“Wanna bet?” I pick up the whiskey sour Eric was losing his shit about, and set it on the counter in front of him. “This is the drink I made moments ago. Taste it, then tell me with a straight face it isn’t awful.”
Something over my shoulder catches his attention and he looks confused. Looking over my shoulder I see Eric doing hand motions, and when he notices me, he puts his hands down to his side. He doesn’t have to tell everyone my business. I mean I know it’s not everyone, but I value Devin’s opinion more than anyone else.
“Before I drink it, tell me what it is. I usually stick to beer and want to know what I’m getting into.”
“It’s a whiskey sour.” I slide the drink closer to him. He’s going to regret this.
He places his hand around the short glass, and picks it up. Before he moves it to his lips, he waves it in a cheers motion. Pulling it to his mouth, he tips it up, and takes a big drink. It’s a sipping drink, not something you shoot down as fast as you can. But I watch his face closely.
He swallows and does his best to hide his grimace. But I know the truth. “It’s,” he swallows again. “Not bad.”
“You’re lying.” He’s doing a bad job of it, too. “It’s terrible.”
“Really, Lisa.” Devin sets the drink back on the counter. “I’m not saying it’s the best thing I’ve ever drank, but it’s not as bad as you make it out to be.”
“Have you ever had a whiskey sour before? I can tell you that isn’t what it tastes like.” Eric was right, there’s too much whiskey and simple syrup. The ratios aren’t correct and this is way more than we should be serving.
“No.” He finally relents. “Whiskey has never really been my thing.”
“Eric, can you make him one so he knows what it’s supposed to taste like.”
“Are you sure you want me to do that?” I know he’s trying his best to make me feel better about my horrible drink.
“Yep.”
I turn to leave. There are other things that need to be done, and sitting here focusing on my failures isn’t what I have in store for the day. Devin sets his hand on top of mine. A silent motion for me to stay.
“You’ll get the hang of it. We’ll practice tomorrow.: His gives my hand a light squeeze.
“Okay.” I slide my hand from under his, and get back to work.
I watch him and Eric interact while I’m wiping down the bar. They seem to be getting along, and no longer trying to bite each other’s heads off. Some of the stress in my body releases. I need for the two of them to get along. Eric is my roommate and will be around as long as I’m living there, and it’s important that the two of them are on good terms.
“I’m taking my break,” Eric calls over his shoulder as walks from behind the bar. “It won’t be long, and the rush hasn’t started yet.”
“I hope it stays that way.”
He waves off my concern and heads toward the office. After a few minutes, Devin leaves the bar as well. I have a feeling they are up to something, but I can’t exactly leave to figure out what it is. There’s another bartender here, at the other end of the bar, and I hope they know they get to pour all the drinks. Right now, the only thing I feel qualified to do is fill beer mugs. Anything other than that and I’m liable to screw it up.
The sky is darkening the closer it gets to night, and I know soon we’ll have more customers than I can handle. I hope like hell Eric hurries back. He has this down to a science, and I won’t be the one who screws up everything.
He finally makes it back, even though it’s only been about ten minutes, and just in time. Large groups of people are coming through the door. Some of them bypass the stand and find a stool at the bar. I have a feeling it’s going to be a very long night.
I didn’t get home from the bar until the early hours of the morning. The crowd last night was a more rambunctious than usual, and it took us longer to clean up. It’s growing pains since live music is something we do now. It’ll get better and easier to manage once we have the kinks worked out.
Most people would still be sleeping, not me, though. I plan on perfecting that damn whiskey sour if my life depends on it. Then I’ll practice drinks with vodka before moving on to margaritas. Those I know how to make, but I want to fine tune it.
There’s a knock at the door. There’s only one person it could be, and I’m shocked he’s here since they played right up until closing time. If it were me, I’d still be passed out in bed. He’s an early bird, though, and it’s something I’ll never understand.
Rounding the kitchen counter, I make my way to the door. I check over my body, but I look like a mess. I’m still in my jammies, and my hair is thrown in a bun with pieces of hair sticking out all over the place. It’s not cute. It’s the best he’s going to get, though…for now. If we go somewhere later on today, I’ll actually get ready to be seen in public.
I open the door and his hand is raised mid-knock. “You’re up early.”
“So are you. I wasn’t sure if you’d be awake.” He has a closed box in his other hand, and I want to know what’s in it. “Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah, sure.” I open the door wider, and he steps inside. “You could have called to make sure I was awake.”
“True, but then I wouldn’t have been able to surprise you with my visit.”
