SAMANTHA
“If you wanted to work behind a bar, I could’ve pulled rank with Brandon. You didn’t need to join my competitor.”
It was late afternoon, and I was washing a glass when Heather slid onto the solitary barstool we had by the counter. It was there for the staff to rest while waiting for their orders to be filled. The rest of the customers had to come up, get their beers, and sit at one of the thirty picnic tables set up outside the beer garden’s tent.
I lowered the glass and automatically reached for a beer. Sliding it across the counter to her, I said, “You know I’m sorry.”
“I know.” She took the beer. “And you already explained, but I gotta give you a hard time.”
I shot her a rueful grin. “I feel like an asshole.”
“As you should.” She grinned back. “I’m just kidding. I have to
