“Sure,” he says.
“Sure? All you have to say is sure?” she asks, spiritedly prodding.
He shrugs. “Sure.”
She lets out a frustrated groan and closes her file folder. “You know he’s gay, right? It says so on his TikTok profile. He’s done pride cocktails. And don’t you dare saysure.”
“Yes, I know he’s gay.” He deduced that in his little cyber hole, which he still feels guilty about falling into.
“You’ve been single for two years, Julien,” Aunt Augustine says with that matchmaker playfulness he’s become used to but still doesn’t like. The last guy Julien dated, Lance the vet tech, was a nice person and the sex was good, but he didn’t understand Julien’s single-minded pursuit of becoming a sommelier.
“You just want to get paid to be drunk all the time,” Lance said when he found out how much Julien was spending on his first course.
Julien firmly said, “That’s not true,” and then proceeded to break up with Lance. Because when Julien reads the alcohol content on a bottle of wine, his first thoughts are about astringency and proper storing methods, not how tipsy it will make the drinker. Tipsiness is a sensation he doesn’t need to experience. Alcohol is an ingredient, not a cure-all.
“You hired him to reinvigorate our bar,notmy love life,” Julien says. “Should you really be encouraging your employees to date each other anyway?”
“Hey, there’s no rule against it, and I would know because I make the rules.” She sassily shakes her head.
“Whatever. I don’t have time for dating. Dating is just a time-consuming way to waste your money.”
Aunt Augustine gapes at that. “That might be the most cynical thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth, and I raised you!”
“I need to save my money for my advanced course, okay? On top of the tuition, I have to afford a flight to Texas and lodging. It’s a lot,” he says.
Listing it all aloud only magnifies how far he has to go before hitting his goal. He adjusts his mental math from earlier, shifting even more dollars into the Save column. He’d rather have a fluffy cushion than a deflated airbag should anything change in the immediate future. Frugality is the name of the game. A game he’s certain Greg Harlow doesn’t have to play based on his belt and his shirt and the way he carries himself like a runway model.
“Too bad it’s not in Orlando,” she says. “You could’ve used the time-share.”
“Yeah, too bad.”
Aunt Augustine goes over to Julien and places her hands on his shoulders. “While I’m endlessly proud of you for going after your dream, I want to be sure you’re not putting all your life eggs in one basket because if you drop that basket... Splat!” She shakes him up a little with a laugh.
He cracks a tentative smile. “I appreciate you saying that, but I’ve got it under control. I’m studying, saving, and doing everything right.”
She sighs, and he thinks it’s because she feels like she’s not getting through to him. Which, maybe she isn’t. He isn’t in the market for opinions that contradict his own currently. “Okay, but there is more to life than that. I would really like it if you would actively try making friends with Greg. He’s new in town, and I’m sure he could use someone to help make his transition a smooth one.”
He wants to protest that he’s too busy, but because Aunt Augustine knows him better than anyone else, she knows that he spends most free hours studying and jogging and watching old episodes ofStanley Tucci: Searching for Italy. She probably knows, too, that since the breakup with Lance and the end of his friends-with-benefits situation with Colin he hasn’t gone out with anyone. Hasn’t gotten close to anyone. Hasn’t gotten off with anyone... “I’ll make an attempt.”
“That’s what I like to hear! You can start by giving him his shirt back before he leaves and not clutching it in my office like you’re going to sneak it home and start a shrine to him,” she says, glancing down at his fingers. He stops rubbing the delicate fabric which he didn’t even notice he was still doing.
For a second, he imagines the feel of this soft shirt draped over Greg’s hard muscle. An arousing duality.
Dating might not be on the menu, but if he saw Greg included in the buffet of men on his hookup app du jour, he certainly would not deny himself a helping of that Grade A beef, should it be available to him.
“Good night,” he says quickly, giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Night, hun.”
He leaves the restaurant flushed with newfound possibility.
GREG
Greg looks for Julien before leaving to tell him he’ll wash his shirt and return it tomorrow, but he finds Braydon, the guy with the bar napkins and the painted nails from earlier, instead.
“One night down, a million more to go,” he says, closing his locker and slinging a tote bag up his arm. “How’d it go?”
Throughout the shift, Greg could tell Braydon was using every excuse in the book to come over to the bar.Table two wants to know what cocktail you recommend. The couple in the corner asked which vodka they should have in their Moscow mules. Is it time for your break yet?
