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After consuming the greatest cupcake of all time, Paige leads me back outside. We cross the alley and walk into Ryan’s Place, a neighborhood bar right next to Muffin Top.
People pack into the bar, even more so than the bakery, but I spot more than a few to-go coffee cups scattered around the tables. I guess it’s common for Bostonians to hit up the bakery for coffee and treats before heading to the bar to hang out. Management sure doesn’t seem to mind. A sign hangs above the entrance promising fifteen percent off pitchers with your bakery receipt on Thursdays.
Paige waves our receipt over her head as we approach the bar. “Hey, Tommy!” she shouts, grabbing the attention of the bartender on the other side.
He raises his head and whips his shaggy blond hair to one side to get a better look at whoever summoned him.
“Hey!” he greets with a wide smile. “It’s Paige!”
She slaps the receipt on the bar. “Gimme a pitcher of that local stuff I like so much.”
“You got it, girlfriend,” he says as he grabs the receipt.
He briefly glances at me, making sure he didn’t offend the tall man hovering over her shoulder with the word girlfriend. I smile politely. No use in worrying the guy, and I’m frankly not all that intimidated by a man in a Hawaiian shirt.
“Two glasses?” he asks.
“Yes, please,” Paige says.
He grabs a pitcher and starts filling it from the tap. “You in town long?” he asks.
“For the weekend.” She gestures at me. “This is my new boss, Oliver. Oliver, this is Tommy, Vincent’s brother-in-law.”
“Oh, so you met the bakery man?” he asks me with a grin. “You get a cupcake?”
I nod. “I got a cupcake.”
“It’s an essential part of the Boston experience.”
“I can see why.”
Paige’s warm smile continues. “Is Monica around?” she asks him.
He scoffs. “Maybe. She got pissed at me for something and bailed. If you stick around long enough, you might see us fight — another essential part of the Boston experience.”
I laugh. Such nice folks. “Looking forward to it.”
“Where’s Evey?” Paige asks.
Tommy sets the pitcher down on the bar with two pint glasses. “She’s working in the back,” he answers. “I’ll let her know you’re here. Climbing up out of her cave should do her some good.”
“Thanks, Tommy!” Paige motions toward the pitcher. “Please?” she asks as she grabs the glasses.
I pick it up and follow her through the crowd. We drift toward the open tables along the far wall, lucky to claim one just as a small group gets up to leave.
As we sit, Paige’s cellphone goes off, the ringing sound just barely audible over the hustle of the bar. She reaches into her pocket for it and smiles, offering me an apologetic glance as she swipes it on.
“It’s my mother,” she says.
I wave a hand to show it won’t bother me.
“Hey, Mom.” She raises her voice a little. “No, I’m in a… late meeting. Can I call you back?”
I smile at the little lie. I fill our glasses from the pitcher as I wait, taking the moment to admire my new surroundings.
With the obvious exception of a night or two at the Sin and Sand bar in Las Vegas to watch Jonah’s band play, I don’t spend a lot of time socializing outside of Botsford Plaza bars. I can already tell this spot, with the mixed scent of baked goods and local brews in the air, will be a decent place to return to on future business trips.
It’ll be even better with Paige right here with me.
