[Sundae]

Electric on. Fridges working. Cold beer.
If he was going to have to sit on the edge of the biggest beach he’d ever seen, then at least he would do it with a beer in his hand.

A warning shot across his mind, but he battered it into submission with mental muscle honed by years of practice. Yes, he was on the wagon. Yes, in a hot climate the last thing he needed was to dehydrate. Yes, he would probably need all his wits about him if he was ever going to understand this situation. But his fucking bar was in the middle of the fucking desert and if a man ever deserved a drink then it was under these circumstances. Bash.

He was painfully aware of his own vulnerability as he moved back past the wine-rack door, to the bar that ran the length of the room. The place just didn’t feel empty. Perhaps it was because all his senses were tuned to screaming pitch by the unreal morning he was having so far. He glanced down the bar with its shining brass, glowing, comforting wood and felt reassured that at least here with his back to the fridges no one could creep up on him.

Unless they were hiding in the mirror.

The flood of adrenalin was instant and nauseating. He jerked, then froze, heart pounding, looking at his own wild face in the mirror. Where the hell had that idea come from?