By 8:30, we had maybe fifteen people total.
The Lightning game was on, and a few of themwere watching, but most were just . . . sitting and drinking quietly.
This wasn’t the packed opening night I’d envisioned.
Priya deposited an empty glass on the bar and hopped onto a stool. Jacks grabbed her glass before I could reach it.
“So,” she said. “How’s it going?”
“Great,” I said, my voice flat. “Can’t you tell by the overwhelming crowd?”
“It is opening night. People do not know you yet, precious boy.”
“And I didn’t need a doctor to diagnose that problem.”
“Hey!” Jacks deposited Priya’s glass in the bin at the end of the bar and bounded over with that golden retriever energy he seemed to have in infinite supply. “Priya, right? Finn’s told me about you.”
“All good things, I hope,” Priya said, shaking his hand.
“He said you’re a doctor and the smartest person he knows.”
“Well, he can be correct on occasion.” She smirked at Jacks, then tossed me a wink. “This is a great space. Really nice setup.”
“Thanks. Finn’s been obsessing over every detail.”
“I am aware. I live with him.”
A pair of local actors showed up around 9:30 with a group of theater friends, which helped fill the space a little more. They were loud and enthusiastic and exactly the kind of energy we needed. One of the men made a big show of ordering the “gayest drink you can make,” which resulted in me creating something blue and sparkly that he proclaimed was “perfect” and “very on-brand.”
But by ten o’clock, the crowd had thinned.
The game was over. The Lightning had won, thank God, and people were starting to leave.
I found myself slouched over the bar, staring at nothing, while Mark stood beside me doing the same.
“I think we forgot to promote the place,” I said.
“No shit,” Mark replied.
We stood there in silence for a moment.
“We should do something,” I said. “Social media, maybe? Maya posted those three times—”
“Three times isn’t going to cut it.”
“We could do flyers. Pass them out in Ybor. Some of the other bars might help us out. I know the bookstore down the street would.”
Mark shrugged. “That sounds kind of old school, but it could work.”
“Or we could—”
The door opened. We both looked up.
A manshuffled in, and I straightened, ready to make this customer feel welcome even if he was only the twentieth person we’d seen all night.
Then my eyes narrowed.
And my brain short-circuited.
