" She had no idea where Fergus had suddenly gotten to and was surprised he hadn’t tried to orchestrate something, anything, between Kerry and Cooper. Hopefully with her little demonstration just now, he’d never have the chance.
No sooner had the thought passed through her mind than Fergus was there at her elbow. “I’ve got this,” he said, uncharacteristically low key as he edged her out of the way.
“Gus--”
He nudged her again with a bit more force than was necessary, then wedged his cane in between them to emphasize the point. “I’ll pour and pass. You go talk to your young man.”
“He’s not my--”
Fergus turned his bright blue eyes on her. “I know who he is.” His voice might brook no argument, but there was a world more feeling in his gaze than in his quietly spoken words. “So get on out while the getting’s good. We’re not too far from closing. I’ll get Sandy to help shut the place down. You’re officially off duty until tomorrow.”
“But--”
Now his gaze did turn steely, reminding her where she got the look from. “I believe I still own and run this place. So when I say you’re off until tomorrow, you’re off until tomorrow.”
Kerry swallowed hard and was as shocked as anyone to feel the tiniest prickles behind her eyes. No matter what her latest exploit, he’d never, not once, looked at her with even a hint of disappointment. Until now. “Yes, sir.”
His gaze softened, even if the set of his face did not. He leaned in and bussed her on the cheek, then whispered in her ear, “And I’m taking this round out of your pay, Sprite. Giving away my ale,” he added in a grumble.
The grumble made her smile, and she gave him a quick, one-armed squeeze around his shoulders and a kiss on the side of his forehead, taking care not to put him off balance on his bad side. “I had to do something to throw them off the scent.”
“I believe the something that is still on your scent is waiting for you by the door,” he said, then turned back to help Sandy, who manned the griddle in the kitchen on busy nights, fill and slide mugs down the bar.
Kerry glanced up and over the heads of the folks crowding the bar to the tall man who, indeed, was standing by the door, his old Akubra in hand. Her gaze shifted from the ever-present drover’s hat he always wore for work to the penetrating and unwavering look in his beautiful eyes. "

― Donna Kauffman , Starfish Moon (Brides of Blueberry Cove, #3)