“I got a really good deal on rent, which is basically the only reason I can afford the storefront, and Paul paid off the cupcake truck in actual cupcakes. At the end of next week I’m going to be on my own with cupcake production. Honestly, any loss of business is going to be bad for my bottom line.” And my bank account.

Ronan taps his bottom lip with his index finger. “You know what we need to do?”

“Find a new storefront that isn’t across the street from Dick and Bobby’s?” Not that I could even hope to afford it. Also, this location is prime, which is obviously what the owners of D&B realized.

“It really is an awful name for a restaurant.” He gives his head a shake. “Anyway, we need to get as many loyal customers as we can before that place opens.”

“Agreed.”

“We should host combined events to get even more people to come out. Have big simultaneous promotions.”

I stare at him from over the rim of my delicious alcohol-laced coffee.

“You have to admit it’s a good idea.” He plucks another cupcake from the box.

“What about the Best Bar competition?”

“We can still compete against each other for best bar thing, but this is a way bigger threat, and more important because it has the potential to flush both of our businesses down the toilet.” He bites into the chocolate cupcake.

“So you want us to work together?”

He nods. “Yeah, what do you say?”

“Okay. We can do it, but it’s an even split on events and promotions. And we have to promote each other equally on our social media.”

“That’s a good idea.” He wipes his hand on his pants and holds it out. “Deal?”

I slip mine into his. “Deal.”

There are far worse people I could get into bed with—proverbially speaking, of course.

chapter fourteen

Coordination Nation

Blaire

Over the next few days, Ronan and I work out a calendar of events leading up to the Christmas holidays. I’m a visual person so I color coordinate everything, and send it to him via email, but I also print a copy and have it blown up in color so we can post it in our respective shops. On top of that, I have daily social media posts prepared.

It’s Thursday and tonight I have trivia night followed by Ronan’s karaoke. The timing is great, since the quarterfinals for Best Bar are going to be announced next week, narrowing it down to the top twenty-five bars. I’m pretty excited about it, because now that we’re working together, I don’t have to worry about him starting early and stealing my business, although he stopped doing that a while ago. Plus we both have specials, and if they move from one bar to the other they get an additional coupon to use for a future event, which means more incentive to keep coming back.

I have a plan, but to orchestrate it I need to acquire some pertinent information about Ronan and free up a couple of hours this afternoon. I could get the information by asking him, but I kind of want it to be a fun surprise. It’s nine in the morning, and Ronan usually isn’t in until closer to ten, so I step out into the back alley. As I expected, the back door of The Knight Cap is propped open with a wedge.

I peek inside but don’t make my presence known. Instead I sneak down the hall. It’s a bit of a feat, considering I’m wearing heels and have to go extra-high on my tippy toes so they don’t click on the floor.

I pass the bar to get to Ronan’s office. I scan the area, spotting Lars and one of the female servers close talking. They’re too wrapped up in each other to notice me, so I make it past them undetected and slip into Ronan’s office. It still hasn’t been updated like the rest of the place, but it smells like his cologne. The same old dilapidated chair with a full-blown butt groove and picked-apart armrests sits in front of the ancient, pitted desk.

Originally, I found this office rather disgusting, but now, knowing what I do about this place it’s sweet that Ronan hasn’t changed a thing about it.

In the corner is a coat rack. I smile when I spot what I’m looking for—two plaid shirts hanging from the hooks. I nab one and check the size. It’s an extra large, as I suspected, considering his broad shoulders, not to mention how thick his biceps are. I bring the shirt to my nose and inhale. It holds the faint scent of laundry detergent, his cologne, and the pervasive odor of fried food that comes from working in a bar. I always smell like vanilla, butter, icing sugar, and sometimes coffee. I decide it’s a good idea to take the shirt with me, because sizing can vary depending on the store, so it will be good to bring it along for comparison’s sake.

I turn around, still holding the shirt up to my nose, humming contentedly. And slam right into a chest, which happens to be wrapped in exactly the same plaid shirt I’m huffing.

“Oh!” My gasp is muffled by the fabric.

I tip my head up and meet Ronan’s inquisitive, amused gaze. “Are you sniffing my shirt?”

“I was checking to see if it was clean.” It’s only sort of a lie. Okay, it’s a complete lie and I can feel my face turning red.

“Right. Okay.” He nods once, eyes narrowed. “And where exactly are you going with my shirt?”

“I uh, I need to borrow it.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “For what?”

“It’s supposed to be for a surprise, which you’re currently ruining.” And now I’m snappy to go along with my embarrassment.

He smiles, eyes moving over my face slowly, lingering on my lip, which I’m currently biting. “Am I going to get my shirt back?”

“Yes.”

“In one piece?”

“Of course.”

“Okay.” He steps aside. “You can borrow it, then.”

I smile brightly, trying to mask my mortification as I brush past him. “Great.”

“Blaire.”

“Hmm?” I pause and glance over my shoulder. He’s right behind me.

He dips down, nose brushing the shell of my ear. He makes a low sound in the back of his throat, a purr, and murmurs, “I like the way you smell, too.”

“Good to know.” I leave feeling slightly less embarrassed and a whole lot turned on.

Two hours later I return from my shopping trip. I’ve been getting my dresses from the same store for years. I always hit their sample and sale rack—even before I had to scrimp and save every penny—so I get my dresses for around forty dollars each, often 25 percent of the full price. It means I have a closet full of dresses that I’ve amassed over the past decade and a half, and because they’re very much fashioned after the fifties, they never really go out of style.

The lunch rush is in full swing, so I leave my purchases in my office and dive back into work. It isn’t until after two that we finally have a lull in the constant stream of customers. Not that I’m going to complain.

I pop back over to The Knight Cap to somewhat reluctantly return Ronan’s borrowed shirt. I resist the urge to get in a couple more sniffs because I’ll be able to sniff the real thing shortly.

I find Ronan sitting in the last seat at the end of the bar with his laptop propped open, reviewing spreadsheets. Like my place, his is quieter this time of day—between lunch and dinner. Several tables are occupied with groups of college students studying over afternoon pints and local business people grabbing a bite while they work.