Finn’s laugh bounced off the exposed brick walls.
Until that moment, I’d never known an Irish laugh could make my toes tingle.
“Anyway, I . . . uh . . . I thought I’d get food andreview these while I ate. Multitasking, you know, like lawyers do . . . because I am one . . . a lawyer, I mean. I’m a lawyer.”
“That’s depressing,” Finn said, his smile still lighting up my little corner of the bar.
I shrugged. “That’s my life.”
“Let’s get you fed.” Finn flipped open his notepad and held his pen at the ready. “What can I get you?”
Whatcouldhe get me?
Food.
He was asking about food. I scrambled to open the menu and realized the dishes listed required either a translation or explanation.
“What’s good?” I asked.
“Everything. Our chef is incredible.” He said it with such genuine pride that it made something warm unfurl in my chest. “But if you want my recommendation? Get the Brady Burger and a beer. That burger’s the best thing I’ve eaten in years, and you look like you could use a beer.”
“That’s for sure.”
“Why don’t you just trust me on this? I’ll take care of you tonight, okay?”
“Um, all right.”
Finn closed his notepad, tossed me a wink, then turned and trotted away.
He wants to take care of me?was what echoed inmy head as I watched him disappear.That sounds so nice.
He really was the guy from the sidewalk, the one Diego had told me to “casually” go back to Ybor to look for, which I’d dismissed as ridiculous because Tampa was huge and the odds of running into someone randomly on the street were basically zero.
His name was Finn, and he owned a bar.
Four blocks from my office.
I snatched up my phone and texted Diego.
Me: You’re not gonna believe this. I found him.
Diego: Found who?
Me: Sidewalk guy.
Diego: THE SIDEWALK GUY???
Me: He owns a new gay sports bar in Ybor. It opened today and I just walked into it.
Diego: NO FUCKING WAY. Did you know it was hisplace?
Me: Yes, way. And no, I had no clue.
Diego: What are the odds?
Me: Right?
Diego: Have you talked to him??
