Following the opening ceremony at noon is a pet parade for the kids down Water Street. Then the farmers’ and artisans’ market stalls open all along Water Street, along with the food trucks, Cutie Fruitie, and Sea Haven Bar & Grill.
The beer and cider garden opens at four, and by five o’clock, Mason’s bar ispacked, along with his parking lot, now lined with tables and chairs. I send Chloe over there—an annoying (to her, I’m sure) many, many times—to scope out the crowd and report back to me. How many heads does she count, and are they eating?
Lots, and they are.
Although the smoothie bar has a steady flow of customers and even a lineup out the door for most of the day, by six p.m. it’s clear that Mason is slaughtering me in sales.
And just before seven, I realize that my ice machine is broken.
Then we run out of the ice we have left. Which means we can’t make any of the popular slushy drinks on the menu. And it’s still hot out.
I can’t afford this.
I call June from Sophie’s phone but get no answer.
So, I sanitize a couple of large tote bins and haul them across the street, weaving through the crowd at the main stage, which is set up in the street in front of the bar, a local country band playing a pretty hot cover of that classic Fleetwood Mac breakup song “Go Your Own Way.”
I push into the bar, where I’m greeted with a wall of noise and heat, and a totally different vibe.
The room is fuller than I’ve ever seen it, and Warrant’s “Cherry Pie” blasts over the sound system, giving that retro-raunchy vibe you don’t know you need until you’re packed into a bar with hundreds of other sweaty bodies and a drink in your hand. Behind the bar, Oscar is spinning cocktail shakers and glasses like a juggler at Cirque du Soleil, and I’d be impressed if I had that kind of time.
I spot Mason behind the bar—beyond a throng of women,hugesurprise—and hurry to the end of the bar, leaning over.
“Mason!” I have to shout to get his attention.
We haven’t seen each other since the middle of the night, not even twenty-four hours ago—before he fell asleep after all the sex, then I slipped out of his bed, gathered my clothes off his floor, and left, to avoid another awkward morning-after scene in his kitchen—but I don’t have time to overthink the frown he gives me.
He comes right over, but something about that frown annoys me. So, I point up into the ether, in other words, the music. “Pleasetell me you teased your hair in the nineties.”
“I was born the year after this song came out,” he says dryly.
“If you say so, Grandpa.”
“What’s wrong? And why am I old every time you’re annoyed with me?”
“I’m not annoyed with you.” I skip past the rest of the jabs I was probably about to spew because I’m nervous about all thatnaked stuff I let him—no, practically begged him to do to me. No time for that, either. “I’m freaking out because my ice machine died. And I realize this is great news for you because we’re rivals and all, but this is very bad news for me, so could I pretty, pretty please use some of your ice?” I hold up the bins I brought.
He raises his eyebrows, taking this in. And very possibly loving it that I need him right now.
Evil.
And way too much like that first day we met.
“Seriously, Mason. Come on. It’sice. You are outselling the shit out of me right now. I see food on every table, and yes, I’ve been watching, and yes, I know I’ve already lost our stupid competition. Just please, don’t make me beg.”
“Sounds like you just did.”
I groan. “Aren’t you too busy for this? I seemanythirsty women leaning on your bar, just waiting for you to hydrate them.”
He narrows his gorgeous eyes at me.
Yes, that sounded jealous. I don’t care right now. “You don’t even need ice, technically. You can serve beer and cider and wine all night. The ladies won’t complain, and neither will the men, so long as the ladies are happy and the beer keeps flowing.”
He looks unconvinced, but probably just because it’sme.
I sigh impatiently. “Google review:The bartender was hot and the drinks were good, but damn, we had to wait forever to get them. Not recommended if you’re thirsty.”
He rolls his eyes and takes a tote bin from my hands. “For the record, I like it when you beg.”
