We had forty-seven followers, half of whom were Mark’s relatives.
We invited friends, Mark’s construction buddies, my former coworkers from various bartending jobs, and Priya’s colleagues from the hospital.
But we hadn’t actually . . . promoted to the public.
To strangers.
To the hoard of local gays who might keep us in business.
We’d been so busy building the bar that we’d forgotten to tell people it existed.
“Finn,” Rod called from the kitchen. “You need to eat something.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re never hungry. Eat anyway.” He emerged with a plate of his Stanley Sliders, mini burgers with a special sauce he refused to tell me the recipe for. “Eat. Now. Or I’m telling Mark you’re spiraling again.”
“I’m not spiraling!”
“He’s so spiraling,” Priya piled on.
“You’re absolutely spiraling,” Mark said, appearing from the office where he’d been doing God knows what. “But it’s opening night. You’re allowed to spiral a little.”
I took the plate from Rod and forced myself to take a bite.
“Bloody hell, Rod,” I said through a mouthful of beef and bun. “This is amazing.”
Rod grinned and bowed like he was onIron Chef, then retreated to the kitchen.
Rod was a wizard.
“What if no one comes?” I asked no one in particular.
“Then we have a quiet first night and try again tomorrow,” Mark said.
“What if everyone comes and we can’t handle it?”
“Then you handle it anyway and figure it out as you go, just like in the ER,” Priya said before sipping her mojito, one made with real goddamn mint leaves.
“What if—”
“Finn.” Mark put his hands on my shoulders, spun me to face him, and looked me dead in the eye. “It’s going to be fine. We’ve got this.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know that we’ve worked our asses off for three weeks. I know we’ve got great food, good drinks, and a solid team. I know that whatever happens tonight, we’ll figure it out.” He squeezed my shoulders. “Breathe.”
Just to shut him up, I sucked in a deep breath and held it. He waited until I couldn’t hold it any longer, and airwhooshedout as though someone had popped my balloon.
“Good. Now help me make sure we have enough beer on tap.”
At 7:30, we opened the doors.
A trickle of curious men wandered in over the next hour. They looked around, taking in the TVs showing the pre-game show, the polished bar, and comfortable booths.
Some ordered drinks. Others ordered food.
A few looked around, seemed unimpressed, and left.
