Stir Me Up [h.s.]

one

Willa Tillerson notices two things instantly when she walks into The Churchill Arms after a long and tiring day at work. The first is that her coworkers have already started without her, a pile of empty pint glasses nearly towering over the wooden table they've deemed as their own in the back corner of the pub. The second is that her favorite barman is working.

She tries her hardest not to make eye contact with him, because Willa has always thrived on playing hard to get. But there's no denying that he makes it that much more difficult, with the way his brown hair wisps around his forehead in fluffy curls, and the way his black collared work shirt strains over his bulging biceps when he pulls a pint from the tap, and the way his green eyes light up and cherry lips quirk with a boyish grin when the door shuts tightly behind her, the bell above clanging together in a pretty tune.

Willa Tillerson is trying.

Before she can begin putting her black leather Saint Laurent boots in front of the other, she hears a loud posh voice calling her over towards the back table. With her new handbag held tightly under her armpit, she begins barrelling forward, purposely sashaying her hips back and forth when she walks past the bartop, ignoring the hot gaze that hits her lower back.

"About time! You're nearly an hour late, Ms. Workaholic," Annabelle tuts once Willa has approached the table. She rolls her eyes, putting her Celine handbag on the hook below the table and throwing her Isabel Marant wool longline jacket on the back of one of the unoccupied chairs.

"Oh be quiet, I just had some last minute things to catch up on," Willa retorts, doing her best to turn off Work Willa and turn on Fun Willa.

It's hard sometimes, considering her job has been taking over most of her life for the better part of the year. She loves the work, and Willa will be the first person to admit that, but it can be a bit gruelling at times.

But she can't complain, because she's passionate about her position as a senior designer at Kensington Interior Design Ltd. Willa's been lucky enough to work at the company ever since she finished uni years ago, and she received the promotion almost four months ago. Her workload had increased tenfold—but she really can't lament. Even though she's almost the last person to leave the office every night, and she's now the last person to trickle in to their after-work drinks tradition that started a few years ago, and she honestly can't remember the last time she had been out on a date ever since she's been working through the weekends.

Willa's really trying.

The sudden urge to have a cocktail is almost all-consuming. So with a quick flick of her neck towards the bartop to Annabelle, Willa grasps her wallet in her hand and struts over towards the counter where her favorite barman is already waiting for her.

"Evening," he calls out, his right dimple already sunk deep into his ivory skin, causing Willa to grin right back at him. His arms are stretched out wide against the dark wooden countertop, causing his large shoulders to jut out. Willa is doing her best to not stare at the dark ink swirling up and down his toned arms.

"Hi Harry," Willa responds easily back, resting her forearms on the countertop and leaning forward in her boots so that her cleavage is a bit more exposed in her tight white blouse.

"Your regular, then?" He asks with his deep voice, and Willa just nods back, suppressing the flush that's beginning to crawl up her sternum when Harry reaches down for the bottle of gin and begins scooping ice into the shaker, pouring a generous amount into the tin.

Harry's focus shifts towards the task at hand, and he feels grateful for the excuse to point his green eyes at something other than Willa's pretty face and exposed neckline. He's really doing his best to keep his eyes above her collarbones, but she's making it increasingly difficult with each shift forward against the wooden bartop.