I froze.
“This isgood,” Rod said. “People showing up early?That’s a good sign.”
I wanted to believe him.
I went back to the floor, ready to tell the three guys about the menu options—
And stopped, jaw open, eyes blinking rapidly at something my brain failed to comprehend.
Two more guys had come in.
They were a couple, maybe mid-thirties. I assumed they were together because they’d settled into a booth and were holding hands across the tabletop while looking around with the curiosity of people discovering something new.
“Sorry,” one of them called out. “The door was unlocked. You’re doing brunch, right?”
“Hell, yeah, they are,” Lightning jersey called from across the bar.
“We—” I looked at the three guys already seated, then back at the couple in the booth. A quick peek at my watch said 9:58 a.m. “Yeah, absolutely. Best brunch in town, coming right up!”
The couple smiled.
The three Lightning fans cheered.
And I stood there in the middle of the floor, baffled, excited, and wondering if maybe—just maybe—the flyers had actually worked.
Five people.
We had five people in the bar before 10 a.m. ona Sunday morning, more than five hours before the game even started, four hours before our scheduled opening.
My phone buzzed.
Beard of Knowledge: Finished with flyers. Heading back. How’s setup going?
Me: 69 69 69 69 69 FUCKING 69!!!
Beard of Knowledge: Oh shit, what happened? The bar didn’t burn down or anything? We have insurance, but still . . .
Me: We have people. In the bar. Wanting food.
Beard of Knowledge: It’s not even ten o’clock.
Me: I know! There’s five people, one group of three and a couple. They’re here for Sunday brunch and the game.
Beard of Knowledge: Sunday brunch? Did you add brunch to the schedule while you were asleep last night?
Me: No! But Rod says he can do it, so we’re doing it. Fuck me. We’re doing it!!!
Beard of Knowledge: THAT’S AMAZING.
Me: Rod needs eggs. Grab some on your way in?
Beard of Knowledge: Eggs. Got it. Be there in 15.
I pocketed my phone and looked around the bar.
For the briefest moment, a hint of pride poked like rays of sunlight through stormy clouds. I felt myself grinning as I walked over to the first table—Lightning Jersey and his friends—and pulled out my notepad.
“Welcome to Barbacks,” I said, and this time, my smile felt genuine. “We don’t have a brunch menu yet, so we’ll have to play it by ear. What can I get you guys?”
