AllFreeNovel
Share Us
br /> "Yeah. The dinner rush is almost over. I can finish up here."
"Thank you."
"No problem." I smiled and got back to work.
Gluten-intolerant dude didn't leave a tip and cleanup took a little longer than normal, but there were no more complaints or catastrophes. I'm pretty sure I spotted the reporter who'd wanted the scoop on my botched wedding lurking out on the sidewalk at one stage during the night. So long as he didn't actively get in my face, however, I was willing to ignore him. For now.
The Dive Bar felt different after closing, all shadows and quiet. A change from all the bright light and music of business hours. It was nice.
Vaughan was missing in action when I woke this morning. When it came time for me to head in to work, Boyd drove up in a late-model Jeep and honked the horn. I guess Vaughan organized the ride for me. It's not like Boyd was talking. Ever. I was about to start walking since I didn't have a phone to call a cab--an issue I'd dared raise with my driver. Boyd kindly stopped at a phone store, allowing me to race in and purchase a cell.
Ah, technology. I didn't actually miss it, but in this modern world of constant communication, it was a necessity. The first thing I'd done was leave a message for my folks. Not that I really expected a reply before the annual Christmas card. Communication wasn't their strong-suit. As parents, they fundamentally sucked. It was just a fact of life. People were who they were, yada yada. Hormones and social expectations had a lot to answer for when it came to population growth.
I could still hear Boyd banging pots and pans around in the kitchen. Assuming he was my ride home, I'd be waiting for a while. Which was fine. I'm sure I could find something to do here. Maybe I'd go ghost hunting for Andre Senior Scare the crap out of myself down in the dark basement. To my knowledge, I'd never been in a haunted building before. It could be fun. A once-in-a-lifetime experience.
"Lydia, think it's time we talked," said Eric from the bar.
Ruh roh.
"All right." I wandered on over, untying my apron as I walked. If I was about to be fired for telling Masa to go home, at least it would be in comfort. I climbed onto one of the stools, giving my poor whiny aching feet a break. Actually, they weren't so bad today. Guess I was getting used to being on them all the time.
Eric set a drink on the bar, served in one of the chunky pretend-cut-crystal, vintage-style glasses. I loved them. He clinked his matching drink against mine, then took a sip. It was an amber liquid. Scotch, judging by the smell. A spiral of orange rind and cubes of ice swam around inside.
"It's an Old Fashioned," he said with a smile. "Ever had one before?"
"No." I took another sniff then dared a sip. Scotch and sweetness and something else I couldn't recognize. Not bad. "Nice. Thank you."
A nod. "You told Masa to go home."
"Yes. He wasn't feeling well and we weren't crazy busy, so ... given Rosie and Nell have got this virus..."
"We sometimes get large groups coming in late. Friends and other people in the area who know we're not going to turn them away."
I took another sip of my drink.
"You really think you'd have been able to handle it on your own?" he asked.
"Having to apologize for the service being a little slow would be preferable to having a customer get puked on, I think." I didn't bother crossing my fingers to protect against the lie. Masa could be sick too. You never know.
Eric coughed out a laugh. "Fair enough."
Phew.
I took another sip of the Old Fashioned, trying to appreciate the scotch. Doubtless it was the top-shelf good stuff. Aged for three hundred years or something. But it was pretty much wasted on me.
Eric's green eyes studied me from across the bar. His dark hair was tied back and he was wearing a crisp black button-up shirt with rolled-up sleeves. Vaughan wasn't classically handsome, more of a custom job. Starkly unique and beautiful with his long lean body and angled face. Eric, however, was pure pretty. You could see how growing girls went from obsessing over ponies to boys like him in the blink of an eye. They were both lovely and just a touch wild.
"Saw you reorganized the front desk," he said. "Cleaned up the reservations book."
"We were quiet this afternoon."
"Mm." He did some more drinking. "Nell says you're just passing through. That this isn't your usual line of work. But if you were thinking of staying, we could definitely use someone to be in charge of the restaurant section."
"Oh."
"Nell's got the kitchen under control. There'll be a new assistant starting next week to help her and Boyd out. And between me, Joe, and Vaughan while he's here, the bar's fine," he said. "We need a manager, or maitre d'-type person, to keep the restaurant floor running smoothly, though. The job's yours if you want it. A month on trial then we consider permanent, discuss suitable money and the rest. I don't know what you earn selling houses, but we'd make it worth your while."
Huh. My eyes felt very wide. "I was not expecting that."
"You were good with the angry customers tonight. Calmed them down without us losing business," he said, then nodded to my glass. "Drink up."
I drank up. Given my mostly empty stomach on account of the earlier nausea and cramping, it was going straight to my head. "There are people with far more experience managing a restaurant out there."
