Identity

She had Bailey working the backbar again, primarily, she felt certain, because Bailey had appealed to Opal. However it worked, Morgan put her to good use.

“You can fill this table order. A Shiraz, a Chardonnay, a house champagne, and a Pinot Grigio. Double order of cheese fries, four plates.”

Trusting her, Morgan hit the blender for a trio of apricot coladas.

She worked on auto, filling orders, chatting, offering tasting glasses when a guest couldn’t decide on a beer or wine or whiskey.

A guy rounding forty came up to the bar, crooked a finger at her.

“What can I do for you?”

“I’m playing stump the bartender with my table. I figure you’re young, can’t have been doing this for long, so my chances are good.”

“What’s the prize?”

“They pick up my greens fee tomorrow.”

“Nice. What’s the drink?”

Smiling, he ticktocked a finger in the air. “No fair googling.”

She held up her hands.

“The Bone.”

“I must be older than I look. Do you want Wild Turkey rye or bourbon?”

“Son of a—” Then he laughed. “Rye. Make it four.”

“Four manly drinks. We’ll bring them out to you. Sorry about the golf.”

She chilled four glasses, got out two shakers so she could make two at once.

It boosted her mood, as did the couple who ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate their engagement.

“God, this is fun!” Breathless, Bailey refilled the garnish tray. “I know it’s super busy, but it’s fun. Probably because it’s all so new to me.”

“It’s not new to me, and it’s still fun.” Laughter burst from a back booth. “And not just for us.”

The place filled up. Hikers, bikers, golfers, honeymooners, the wedding party, and more.

Around midnight, Miles came in, took his usual seat. And pulled out his phone.

She poured him a Cab.

“You’re lucky to find a seat.”

“Resort’s at full capacity for the weekend. Sounds like half of them are in here.”

“You should’ve heard it an hour ago. It’s starting to quiet down.”

She moved away to a couple polishing off a Merlot and a vodka tonic. “Another round?”

“Just in time. And we’ll have some of those spicy fries with it.”

“I’m so sorry. The kitchen closes at midnight.”

“Oh, come on now.” The man tapped a stiff finger on the face of his watch. “It’s only five after. Maybe you should’ve gotten to us sooner.”

“I’m sorry about the delay. Let me see what I can do.”

Since she knew they’d already shut the fryer down in the back of the house, she ordered from room service.

“The fries will take a few minutes, so they’re on me.”

“That’s more like it.”

“Thanks for your patience.” She moved steadily down the bar.

“Inside my head,” Bailey murmured, “my eyes are rolling.”

“As long as it doesn’t show.”

Face blank, Opal came up to the bar. “Two Bellinis, apricot colada, and a Corona.”

“I’ve got the Corona and the empties. Thanks for letting me train tonight, Opal. I’m learning so much.”

“I need you back in your section tomorrow.”

“I’ll be there.”

With the blender whirling, Morgan got out the flutes, then handed Bailey the bottle of champagne. “You make them.”

“Really? My first official cocktails.”

With one eye on Bailey’s pour, Morgan shut off the blender, finished the colada.

“Looks perfect to me. Good work.” After setting the drinks on the tray, Morgan started to glance at Opal. A movement caught her eye.

She saw him, walking toward the glass doors to the patio. His head turned away, but she caught a glimpse of the profile. The gilded hair, the build, even the way he moved.

Everything in her went weak.

“Hey, Morgan, are you—”

Then everything went fierce.

She shot around the bar, caught him just before he reached the doors and grabbed his arm. “You son of—”

Startled, he turned, and she looked up at a stranger.

“I’m sorry. I’m very sorry. I thought you were…”

“Glad I’m not.” He offered a puzzled smile. “Bad breakup?”

“I’m very sorry,” she said again.

Turning, breath backing up in her lungs, gray closing in on the sides of her vision, she rushed out.

“Patio, table three.” Opal pushed the tray at Bailey. “Serve it, cover the bar.”

She darted out, ended up on Miles’s heels. He came up short outside the women’s room, just pointed.

Opal pushed in, found Morgan sitting on the floor, back against a wall, gasping for air.

“Slow it down.” She crouched, put her hands on either side of Morgan’s face. “Breathe slow now.”

“Can’t. Can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can. Slow. Nice and slow.”

“Hurts. Chest hurts.”

“Sure it does. Push the air out, nice and slow. Pull it in again. It’s a panic attack, so we’re going to calm right down. That’s it. In and out. My sister used to get these after some asshole jumped her in college. Keep it coming.”

“I thought—I thought he was…”

“Yeah, I got that. You hold on.”

Straightening, she went to the door, shoved it open. “She needs some water.”

When she stepped back, Morgan had drawn up her legs, had her face pressed to them. “I’m okay. I’m all right. I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Opal walked over at the knock on the door. Took the glass. “Give us another minute,” she told Miles.

“Drink it.” She knelt in front of Morgan again. “Don’t gulp it.”

“Thank you. He just looked so much like him until I…”

“You’re sure it wasn’t?”

“Yes.”

“Good thing you stopped then.” As Morgan sipped water, Opal sat back on her heels. “You were winding up to punch him.”

“Oh God.” She lowered her head again. “That would’ve capped it.”

“Shows you’ve got some grit. More than I figured. I figured you were stringing it all out, playing the victim. So I’m sorry about that.”

“We’ll call it a wash.” Eyes closed, she leaned her head back a moment, then jolted. “Jesus, I left the bar. Bailey—”

“Can handle it for a few minutes. I’ve kept my eye on her. You’re training her right. Of course, you’ve got prime material to work with.”

“I do, but I have to get back.”

“Well, your color’s coming back, and you stopped shaking. Try standing up, and we’ll see.”

When she did, Opal nodded. “All right then.”

She led the way out to where Miles paced in the hall off the lobby. “Over to you,” Opal said, and went back toward the arch.

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

“No, God, no. I have to get back.” Before he could order otherwise, and she saw that in his eyes, she held up a hand. “I need to. For myself, Miles, I need to. If I don’t, he wins another round.”

After a long look, he gestured to the archway.

“I’m sorry about—”

“Save it,” he told her.

He went back to his stool; she went back behind the bar.

After grabbing a bar mop, she gave Bailey’s arm a squeeze. “Sorry for running out on you.”

“It’s okay. You’re okay?”

“Yeah, all good.”

“The fries came in, and I filled a table order from the speed rack.”

“Great. Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

“Find out what the guy I nearly accosted and his party are drinking. I want to send his table a round on me before last call.”