Chapter 14
Finn
By eleven-thirty, we had a problem.
It wasn’t a bad problem. Holy hells, no. It was the kind of problem I would’ve killed for yesterday, the kind of problem I’d dreamed about since Mark first approached me with the idea of opening a bar.
We were running out of food.
“I need English muffins,” Rod called from the kitchen for the third time in an hour. “And ham. We’re almost out of ham.”
“How are we out of ham?” I shouted back, pulling three beers from the tap simultaneously. “We bought enough for fifty people!”
“If you want ham for soup and risotto later tonight, we need more.”
I could barely believe what I was hearing.
The bar had filled up gradually, like a tide comingin.
First the original five.
Then another group of six around ten-thirty.
Then a dozen more by eleven.
Then people just kept coming.
By noon—three hoursbefore our official opening time—we had maybe forty people, all ordering brunch, most ordering eggs Benedict, apparently, because Rod’s newest special menu item had become the thing everyone wanted.
“I’m going to the store,” Mark announced, grabbing his keys. “English muffins and ham. Anything else?”
“More eggs,” Rod called. “And hollandaise ingredients. I’m making it from scratch, and we’re running low.”
“Make me a list,” Mark said, shoving an order pad and pen at Rod through the window.
By one, we had sixty people sitting, standing, chatting, laughing, and—most importantly—drinking their fill.
By one-thirty, people were standing at the bar because all the high-tops and booths were full.
By two, the place was packed.
I mean packed.
More packed than a European porno featuring an orgy in a college soccer locker room.
Guys stood three-deep at the bar, holding drinks and wearing Lightning jerseys that turned the entire space into a sea of blue and white. The noise level had gone from “pleasant conversation” to “need to shout to be heard.”
The energy was electric.
I was behind the bar, moving on pure adrenaline, pulling beers, mixing drinks, and trying to keep track of who’d ordered what while also making sure we didn’t run out of glassware.
Jacks appeared at my elbow, out of breath. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.”
“What now?”
“There’s a line outside. It’s running down the sidewalk.”
“How many people?”
