He grabs the drunk man by the back of his shirt and tosses him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Lifting his free hand to wave goodbye, he stumbles outside. The door closes behind them, but I’m no longer watching. My attention is on the small box of tarts.
I don’t know how to feel about this.
“This is so unreal,” I murmur to myself, shaken.
“What is?”
I nearly jump out of my skin. When I look in the direction of Alex’s voice, I see him standing by the door.
“We’re closed.”
He points to the bar’s hours of operation, which are painted on the glass door. “This says you’re open.”
I give him a hard look. “The kitchen is closed, and so is the bar. Therefore, unless you’re here to mop the floor with me, we are closed.”
He tucks his hands in his pockets and approaches me. “What’s
