Swipe for a Cosmo by Megan Wade
Kellen
“What are you looking so pleased about?” my brother, Vaughn, asks as he brings up a crate of beer from the cellar and starts loading the fridge.
“New girl. One o’clock,” I say, keeping my eyes on the glass I’m drying. “Came in and asked for a Cosmo.”
“Isn’t that one of those fruity drinks they make in the city?”
“I have no fucking clue.”
He lifts his dark, spiky-haired head to find the blonde woman nursing a beer in a booth slightly diagonal from the bar. “Now I see what’s got you grinning. She’s all woman, that one.”
“Here on a date, though. So…” I bounce a shoulder and chance a glance over to where Jade is sitting, looking at her phone before lifting her eyes back to the front door, a slight crease beginning to make a home in the center of her brow.
“So? That doesn’t sound like the Kellen I know. You’ve got a woman sitting over there alone, and you’re just standing here with a thumb up your ass instead of doing something about it.”
“Thumb up my ass?” I roll my eyes. “Last I checked, I was standing here workin’ for a living. Which reminds me, where the hell is Otis? He’s supposed to be in the kitchen getting ready. It’s almost dinner service.”
Finishing with the fridge restock, Vaughn stands and dusts his hands off on the side of his jeans. “He traded shifts with Remy. I got a message about thirty minutes ago that he was on his way. Shouldn’t be much longer,” he says, pulling out his phone and checking the time.
“What the hell is Otis doing?” I ask, nodding at a customer who just walked in so he knows I’m about to serve him.
Vaughn shrugs. “Nothing he was willing to share. So I reckon a girl has something to do with it. Speaking of, yours is still all alone over there. Maybe you should find out how to make that cocktail she wanted and go cheer her up.”
Looking at the clock above the bar, I frown in concern because she’s been waiting for a good twenty minutes so far. Who on earth would let a beauty like that wait so long?
It’s something I can’t wrap my head around, and something that keeps swirling around in my mind for the next thirty minutes of service. I watch the excitement that bloomed in her cheeks when she arrived turn into nervous despair, then utter disappointment as she checks her phone one last time and sighs before placing it facedown. Seems whoever was supposed to be meeting her has stood her up. Asshole.
The waitress we have working the dinner rush stops by her table and asks if she wants any food or another drink. But she waves her off with a smile before she picks up her phone again and worries her lips.
My heart does this little squeeze thing in my chest, because I feel awful for the girl and angry with whoever’s left her waiting all this damn time.
After another ten minutes of watching her struggle, I let out a frustrated growl then look up the recipe for a Cosmo on my phone.
“Hey, Remy,” I say, leaning into the kitchen as I squint at the list of ingredients. “Do we have limes and cranberry juice?”
He looks at me and quirks a light-colored brow. “Ugh…probably.”
“Cool. Because I need them. Now,” I say, pulling down a tumbler and getting to work.
