“This was fun,” Greg says, rocking on his feet. “Should we trade numbers so we can continue spitballing ideas for happy hour?”
Julien agrees, and they swap phones, but it’s when they swap back that his heart glitches. Greg pulls Julien in for a tight hug.
Julien is shocked at first but settles in. There’s instant comfort to be found inside those arms, like Greg’s aura is now an external armor of light surrounding them.
“I’m glad we did this,” Greg says, still holding on.
“Yeah, uh, me too.” Julien is being slightly crushed by Greg’s strong arms. He likes it. He likes ita lot. Almost too much. Because when Greg pulls away, he finds himself wishing him near again. Wishing him close.
“Text me when you get home so I know you got back safely,” Greg says, backing toward his car. “Good night, Julien.”
When he boards the bus, Julien doesn’t even need to put his headphones on because his heart is already loudly beating the tune of Vivaldi’s “Summer” (even though it’s fall) for everyone to hear.
Nine
GREG
Their first happy hour ends up being more like indifferent hour.
The crowds are slimmer than ever, and Greg knows next to nothing about wine. He’s leaning on Julien’s expertise to make it through the evening, even if there are barely any people to impress.
Julien stands at the glass front door, looking forlorn as passersby peer in and then carry on their way.
Greg stifles a small laugh.
“What’s so funny?” Julien asks, growing even more sullen.
Greg shakes his head, not wanting to get into it, but his laughter won’t subside. This whole endeavor is quite comical when he thinks too hard about it.
Over the past week, Greg has kept up an increasingly friendly text thread with Julien, which took some time to ease into. Most of it was about the happy hours—how they should arrange the tables, if streamers were too tacky, which discount appetizers they should pair—but once 9:00 p.m. rolled around, they’d usually move away from iMessage and onto a different app.
There’s a surprising intimacy in long talks across platforms, to notifications rolling in from the same person but different usernames. Each ding of his phone signaled an increased heart rate and a serotonin boost.
Julien sent Greg an Instagram review of a Riesling, to which Greg replied with a recipe for a fruity mocktail. A few days later, Julien upped the ante by sending a video of a dapper-looking Stanley Tucci mixing a negroni. Greg was never much for admiring older men, yet the obvious thirst in Julien’s message over the actor had him reconsidering. His confidence with the cocktail shaker and his bespoke, round glasses gave him an intellectual air not all that unlike Julien’s own, which Greg really admired.
Sensing the shift, Greg sent back a meme about unlikely animal friends—he thought it appropriate given their drastically different natures.
Despite their near-constant communication, he wasn’t ready to give up his special secret knowledge just yet. He had his TikTok linked to his phone contacts. Apparently, so did Julien. Only he assumed Julien didn’t know that becausejb2041xy7’s profile was devoid of any characterizing features, which only makes it funnier when Greg receives yet another notification that Julien checked out his profile.
For now, he’s sitting on that information and standing behind the bar with flight paddles laid out before him, each with different samplings of wine. Only a few people have shown up so far, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Julien’s foreboding presence at the doorway is scaring people away more than it’s luring them in.
“I think maybe if you weren’t skulking right there and if you, I don’t know, smiled, more people might come in?” Greg says.
Julien presses his hands to his waist. “Sorry I’m not a goldendoodle or whatever that dog breed is you’re always sending me videos of.”
Greg chuckles to himself because, through their texts, he’s gleaned that Julien’s more of a surly rescue cat that claws at you when you get close before trusting you enough to make biscuits and curl up in your lap. Damn, does Greg want Julien to curl up in his lap.
“I’m not saying wag your tail and drop a tennis ball at their feet. Just loosen up a bit. Again, the smile is a good place to start.” This is selfish. He just wants to see Julien’s smile. Even if tonight’s happy hour is a loss, Julien’s smile will be a win.
Julien forces his lips apart. Seriously, it’s like the video he sent of an unwilling goldendoodle getting his teeth brushed. So much grimacing.
“If that’s how you’re going to smile, let’s stick with the scowl.”
Julien rolls his eyes, but there’s a playful knowingness behind it. “It’s not like people aren’t going out tonight. I see them. They’re passing us. It’s infuriating!” Greg withholds his laugh once more because Julien’s intense passion has waned into endearing territory. “I told my uncle and my aunt this wasn’t a good idea. Here I am, being proven right.”
It’s impossible for Greg not to take slight offense, to bristle. While both of them are responsible for the poor reviews that brought about this new happy hour arrangement, Greg is, as he’s always done, taking on the emotional brunt of it. Because at the end of the day Martin and Augustine won’t fire their nephew, but Greg’s neck could be on the chopping block at any point if this doesn’t succeed.
But he decides not to stress about that in this moment. He’s enjoying bantering with Julien too much. Their in-person connection is almost as whip-fast as their online chats.