He stared at me for a moment then got busy grabbing a couple of bottles off the wall, pouring out shots into a cocktail shaker. "When we started this place, we just wanted to earn a living and have somewhere to hang out with our friends. Nell wanted to run her own kitchen, cook what she liked. I'd worked behind a few bars, figured it was pretty much just more of the same. We were naive as shit."
While he spoke, he worked, mixing up something new. I watched, fascinated. Ice went into the cocktail shaker along with the alcohol then on went the lid. Silver flashed back and forth before my eyes as he shook the concoction. Next, out of one of the fridges below the endless shelves of bottles behind him came an elegant frosted martini glass. In went the liquid, poured through the cocktail shaker's strainer. The drink was off white, cloudy. Eric pierced a single red rose petal, then the fruit of a lychee, with a little stick of bamboo, tied with a knot at one end. He carefully added the garnish.
"Try that instead," he suggested, sitting the fresh creation in front of me. "Might be more to your taste."
"Thank you." First I studied it from various angles. The cocktail was a work of art. If I had my new cell on me, I'd have taken a picture. Not that anyone currently cared what I was drinking for dinner. "It's beautiful. I don't think you'd get that at your normal dive bar."
"You'd be surprised." He smiled. "But we're not your normal dive bar. Drink."
"Right." I carefully raised the glass to my lips. Ice cold and syrupy sweet. It definitely had lychee liqueur in it and vodka. This mix tasted like heaven served up in a swanky glass.
"Lychee martini."
"Whoa. Eric, I love it. I want to bathe in it from now on," I said, only partially joking. "What are you, some kind of clairvoyant mixologist?"
He laughed. "No. I just know women."
I snorted. "Don't they all."
We shared a smile. Though in all honesty it was probably closer to a smirk on both our parts. The battle of the sexes waged ever on.
"How's things going with Vaughan?" he asked, downing his Old Fashioned. And yeah, my currently nonexistent relationship with my temporary landlord was so none of his business.
"Banged any waitresses lately?"
"No. You're not interested in me." The man made flirty eyes at me. You had to give it to him, he had the sexy heated promising looks all locked up. A total professional man whore. "Sadly."
I drank my drink and otherwise kept my mouth shut.
"I'm having to go further afield to find new partners." He reached for a bottle of scotch. Top shelf. What did I tell you?
I still had nothing to say.
"Getting back to my point," he announced. "Nell and I didn't know a shit
load about running a place like this. Pat wasn't much better. They'd been running the tattoo parlor for a while, but that didn't involve working as closely with suppliers, managing stock to the same degree. And none of us are really great at schmoozing. But you are."
"Really? You seem like a people person."
One side of his lips kicked up. "Hmm."
"Eric, this is all very interesting. And for the record, just as I told Nell, I think this business is solid and has a good future ahead of it." I took another sip of my stiff drink. This conversation needed it. "But I don't see me as being part of that future. I have other plans."
"Starting somewhere else selling houses."
"Yes," I said. "It's what I know."
"But is it what you love?"
I shrugged.
He shrugged right back at me.
I drank.
"Well, that's a shame." A new Old Fashioned sat by his hand, but he started in on making another cocktail just the same. "Good staff's hard to find, especially people who fit in here. Someone we can pretty much all get along with. This work, dealing with people all the time and more than occasionally taking their shit, isn't for everybody. I told Nell I'd try and talk you into staying. Consider yourself talked to."
"Okay."
"Drink up," he repeated. "Boyd will be in the kitchen for a while. I'll make you a Caipirinha next. See if you like that one too."
Oh boy. Hangover, here I come.
*
Thursday had morphed into Friday by the time I stumbled in the door. Vaughan sat on the sofa, the lone piece of furniture left in the living room since the sad demise of the coffee table and an old sitting chair during the men's epic battle. Men were such idiots. Meh to them.
"Was starting to worry about you," he said, strumming away at the guitar on his lap. Andre had been right, Vaughan had gifts. The way he played, his ability to bring out the most amazing beautiful sounds from this instrument, was just one of many.
"Hey." I plonked myself down on the couch beside him, head only spinning a little. Regular glasses full of water and a bowl of gnocchi with this incredibly delicious cheese and spinach sauce care of Boyd had helped mitigate the booze. A little, at least.
Vaughan picked up the notebook and pen I'd partially planted my butt on, setting it down on the floor. He did not have his happy face on. Thankfully, he didn't have his blank face on either. His lips were a flat line, his gaze troubled.
"Let me guess, Eric invited you to stay back and sample his wares." He resumed playing his guitar quietly. "Nell said that's how he operates."
