At Your Service. Amy Cousins Jo

not worried about you, you jerk,” she muttered as she pulled her tray off the bar and balanced it on her left hand. “I’m the one who’s stuck serving all of these people.” She looked out over the crowd. Nearly every table was full and the bar area was standing room only. She made her way to table six, a two-top up against the wall, dropping the two Bass off at a larger group along the way, and smiled cheerfully at the couple holding hands across the table.

      “Here you are. And a very dirty martini for you, sir. Are you two ready to order or do you need another minute?”

      They were ready to order, and Grace assured them that they would indeed be very happy with both the Greek Chicken Wrap and the Chicken Vesuvio. In fact, every dish she served from the kitchen looked delicious.

      Before she stepped away from the table, the man asked her, “How’s the boss treating you?” He was very eye-catching, with gray-shot blond hair pulled back into a silky ponytail and several days worth of stubble on his face. She thought of pirates and called herself silly.

      “Like your typical slave-driver,” she said with a wink to them both. Even before Tyler had mentioned it to her, she’d figured out that just about everyone who walked in the door knew him somehow. The man obviously did not lack for friends. Or female companionship, based on the number of women flirting outrageously with him at the bar. “How do you know Tyler?”

      The man snorted. “He was the best damn employee I ever had.” The redheaded woman seated across from him nodded her agreement with mirthful eyes. “At least, before he got this damn fool idea in his head. Opening his own restaurant. Ungrateful brat.”

      The redhead burst into outright laughter and tugged sharply on his hand. “Don’t be such a curmudgeon, Richard.” To Grace she said, “My husband is just mad that Tyler wouldn’t let him invest in this place after he quit working for us.”

      “Was Tyler your bartender?” Grace asked the man, Richard, politely.

      “Bartender? For about three days, he was.” At her look of perplexity, he continued, “He couldn’t have worked more than a couple of shifts at my joint, I hadn’t even met the boy yet when he came marching into my office one day, demanding to run the place.” He smiled with pleasure at the memory. “Told me that my manager was robbing me blind and that if I gave him her job, he’d straighten out the books, double my profit margin and triple my clientele.”

      “And?” Grace asked, fascinated in spite of herself by this glimpse into the character of the man behind the bar she was finding more appealing the more she knew him.

      “He did it all.” Richard shook his head. “Everything except triple the crowd. He pointed out that that would be beyond my fire capacity for the joint, and then he talked me into adding another room on.”

      “Smart guy.” Richard’s wife stated the obvious. “We miss him.”

      “Stupid boy,” Richard said and shook his head. “Took him an extra two years to open this place because he was too stubborn to take us on as backers.”

      Grace grinned. “Some people just have to do it all themselves, don’t they? You’d better come in as often as you can, then, to make sure he doesn’t go under before Christmas.”

      Richard’s shout of laughter caused heads to turn all over the room, including Tyler’s, to whom he called, “Looks like you’ve got a real saleswoman over here, Tyler. I may have to steal her from you.”

      “And I might have to cut you off, old man,” Tyler shouted back to general laughter as Grace rushed off to put in her food order.

      Fifteen minutes later, when she was back at the bar for yet another round of drinks, Tyler waved her in closer so he could shout in her ear.

      “If you’re not in the weeds, I could use a hand with some glass-washing back here.”

      “Yeah, right,” she said, eyeing the narrow walkway behind the bar with suspicion. There wasn’t room for two people to work back there without them constantly bumping up against each other.

      “I’m serious, Grace. The automatic washer comes in next week, but right now I’m doing them by hand, and with no bar back tonight, I’m not keeping up.”

      She scanned her tables and decided they all looked happy and occupied with their meals. It was late enough in the evening that walk-ins were slowing down, and Addy could probably handle the floor for a few minutes.

      “We’ll be serving martinis in paper cups soon, Grace. Please.”

      “Fine.” She knew she sounded ungracious, but she had her hands full already. Then she ducked through the cutout section of the bar, her tray of empties on the bar preventing her from lifting the flap of counter, and discovered the extent of the disaster.

      Red wineglasses, white wineglasses, steins, pints, rocks glasses, highballs, shots and flutes. Glasses piled on the counter next to the three-compartment sink, stacked on the floor, and cluttering up the tops of coolers. She was surprised there was a single clean drinking vessel left in the house.

      “‘Not keeping up’? Did you learn your task management skills in Pooh Corner?” She skewered Tyler with a look.

      “Don’t even start that,” he snapped, but then had the grace to look sheepish. “Okay. So I might have understated the problem.”

      “I’ll say.” She flipped the switch that started the brushes spinning and said goodbye to her manicure.

      For fifteen minutes she sweated and splashed and scrubbed her way through what felt like, and very well might have been, five hundred dirty glasses. Plunging each glass repeatedly down onto one of the spinning brushes in the sink of hot, soapy water, dunking the glass into the sink of clean, hot water tinged blue with disinfectant, and finally dipping it in the last sink of cold water to rinse. When she came across the glass someone had been using as an ashtray, she cursed Tyler under her breath.

      When she realized she’d washed the wineglasses from a table of neighborhood office assistants and hadn’t managed to remove all of the lipstick from any of them, necessitating a second trip through the cycle, she planned his death.

      In several slow, excruciating scenarios. Most involving sharp objects being inserted beneath his fingernails.

      She pulled the plugs to let the dirty liquid drain from the sinks before she refilled them with fresh water, and felt Tyler move behind her again. He’d done so a number of times already as she’d washed glasses, each time brushing past her with a minimum of contact. A very professional manner that didn’t keep her from being extra aware of his movements behind the bar. She swore she could feel the heat radiating off his body when he paused behind her and rested a hand lightly on her hip for a moment, talking to the customer at the bar directly in front of her.

      She ignored him and thought with pleasure of the end of her shift. For the first time in a month, she wouldn’t be going home to the dubious pleasure of her room at the Sherradin Hotel.

      When she’d come into work this evening, Tyler had again asked her to fill out her as-yet-uncompleted paperwork. Although she’d been surprised he hadn’t reminded her of it before this, she’d still panicked at the question and blurted the first words that came into her head, cursing herself for repeating her original pathetic excuse.

      “I’m so sorry, Tyler. I left my wallet back at the hotel room.”

      “Your hotel room?” he’d asked sharply. She was certain he didn’t buy her lie for a second. “Where are you staying?”

      “At the Sherradin Hotel over on Broadway” she’d said, and flinched at the anger that bloomed over his face in an instant.

      “Are you an idiot? Do you know what kind of a place that is?” His voice had been loud, booming throughout the room. His eyes, which she’d once thought of as being like dark, starlit water, had been hard and jabbed at her like wrought-iron spikes. “Most of the people staying at that place are renting a room by the hour, whether they’re hooking