I blinked. “You want to work a shift right now?”
“I mean, sitting here answering questions about ‘what tree would you be’ or whatever is boring as hell.” He yawned dramatically. “Clearly you need help or we wouldn’t be talking. You open soon, right? Let me help set up. Let me work. Let meshowyou instead of tell you. That’s way more effective. You can even keep all the tips, which I predict will blow your minds.”
Mark was giving me a very aggressive thumbs-up behind Benji’s back.
“Okay,” I heard myself say. “Sure. Why not.”
“EXCELLENT.” Benji hopped up from the table and vaulted—actually vaulted—over the bar. “Okay, Mark, what do we need? Where do you want me? What’s the priority? I’m ready to work, and also I’m probably going to reorganize some things because I can already see three inefficiencies and it’s giving me hives.”
“The garnish station could use—”
“Say no more.” Benji was already assessing the plastic bins filled with limes and lemons with the focus of a teacher inspecting a class of first graders. “This is chaos. Beautiful, functional chaos, but still chaos. Give me ten minutes and I’ll have this running like a Swiss watch—a gay Swiss watch. Very efficient, very sparkly, with the most dreamy accent.”
“I don’t think watches are—”
“Mark!” Benji called, despite Mark standing right beside him. “Silver Daddy, can you grab me more lemons? We’re going to need way more. Also limes. Also, those little plastic swords because I have plans.”
Mark looked at me. I was still smothering laughter from Benji calling him “Silver Daddy.” That was going to stick. Hell, it might end up on T-shirts for all the staff.
Mark let out a sigh and went to get lemons.
Benji began reorganizing the garnish station with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times while also somehow humming along to whatever music was playing over the speakers and spinning a bottle for no reason except that he could.
“Is he always like this?” I asked the universe.
“I can hear you!” Benji called. “And yes, this is my normal setting! Wait till you see me when I’m excited!”
Chase must’ve had attorney-ESP or something, because he chose that moment to text.
Chase: So, how’d it go? Find anyone interesting or want to poke your eye with a pen?
Me: The first two were just okay. This third one . . . I think my whole body’s going into shock.
Chase: Good shock? Should I call a doctor? Maybe a priest. Do you need an exorcism?
I chuckled into the screen. Mark, returning with arms laden with limes, shot me a narrowed gaze.
Me: Let’s just say this one guy is unique. He’ll either light the place up or set it on fire. I’m not sure which. He insisted on working tonight for free so we could see him in action. Who does that in an interview?
Chase: Huh. Sounds exciting. I might need to see this.
Me: Come on by. We’ll be busy, but I’d love to see you.
Chase: Aw, he missed me.
Me: Stop it. Fine. A little. I don’t even know you. This is stupid.
Chase: I can hear you blushing through the phone. See you in a few hours.
My five o’clock interview—Sarah Morrison—never showed up. She didn’t call, didn’t email, just didn’t appear. I tried not to take it personally, but it reminded me too much of my dating past.
Then I looked up from my phone and realized that Benji had taken over my bar . . . but not in a hostile takeover way. In an “I love this and I’m going to make it better” way.
By the time we opened at five-thirty, he’d reorganized the garnish station, the speed rail, and somehow convinced Rod to let him rearrange the garnish prep in the kitchen “for optimal workflow.” Rod, who letno onetouch his kitchen, had just . . . let Benji.
“I like him,” Rod said when I wentto check what Benji had done. “He’s got good energy, and he knows his way around a knife.”
“That’s either reassuring or concerning.”
