The realization came as both a relief and a little sad if I thought about it too long.
Dave brought the extra stools by for the kitchen area, which gave me somewhere to sit to work on my homework and eat dinner. It would come in handy to have space to spread out my notebooks.
I used some of my money to buy an air mattress and a cheap set of sheets from the discount store down the road. The mattress hissed as it filled with air, expanding across the floor in the corner of the loft. I was nervous the first night that I’d wake up on the floor.
Thankfully, it’s held up okay so far.
The blankets I’d stuffed into the garbage bags to bring with me came in clutch. They smelled faintly like home, like the laundry detergent my mom had sworn by my entire life.
It wasn’t much, but it was mine.
I spent the night unpacking my stuff. I made a second run to the store to pick up a few groceries. Mostly easy meals I could make and have leftovers, along with some cold deli meat for sandwiches. I splurged on a cheap coffee machine. I figured making my own at home would save me in the end.
It would be enough for now, at least until I started making tips and could grab a few more things at the store.
Tomorrow, I’ll have my first day of class followed by my first shift at Broken Saddle.
By the end of the night, I was curled up on the couch, with my laptop balanced on my knee. I’d connected to the bar’s Wi-Fi and pulled up Netflix, settling into another episode ofOne TreeHill. I always circle back to that show when I need something familiar.
I end up dozing off earlier than I mean to. The loft stays mostly quiet, the music drifting up from the bar below. It doesn’t bother me. If anything, it makes the place feel a little less empty.
***
The bar is packed when I step through the door.
Music thumps through the speakers. It’s so loud it almost feels like it’s vibrating in my chest.
Nearly every stool is taken, and the high-top tables are crowded. I’m starting to wonder if this was a terrible idea. It’s my first shift, my first time serving alcohol, and it looks like it’s one of their busiest nights. I guess there will be no easing into things.
A woman with dark hair pulled into a messy bun spots me hovering near the host stand and grins.
“You must be the new girl,” she says, already moving toward me. “I’m Sasha.”
“Brinley,” I say, shaking her hand.
She loops her arm through mine, like we’ve known each other for years, and guides me through the crowd.
“Don’t worry.” She leans close to me. “I’ve got you. Thursdays can get crazy with drink deals. There’s a big basketball game against a ranked team tonight, so it’s about to be a madhouse. It’ll be chaos, but the good kind. You’ll survive.”
Sasha runs me through the basics at lightning speed—where things are kept, how to start and close a tab, which tables are regulars, and which ones will give you the best tips if you’re quick on their refills.
I’m grateful to have someone beside me who doesn’t make me feel like I’m in the way.
Things come back to me faster than I expected. I’ve served before at diners and cafés, places where morning coffee orders were the biggest rush of the day. This is different.
The drinks are the hardest part.
People rattle off the names as if I should know them, and I nod along like I do, scribbling notes and hoping I can catch Sasha’s eye before I embarrass myself. Every time I hear a new order, my brain flags it as something I’ll need to study later if I want any chance of making decent tips.
And I do. I really do.
Between tables, I watch how Sasha moves. She jokes with customers, remembers faces, and calls them by name.
Halfway through my shift, the front doors open and a group of guys walks in. It’s impossible not to notice them.
They’re tall and broad-shouldered, filling the doorway without even trying. I notice how the crowd adjusts around them, people sneaking looks like they don’t want to be obvious about it.
My eyes move over them without much thought. One of them stands out immediately.
