“Thanks, but we aren’t talking about the drink. Unless talking about a drink involves you and me getting a drink when I get off,” he said, and my gaze swung back to his sharply. He arched one brow when he had my attention. “Then I’m all about having a drink.”

My eyes narrowed as I squirmed in my seat. This . . . this I wasn’t accustomed to. “Are you for real?”

Both brows rose, but instead of backing off, he did that thing with his eyes again, slowly tracking over my face, lingering on my lips, before locking with my own blue peepers. “Yeah, honey, I’m real.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“Isn’t that what getting drinks together usually takes care of? The getting to know each other part.”

I was floored. “We literally just met a handful of minutes ago.”

“Already explained that, but I’ll explain something else to you. When I want something, I go for it. Life is way too damn short to live any other way. And I want to get to know you better.” Those lashes lowered one more time, his gaze tracking to my lips like they were some kind of mecca. “Yeah, I definitely want to get to know you better.”

Holy cowbells.

I opened my mouth, but I had no idea how to respond to that, and before I could even come up with a coherent and worthy response, I jumped at the sound of my name.

“Calla?” boomed a deep, gravelly voice. “Calla, is that you?”

My attention swung toward the Dutch doors, and my mouth dropped as I put the familiar voice to the big, bulky, bald guy.

Uncle Clyde, who wasn’t my uncle, but had been around since, well, forever, barreled his way toward us. A big, toothy smile broke out across his ruddy face. “Holy shit for Saturday dinner, it is you!”

I wiggled my fingers in his direction, and my lips split in a smile. Uncle Clyde hadn’t changed one bit in the three years I’d been gone.

Hot Bartender Dude was quiet as he drew back, but I knew what he had to be thinking if he realized I was Mona’s daughter.

Then Uncle Clyde was on me. The big old bear got his massive arms around me and lifted me clear out of the bar stool. My feet dangled in the air as he hugged me, forcing me to squeeze my toes around the thin strap of my flip-flops.

But I didn’t mind if I lost my shoes or was currently having a hard time breathing. Uncle Clyde . . . God, had been there since the beginning, cooking in the kitchen when Dad and Mom first opened Mona’s, and he’d hung around long after everything had gone to crap and then some. And he was still here.

Tears pricked my eyes as I managed to get my arms around his huge shoulders, inhaling the faint scent of fried food and his Old Spice cologne. I’d missed Clyde. He was the only thing I missed about this town.