That’s true enough. There’s no one else sane enough to step into Muriel’s shoes, so we’re all suffering right now. I only hope that she can recover after being closed for so long.
Pap glares at the foam head on his beer like it personally wronged him. “Whole town’s off-kilter. Can’t start the day proper without Muriel’s biscuits and people minding other people’s business.”
“So, you’re saying we’re down one biscuit and three hundred rumors.” I tap the bar solidly, twice for punctuation. “Tragic.”
“Smart-ass,” Pap mutters.
I spend the next fifteen minutes switching out with Larry, and an hour after that, I’m slinging beers for the after-work crowd. It’s mostly locals because, let’s face it… no one else really comes here. Two guys in dusty boots arguing about a fence line, a teacher with ink on her fingers and a stack of papers, and a handful of guys who are working road repair for the State DOT outside of town.
“Sam!” Floyd slaps a twenty on the bar. “Guess who found a coupon for half off wings at the bowling alley and tried to use it at the pharmacy?”
“Please tell me it was you.”
“Close,” he says, pointing at himself with both thumbs. “It was also me.”
Floyd Barbour is probably my favorite citizen in Whynot. He owns Floyd’s Hardware Emporium across Courthouse Square from Chesty’s. He’s in his late fifties and sports long, wiry steel-gray hair. His gray beard is striped with white highlights and hangs halfway down his chest. He watches you from behind intelligent eyes, threatened by bushy eyebrows, and is beloved by many, but not all. While he’s a business owner, his favorite job is to patrol the streets at night with his shotgun to help keep crime down.
Word of interest—there’s very little crime here, so his most important contribution is chasing raccoons out of alley garbage cans.
I bring Floyd a beer, pour a handful of others as the bar fills up, and let the rhythm settle into my bones. I’ve been working at Chesty’s for a handful of years now and it’s a part of me because it’s easy to love people from behind a bar. You can be part of their lives without having to take any piece home. Hear their stories, hand them a drink, make them laugh. Folks leave lighter and I very much like that.
My phone buzzes in my back pocket and I fish it out for a quick peek at a text from Derek.Bookstore in Raleigh still asking. Ready to confirm?
Pap’s leaning over to see my screen, being obviously nosy. I pocket the phone because no, I’m not ready to confirm. However, by not responding to Derek, I amnow opening myself up to a slew of texts from him demanding an answer. I’m good at ignoring him.
Pap’s eyes narrow. “That your girlfriend?”
“Nah. Spam.”
“What kind of spam asks about Raleigh?”
“The pushy kind,” I say, reaching for a bottle opener. “Probably trying to sell me a time-share.”
He snorts, not buying it. Pap’s never met a secret he couldn’t worry at like a loose tooth. Lucky for me, Floyd distracts us by trying to feed a peanut into the jukebox.
“Don’t,” I warn.
“It looks hungry.”
“It’s a machine.”
“Machines get snacky too.”
I reach into my pocket and flip a quarter across the bar to Floyd, who catches it with surprising dexterity. “Play something good.”
I make a quick circuit down the line of drinkers, dropping off beers and a lemonade with too much sugar for the schoolteacher. She gives me a wan smile and returns to grading papers.
At the end of the counter, a couple leans in close, fingers twined, oblivious to everyone. Good for them.
Love is seriously underrated.
The sun extinguishes outside, allowing the red neon to light the way for thirsty customers. I top off Pap’s beer, noting he’s in his mellow stage of the night’sdrinking. It’s where the grumpiness melts into a mixture of playfulness and sometimes, affectionate reminiscing.
“You ever think about offerin’ breakfast service here?” he asks.
“At a bar?”
“Grits, eggs, liquor.” He waggles his eyebrows. “A balanced plate.”
