“She’s not from here.” My brother points out with a judgmental note in his voice. Anyone who isn’t a local automatically lands on his shit list.

“Wow. You are a fount of information. Seriously, you should charge money for that kind of insider knowledge.”

Roderick growls at me, and I smirk at him before retreating. Normally, his grumpiness wouldn’t faze me, but if I piss him off too much, he might decide to kick the stranger out.

Moose owns the bar, but everyone knows who’s really in charge.

“Hey, Warner. Why don’t you come sit with us?” Courtney has made her way over to me, grinning like she’s about to do me a huge favor. “My friend Missy”—she tilts her chin toward the redhead—“wants to meet you.”

“Of course she does. I’m a charming guy.” I offer my cheekiest grin, not making any promises.

Courtney and I have been friends since we were in diapers, and at some point, she made it her personal mission to act as my wingwoman. Probably because it exasperates me, which she finds hilarious.

“Nice boots, by the way. I’ve always dreamed of wearing a disco ball on my feet.”

She returns my smile with a saucy one of her own. “You like? If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll make you a pair.”

She stretches out her toned, tanned leg, letting the little jewels on her boot catch the light. Something in her movement snags the attention of the mystery woman. Her head turns, stare seeking out Courtney’s boots.

She’s cute.

If there was a battle for the descriptor of hot, Courtney would win.

But the woman still holds my focus with her dramatically curved Cupid’s bow lips. Probably aware of just how interesting that lip is, she went so far as to pierce it. A tiny golden stud, like a beauty mark, makes it hard to convince myself to leave off staring at her mouth.

Everything about her is brown and gold.

Brown eyes. Golden lashes. Brown and golden brows, bright against her pale skin.

She’s maple syrup poured over a perfectly cooked waffle.

Then, she meets my eyes.

Finding me staring at her, she jerks back slightly.

I expect her to blush, maybe duck her head. Or if she’s looking for a good time, give me an inviting smile.

Mystery Woman chooses none of the above.

Instead, she stares back, just for a moment, before tightening her mouth into a polite smile. Then, after a shallow nod that seems to say, I saw you staring, but we’re done with that now, she turns back to her drink.

“Ooh. Denied.” Courtney chuckles, having watched the barely existent exchange.