“If you were being proven right, wouldn’t you be a little more excited and a little less antsy?” Greg asks, poking. It’s not like he’s unaware that Julien wanted him ousted the moment he stepped foot in Martin’s Place, and he feels vindicated that he’s slid into Julien’s trust.
He forecasts Julien’s reaction to his words. Julien’s scowl is going to turn into an ultra-scowl—an unnervingly adorable combination of forehead wrinkles and eye crinkles and sagging lips and droopy eyes. He likes this expression almost as much as he likes Julien’s hard-earned smile.
Oh no. Maybe he likes Julien’s...everything.
“I was hoping for the tips.” Julien’s crossed the room, passing the bored waiters and line cooks who have already set up for dinner, which starts in less than an hour, and shakes the tip jar on the counter.
“Saving for something?” Greg asks before remembering his own stalled savings. He hopes Julien doesn’t turn the question around on him. He’s not ready to unveil his mountain of debt, the treacherous slope he’s only begun to scale. He shudders, but thankfully Julien doesn’t notice.
“My advanced sommelier course.” Julien’s voice dips lower as he says it, eyes flicking toward Martin’s office.
“How much does something like that set you back?” he asks, glad to have a topic that’s not his crushing financial miscalculations.
“Including the pretest, airfare, and lodging? Two grand, maybe more.”
Greg puffs out a shocked exhale. “Damn. That’s a serious investment.” He inspects the pin Julien always wears in the restaurant. It’s impressive and shiny, a symbol of commitment. Does Julien take relationships as seriously as he takes his wine studies? If they were to explore something—which they definitely won’t, since Greg is being protective with his heart and other parts—would Julien need that kind of firm promise, monogamy and all that?
“I think it’ll be worth it in the long run. If I reach Master status, I could be making over six figures a year.”
“Holy—wow.”
“Right? But it’s incredibly hard to get there. There are fewer than three hundred Master Sommeliers in the world.” Julien walks around to the back of the bar, getting nearer. A newfound Julien sensor has turned on inside Greg; it beeps every time Julien is nearby like his car does whenever he’s veering too close to the yellow line on a highway.
“It must be a difficult field,” Greg says over the Julien-induced beeping only he can hear.
“We’ll see if I have what it takes.” Julien leans on the bar, fiddling with the wine sample.
Greg averts his eyes from the hint of underwear waistband that peeks out from between the hem of Julien’s casual sweater and his work chinos.
“I just need the money first,” Julien says with a sigh.
Greg sincerely wishes he could help. Back when his TikToks were raking in the views and the dough, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about floating his new friend—we are friends, aren’t we?—a couple hundred toward his dream. But right now, with credit cards maxed out and debt collectors calling with increasing frequency, he’s in no position to do more than he’s about to which is: “Switch places with me.”
Jovially, Greg steps outside and plants himself on the sidewalk like a carnival barker with a dishrag slung over his right shoulder. The first group that approaches him is tentative yet intrigued. They shrug to one another after hearing what’s going on inside and enter. Greg follows them in, winking at Julien behind their backs like he’s tricked them into a presentation for time-shares.
Greg can tell Julien pretends not to see, but the blush creeping up his neck gives him away. It lingers even as he begins somewhat shakily detailing the wine samplings and passing the complimentary flights across the bar to the two couples.
He’s awed at how, the longer Julien speaks, the more confident and friendly he grows—from his posture to his clear tone. Grumpy isn’t Julien’s stagnant personality or resting state. It’s a defense for when the world isn’t willing to listen.
With renewed purpose, Greg steps back outside, determined to get some more stragglers. Now that he knows Julien needs the money, too, he’s hell-bent on helping him get it.
By the time the event is winding down, Greg has successfully convinced (without flirting) at least five more people to wander in. Some stay and chat, ordering full glasses and bruschetta to share. Others sip and then exit promptly. Most, thankfully, leave tips.
As Julien and Greg clean up and prep for dinner service, Julien asks, “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Turn on the charm.”
Greg closes his locker and thinks on this before saying, “Practice.” It’s true. His sunshiny demeanor was less a conscious trait and more of a necessity born of the academy.
“High school golden boy?” Julien asks, slipping out of the maroon sweater he was wearing for the tasting and into his button-down. Greg makes a point of looking anywhere but at Julien, whose exposed smooth, slim frame is too much for him even in his fantasies, let alone in person.
“I went to military school for grades eight through twelve. It was a family tradition. I was not very popular there.” Greg avoids trips down memory lane like this one, but with Julien he doesn’t mind so much. Julien trusted him with the truth about his parents, after all.
When he’s safe in the knowledge that Julien is clothed again and other employees have started filtering into the back, Greg catches Julien’s stare. Those pale blue eyes are intense, eager to engage.
“I can’t imagine you not being popular.”
