Cellie's POV
I told myself the walk back to the bar was about professionalism.
I had been away from my shift for too long and Diana was running a busy floor and I was an employee with a responsibility and a paycheck I needed, and none of that had anything to do with the three words I had read on a lit screen before Demetrio had set it face-down on the desk with the studied casualness of a man who had decided something was not worth addressing.
I miss you.
I pushed through the door to the bar and let the noise and the warmth and the smell of spilled beer do what it usually did, which was return me to the specific ordinary reality of a woman who worked here and had tables to serve and nothing to process except orders.
It did not work as well as usual.
I miss you.
