“Train me,” he said with a grin. “I’m yours to mold.”

“That’s the worst margarita I’ve ever had,” I said, wincing as I took another sip. “It tastes like straight tequila.”

Oliver rolled his eyes and took a sip before cringing as soon as he tasted it. “I guess it’s a little strong.”

“Strong? That thing could melt steel.”

He tossed the rest of the drink in the sink. “Okay, let’s not take it out on the new guy. I seem to remember you’ve had your share of drink mishaps.”

“Nope. I’ve made every drink perfectly.”

He smiled, his hand lingering close to my waist.

Even though Marie’s had been relatively dead, the shift had gone by shockingly fast working with him. His stolen touches behind the bar, the flirtatious banter. It was even better joking around with him behind the bar than it was when he came in most nights for dinner.

“Was this your plan all along?” I asked. “Become a bartender?”

He swiped his hand across his chin and stared at the ceiling, pretending to mull it over. “I mean,” he finally said, “I did surpass your skills with only one shift.”

“Hey!” I swatted him with the dish towel I had in my back pocket. He wasn’t far off. To no one’s surprise, Oliver was infinitely better at charming the customers than I could ever be.

“Did you ever work in restaurants?” I asked.

“Never. In high school, Harrison and I usually did odd jobs on a farm nearby. Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever had a job that didn’t entail physical labor.”

“A farm boy?” I teased, poking him in the ribs. “I can picture that.”

“I baled hay and everything.”

“That sounds perfect for you.”

He laughed. “Maybe if this doesn’t work out, I can fall back on that plan.”

Ever since our date, Oliver hadn’t been nearly as uncomfortable sharing little tidbits about his past. He’d shared with me how strained he felt talking to his mother, and how important his still-growing relationship with his brother was. It meant the world to me that he trusted me enough to let me in.

“But seriously, speaking of plans, I have been thinking about a few things,” Oliver said, eyeing my reaction.

My mouth parted in shock at his admittance. “Oliver Shaw,” I said, using his full name. “Thinking about plans?” I reached up to press a hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling okay?”

He grabbed my hand, interlacing his fingers with mine and bringing them between us. “No, seriously, it’s nothing huge, but I’ve been saving up most of the money I’ve earned while I’m out here.”

“And…” I waited with bated breath.

He looked at the floor, almost as if he was nervous to tell me. “It’s nothing big or anything, but I figured since I might be wandering for a while—rafting this summer, and then maybe mountain biking somewhere in the fall—I figured it’d be nice to have a homebase. I’m looking at buying a camper trailer. Something small I can tow with my car. That way, even if I’m moving around, I can still have somewhere that’s home.”