there.” He took another sip of the beer, reminding himself to nurse this one. It was his last for the night. “But some people might want to escape the family business.”