Mending Michael Read Online Free PDF Page A

years from the distance between the bar and her usual table. There was no need to interact with her before; she never sat at the bar, so Casey always took her order. I could just admire her from afar without listening to her smart-ass mouth. Now that I work with her, I'm treated to that special bratty way in which she yaks regularly.
    I could have responded to her more kindly when she'd asked if I had a kid. Maybe then she wouldn't have bothered with the babysitting quip. But I can't help myself around Holiday Buchanan—such a corny name—she just brings out the worst in me.
    I grab the bottle of Grey Goose, pour myself another jigger, and let its warmth coat my throat and esophagus. It feels too good going down, so I have another.
    "Drinking all the profits?"
    If I could jump across the bar, I'd choke her. Holly just doesn't know when to quit. I reach for her wrist and yank her forward.
    "Ow," she whispers, her expression confused.
    "I'm not telling you again," I whisper so no one can hear. "Mind your own fucking business."
    Her warm brown eyes widen. She swallows something in her throat. I've scared her. Good. Maybe she'll quit her sarcastic bullshit.
    I release her wrist, and she drops back, casting her eyes down where I held her tight. She winces and walks away.
    I pound the bar top and walk outside by the back dumpster. Kicking the bottom step that leads to Donny's apartment, I curse myself for touching Holly like that. I have to stop letting her get to me. It is not like me to overreact, but around Holly, I can't seem to help myself.
    Five minutes later, I'm back inside, and Holly is mixing two drinks.
    "I got it from here," I say quietly. "Thanks."
    She hands me the shaker and says, "Two martinis," then walks out from behind the bar.
    That Audrey Hepburn way in which she carries herself is gone. In its place is a slump-shouldered shadow of herself. Somehow, I can't believe that my grabbing her wrist would have such a dramatic effect on her—she's too in control of herself.
    When Holly comes to me with the next order, she twists her bottom lip as if she's biting it from the inside, and she doesn't look me in the eye. Her brown eyes stare somewhere behind me when she says, "One seltzer with lime and one Sam Adams."
    "Tap or bottle?"
    "Bottle," she answers, her voice monotone, missing that bite that usually accompanies her words.
    Without taking my eyes off of her, I slide the drinks across the bar. She takes them and walks away, not once looking me in the eyes.
    The rest of the night goes pretty much the same. I was actually hoping her friends would come in to snap her back into place, but they didn't, so after the last customer leaves, and Tom is finished cleaning in the kitchen, it's just Holly and me. While I'm washing glasses in the bar sink, my eyes keep finding their way back to Holly, who's wiping down the tables.
    "Holly," I cough, in an attempt to clear my throat of the apology I'm trying to spit out.
    Her hand freezes at the sound of her name, but she doesn't look my way.
    "I'm sorry."
    She turns toward me, her brown eyes suspicious.
    "I shouldn't have touched you like that. I'm sorry."
    Her lip does that thing again, like she's biting the inside of it, and I laugh.
    "What's so funny?" she asks, the snap almost audible in her question.
    "You're nervous."
    "Yeah, right."
    "Yeah you are."
    She shakes her head and holds her palms up, questioning what the hell I'm talking about.
    "You bite the inside of your lip."
    Her hand shoots to her mouth.
    "I bite the inside of my cheek when I'm worried or nervous." I shrug. "Just figured that's why you do it too."
    Holly nods, then goes back to wiping down the table.
    For two seconds.
    In five bouncy steps, her palms are flat on the bar and she's a few inches taller.
    "Standing on the foot rail?"
    "You know, that wasn't very nice of you before."
    "That's why I apologized," I deadpan.
    "It's just another form of bullying. I didn't like it."
    Sighing, I try again. "I'm