“Sammie!” Zehra, business owner, brewer, bartender, and bookseller extraordinaire, waved from behind the bar. “Did you finally quit so you could come work for me?”
It had been their running joke for a couple years now, one that tugged at something in Sammie’s chest that she refused to examine too closely.
“Not yet.” The same answer she always gave. “Maybe next time.”
“We’ll figure it out.” The usual sentiment from Zehra that this part of their greeting always ended with. Sammie wishedit could be true. She adored Zehra, and the whole operation at Constant Reader seemed like a dream come true. The place was special, a staple in the neighborhood that fostered a real sense of community.
Sure, they didn’t distribute to neighboring states the way Everly did, but having smaller batches gave Zehra the creative freedom to make beers that were, well,fun. She was constantly experimenting with recipes, adding ingredients on nothing more than a whim of inspiration.
“Got a big donation over the weekend.” Zehra pointed to the bookshelves lining the far wall as she wiped down the bar top. “Lots of new stuff to look at.”
Sammie shook her head. She was in the middle of reading a fourteen-book epic fantasy series. She didn’t need to be distracted by new stories.
“Well, if you’re just going to sit there, try this.” Zehra finished pouring a pint, sliding it across the bar as she gave Sammie a pointed look.
“What is it?” Sammie took a seat at one of the barstools.
“Taste first,” Zehra said sternly, tucking her long gray-black curls behind her ear.
Sammie did as she was told. “Is that… black pepper?” It wasgood. The red color of the liquid belied the sharp taste that flooded her mouth.
“Black pepper in an amber ale. Calling it Ale of Arrakis.” All the beer names at Constant Reader were book themed. Gimmicky, sure, but Sammie loved it.
“This is great, Zehra.” Smooth after the initial sharpness, excellent for sipping slowly.
“Thanks!” She smiled brightly, dimple pricking her cheeks. “You gave me the idea actually, when you were here a month or so ago. Talking about contrasting flavors.”
Zehra’s words tugged at what felt like a string tied around Sammie’s heart. The beers she made at Everly were good, really good, but to have creative freedom… Sammie wished the bit she and Zehra had going wasn’t just a bit.
She wanted what Zehra had, but a small place like Constant Reader could never pay what she needed. Not if Sammie wanted to keep her childhood home.
Now wasnotthe time to start wallowing in the fact that she would probably never be completely satisfied with the trajectory of her career.
Sammie sipped her pint while Zehra poured for customers that came and went. For such a small place, the seats always seemed to be filled. Locals turned out for Constant Reader, a safe haven on the outskirts of the city, with its Pride flag in the window and a Black Lives Matter sign hanging right next to it.
It was easy, sitting in the small taproom, to forget about the day she’d had. Carson’s screw-up, Robert and his gang of dipshits that couldn’t comprehend the idea of a woman in charge. For Sammie, this space felt liminal. Time slipped by quietly as her body shed the weight of the day, her mind letting go of it all.
Even the fact that the man she’d been crushing on for the last decade had caught her with a vibrator in hand.
“Starting to think about what retirement is going to look like,” Zehra said as Sammie slid her empty glass across the counter. The statement felt more pointed than usual, pulling Sammie out of the gut-churning memory.
“Oh yeah?” She wasn’t sure if she wanted more details or not.
“I’ve interviewed a couple people. Haven’t found the right fit yet. But I don’t think I want to spend the rest of my sixties sweating back there.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder, toward the door that led to the brewhouse.
It was for the best, really. Zehra would find someone else to take over, because Sammie wasn’t the right fit either. Even if she wished she was.
“They’ll be lucky to work here.” Sammie pulled her debit card out, but Zehra pushed her hand away, a knowing look in her eyes.
“It’s on the house. You’ve got a window to get fixed.”
Gutters too. And an oil change.
Her phone pinged as she offered a quick thanks for the free beer. There was a message waiting in the small group chat she was a part of.
Atticus: Drinks after practice
Ivy: as your trainer, i must advise against drinking when our season is on the line
