I scan the bar to make sure everything is under control before smiling at the next person in line. “Hi! How can I help you?”
“I demand to see the manager.”
“I’m the manager.” For tonight and – fingers crossed – after tonight, too. Assistant manager. Manager. Same thing.
He sneers at me. “You’re the manager?”
I dial up my smile. “Yes.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke, sir. How can I help you?”
“You can get me the real manager.”
“I am the real manager.” I pinch myself. “Ouch! Yep. All real. No fake person here.”
“Don’t be cute with me and go get the manager.”
Dave sidles up to me. “Do we have a problem here?”
The man points at me. “This woman won’t get the manager.”
“Probably because she is the manager this evening.”
I knew there was a reason I liked Dave. Besides him not tattling on me when I bring Boozer to the bar.
“This woman can’t be in charge.”
I blow out a breath. “Okay. Now, I’m getting annoyed. Either tell me what your problem is, or I’ll ask Trent to escort you off the premises.”
I motion to the bouncer and he immediately marches toward us.
“You’re kicking me out?”
“What’s the problem?” I ask instead of explaining myself. It appears Mr. Sexist doesn’t listen anyway.
He slams a glass on the bar with such vehemence, liquid spills over its sides.
“This is not moonshine.”
The glass is engraved with the logo of theBuccaneer’s Whiskey & Distillery.Underneath are the words ‘Smuggler’s Hideaway Moonshine’. “It appears to be moonshine.”
“Moonshine doesn’t burn your nostrils and scar your esophagus.”
Wrong. Moonshine will totally burn your nostrils. And other things if you happen to be too close to an open flame. I swear it wasn’t my fault. I didn’t realize the fire was lit. Besides, eyebrows grow back.
“Smuggler’s Hideaway Moonshine isn’t the same as moonshine you can buy other places.”
“What a crock!”
“The moonshine on the island is prepared according to recipes developed during Prohibition by smugglers.”
“How the hell is that legal?”
I don’t know. It just is.
“I can’t answer any legal questions.”
