At the bar, I ordered myself a water and gestured to Phineas. “Whatever you want, it’s on me.”
“Whiskey neat,” Phineas said without hesitation.
The bartender, a local woman who’d been helping out for the evening, looked as uncertain as Sylvie had. She shook her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, but I can’t serve someone who’s clearly been overserved already.”
Phineas immediately started getting agitated again. His voice rose as he began another tirade about people not minding their own business. I held up both hands and stepped in before the situation could escalate.
“Hey, it’s alright,” I said to both the bartender and Phineas. “Mr. Withers, I’ve got a bottle of really good stuff. How about we get out of here and go back to your place? We’ll leave all this obnoxious Christmas chaos behind, and have a proper drink together?”
Phineas studied me with eyes that were drunk but surprisingly shrewd. After a moment, he nodded slowly. “Fine, kid. But it better not be any watered-down garbage.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I assured him.
Sylvie was looking at me like I had sprouted a second head.
“Give me just a second, Phineas,” I told him. “I’m going to grab that bottle.”
A bottle I didn’t have. But I knew where to get one. I jerked my head, indicating I needed her to follow me.
“What are you doing?” Sylvie hissed.
“I need a bottle out of the bar.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to get him home,” I said.
“You can’t let him drink any more.” She crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “He needs carbs and sleep.”
We walked out into the cold and across the way to the bar.
“I don’t think Phineas needs anyone telling him what he can and can’t do,” I told her. “Especially when it comes to alcohol. This guy is not interested in my opinion. Your opinion. He’s a grown ass man. He’s walking. Talking. Trust me I’ve seen way worse.”
“He’s pretty grouchy. I guess he’s not a fun drunk.”
I laughed. “No, I guess he’s not.”
We walked into the bar and she went behind the counter. “What do you want? How about we give him regular seltzer and just tell him it’s got alcohol?”
“I think he’ll crack the can over my head if I try that.” I grinned. “Choose something good.”
She shrugged. “I have no idea what’s good. I like drinks with umbrellas. Bonus points if it comes frozen in slushie form.”
“While everyone loves a daiquiri, I suspect Ol’ Sassypants Withers wouldn’t be too thrilled.” I stepped behind the bar with her to survey the options.
“Please call him that once you’re back at his place for your little date.” Sylvie giggled at her own joke.
“It’s not a date,” I said, glaring at her playfully. “I just figure it’s the best way to make sure he gets home safe.”
I selected a bottle of bourbon. It wasn’t the best but it wasn’t the worst.
“This will do,” I said.
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked. “I mean, I don’t want to cramp your style and get in the way of true love.”
I chuckled, unable to help myself. Taking Withers home was me jumping on a grenade for her, getting him out of the way so he didn’t ruin everyone’s night. Sylvie had worked too hard for that to happen.
“Nah, it’s probably best I go alone. I’ll get him home and make sure he’s settled.”
