“Then don’t look at your phone like that.”
My jaw dropped. “How am I looking at my phone?”
“Like you’re about to lick it.”
Had I ever wanted to lick my phone after reading one of Joel’s posts? Sure, but only because he always posted them with a picture of him holding a pint of some craft beer. He knew what he was doing, making my little arty pics of perfectly pulled espresso shots look stupid.
In a lot of ways, Joel was a standard-issue bartender. High fade pompadour, check. Luscious, well-groomed beard, double check. A sharp button-up with rolled sleeves and well-muscled forearms with tattoos peeking out… Are bartenders even allowed to bartend without tattoos these days?
He was openly queer, like Allie and Marty, owner of the hardware store, so they’d banded together and started calling our little block Queer Row. It stuck, and while Seguin didn’t have a Pride parade, the queer contingent in the July Fourth parade last year was nearly fifty people strongandthe three stores held a big block party this past spring.
Sure, we wouldn’t be painting rainbows on our crosswalks anytime soon, but progress was progress.
Allie snapped her fingers in my face, bringing me back to the present. “Hello? Earth to Tristan?”
“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” I asked, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming.
“I said, why were you mooning over the guy stealing all your post ideas?”
That stopped me in my tracks. “What do you mean, stealing my post ideas?”
Putting her hands on her hips, she leaned forward with a raised brow. “So you don’t think it was odd that he started posting pictures of himself knocking back pints of beerrightafter you started posting our daily specials?”
“Oh. I hadn’t thought about it that way.”
“Yesterday’s post aboutdaddy issuescame from Wednesday’s Art Walk committee meeting.”
I opened my social media app, shaking my head. “How?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“I’m studying for five finals, Al. I don’t remember jack shit these days.”
Allie tapped my forehead as if that woulda helped anything. “Councilman Gallatin said he didn’t want Seguin turning into Austin, which was a knock at my queer, UT-alum wife, and he spun it to say he was worried about people drinking too much. Which is when you piped up, ‘Fine, then. We’ll post a gentle reminder not to take your daddy issues out at the Art Walk.’”
Grabbing a fresh cloth, I wiped down the espresso station as I stitched my brows together. “I forgot I said that.”
“I’m telling you—every single time you get witty around Joel, he’s taking notes. It don’t matter if you’re talking about coffee or town gossip, he turns it around, makes it about his newest brew, and then puts it out like it’s all his own.”
“How’d I miss that?”
“Just guessing, but you were probably lost in his pretty eyes or something.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m not wrong,” she insisted. “We were closing yesterday as he was pouring Tommy Davis into an Uber. You popped off, ‘God, it’s like Tommy’s made alcohol his entire personality.’ Bet you a cleanout of the espresso machine he puts it in a post this morning.”
And because the universe hates me, that was the precise moment my notification went off. She smiled as I pulled up the app and… Son of a bitch.
That fucking thief.
I set my thumbs to flying. This would not stand.
“Why would he do that? Does he not have any good ideas of his own?”
She wrinkled her nose at me. “Wow. For a college boy, you’re not too smart .”
“Shut up.” I glared at her and then checked the time: one fifteen. Plenty of time before he opened for the day. “I’m taking my break.”
