Page 2 of Hero Mine

Leaning against the bar, towel in hand, black T-shirt hugging broad shoulders and a worn baseball cap turned backward. Oak Creek’s quietest heartthrob. Mechanic by day, occasional bartender by night, and the reason Joy had nearly walked into the kitchen door three times this evening.

His eyes tracked her as she moved through the room, unflinching. She felt his stare like static against her skin—warm and electric and impossible to ignore.

She dropped her tray at the bar and rested her elbows on the counter. “So, how do I rate? You’re slinging drinks on my shift twice this week. Trying to impress me?”

Bear didn’t miss a beat. “Trying to make sure you don’t kill anyone.”

“Please. I’ve only broken one guy’s nose in my whole tenure of working here. And that was a misunderstanding.”

“You punched him in the face.”

She shrugged. “He grabbed my ass.”

His mouth curved into a slow, sinful smile. “Should’ve hit him harder. Now, get back to work.” He slid the glasses toward her, then leaned in, voice pitched low for only her to hear. “You keep staring at me, Bug, and you’re going to make me forget what shift I’m working.”

Her breath caught. Then she leaned closer, resting one hand on the bar, her voice syrup-sweet. “Don’t pretend you don’t like it.”

His smile deepened. “Not pretending anything.”

She grabbed the drinks, ignoring the spike of heat in her belly. “Good. Then don’t get jealous when I flirt with table seven.”

“You flirt with everyone,” he said, eyes locked on hers. “Except me.”

“That’s because you don’t count,” she shot back with a smirk.

Bear arched a brow. “Oh, sweetheart… I count.”

God help her, he did.

And tonight, everything in her buzzed with the certainty that the waiting—years of bad timing and too-long glances—was almost over. First, she’d been too young. Then, he’d been overseas. And then, her parents had died.

But now…

Now, she was twenty-three, finally steady. And Bear? He’d been watching her the same way she’d watched him for a long damn time.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they were playing with matches. Both knowing the spark was seconds from igniting. And when it happened—when they finally gave in—it wasn’t going to be slow, or sweet, or tentative.

It was going to be a wildfire.

Joy’s lips curved, heat rising beneath her skin. She spun away from the bar, delivering drinks with extra sass, adding a little sway to her hips, and maybe tossing a wink at table seven after all—just to see if Bear noticed.

He did.

His eyes tracked her like a hawk every time she crossed the floor. And damn it, she loved it.

They made it to the final stretch of the night with only a few minor spills, three people cut off, and one guy who insisted on singing “Friends in Low Places” off-key until Joy threatened to ban karaoke forever.

Classic Oak Creek.

By the time last call came and went, the bar was half empty, tables cleared, and Bear was stacking chairs. Joy wiped down the last table and tossed her rag onto the counter. They were finally alone.

The quiet after the crowd felt intimate. Charged. Like the building itself knew something was about to happen.

She leaned against the bar, watching Bear toss the last chair upside down on the table. “You always this handy?”

He looked over at her, gaze slow and heated. “You have no idea.”

She bit her lip.