Eight
About an hour before closing time, Alastair Dougal sauntered into the Olde Salt. As soon as Toni spotted him, she waved him over. Bash was still helping out behind the bar, but she wanted to talk to Alastair herself.
“Good timing, Scotsman. Your ears must be burning. We were just talking about you the other day.”
He took a stool, along with the foaming mug of Guinness she put in front of him. With his looks—all green eyes and black hair—he was plenty attractive even without the Scottish accent. “Sounds like I’m in trouble.”
“Now why would you assume that? Anything you want to share with your friendly neighborhood bartender?”
“Oh no. You first.” He took a swallow of the ale. “Who’s been talking about me and was it flattering?”
She told him about the new brewery and Chrissie’s ne
