“Right. Let’s go, we need to get the bar ready.”
It was another Friday night, and my mind rested a little easier than it had the last few weeks. It was a relief to know I didn’t have to make some big life-altering decision to contact a stranger and let them know I was their daughter. For the first time in weeks, I was able to enjoy my job without that weighing on me.
It was another busy night, and I was helping tend the bar because our normal two bartenders were having trouble keeping up. It was good for me, though. It kept me knowledgeable about cocktails and wine. It was difficult owning a bar without being in the know.
I was handing a couple of college kids some beers when Abi nudged me and nodded toward the door. “We got a crew of shifters coming in.”
I glanced up and saw the guys she was talking about. You could always tell the shifters from the humans. There was…something about them. I couldn’t even describe it, but it was obvious. I wasn’t a bigot like some people. I’d never had anytrouble from shifters and they were welcome at my place. All they wanted was some good bar food and good booze—both of which I could provide.
I nodded. “Yep, I see them,” I said.
The guys, about a half dozen of them, made their way across the bar to an open table near the jukebox. One of them glanced in my direction and made eye contact. I forced myself not to roll my eyes. His face changed when he saw me, and then he changed course to come to the bar. I couldn’t even count the number of times I’d been hit on in the years I’d owned the place. I was well-acquainted with the look he was giving me.
He bellied up and nodded to me. “Hey. Can I get a beer?”
At least he hadn’t led with a pick-up line. I nodded. “Sure, what kind?”
He shrugged and gave an easy smile. “Whatever you recommend. You’re the professional.”
“Fair enough,” I said, turning back to the line of beer taps. I’d made sure to have a cool and eclectic selection of beers when I opened the bar. I had almost two dozen options. I went right for my favorite: a micro-brew made by a couple friends of mine a few towns over. It had hints of orange and wasn’t too hoppy. I slid the glass across the bar to him but held it back just out of reach. “I’ll need to have your ID.”
He grinned. “Yeah, sorry.” He pulled it out and slid the license toward me. I checked the birth date, even though the guy was obviously over twenty-one, and slid the ID back. I pushed the beer the last foot over to him.
He caught it and took a sip. He furrowed his brows and looked at the glass. “That’s really good. Nice choice.”
I had a hard time not succumbing to his charm. He was cute and had a great smile, but I knew how these things usually went. I only nodded and took a couple of orders from some people beside him. Once I was free again, he waved me back over.
“Another round?” I asked.
He shook his head. “How long have you lived here?”
“Sorry, big guy, no personal info. I can do alcohol and maybe some hot wings from the kitchen if you want to ask for some of that.”
He looked back across the room to his friends, who were all watching us. Most had their eyes on me. I wondered if he’d made a bet with his buddies on whether he’d be able to get my number. Turning back, he nodded at his glass. “Okay, house rules. I get it. I’ll take another.”
I filled another glass for him, and he went back to the table with his friends. I glanced over and they all seemed to be in deep discussion. Some of them looked pissed. I figured they were having a guys’ quarrel. As long as it didn’t escalate into shouting and fists, they were free to do as they pleased.
The same guy came back a few more times throughout the night. Each time was pure business. A pitcher of beers for his guys, then a big order of fried chicken sliders from the kitchen. Normal stuff, except that he only wanted to deal with me. He’d wait an extra ten minutes if I was busy. He completely ignored Abi, who tried to get his order and was being pretty obvious that she’d like to do more than just pour him a beer.
Toward the end of the night,he came up to settle his tab. I took his card, and while I was ringing him up, the question I’d been waiting for all night finally came up. “Okay, I’ll finally stop bugging you if you just give me your name.” He held up a finger. “And before you say it, a name isn’t personal information. It’s not private or secret. You can at least give me your name.”
I chuckled and rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine.” I put my hand out to shake. “Maddison Sutton. My friends call me Maddy.”
He shook my hand and smiled that gorgeous smile again. “Good to know.”
He turned without another word and started walking toward his friends, who were gathering at the door.
“Hey, don’t I get your name?” I shouted after him.
He looked over his shoulder as he headed out the door. “Next time.”
I watched the group go, thinking it was the strangest interaction I’d ever had. Usually, when you brushed off a guy, one of two things happened. One, they got butt-hurt about it and turned into pouty little incel shits. Two, they didn’t take no for an answer and kept pushing until I had to be a bitch about it.
This was a refreshing change of pace. Maybe, just maybe, if he came back again, I’d entertain the idea of giving him my number. If he asked for it.
The bar slowly started to empty, and I didn’t even have to make the last call. The final patrons were out before two. The bartenders got most of the place clean, and they and the kitchen guys were out by three, which left just Abi and me. I needed to mop the bathrooms and restock the paper towels, soap, and toilet paper—a twenty-minute job at best.
“Hey, Abi? Go on home. I’ve got this.”
