I chuckled. “Okay, fine.”
Branson was right that I had to eat, and I didn’t have jackshit in the refrigerator. I needed to make a grocery run, but I’d probably just hit the liquor store and junk food aisle. Better to go out for a proper meal, even if it was just bar food.
I stood and followed him to the door. The Stag was just down the block, so we walked over. The interior was dim, and it was still early, only a handful of tables claimed.
We stepped up to the bar. The curly-haired bartender smiled when she saw us. We’d been regulars here ever since we got to town. The pub was so close to the shop it was tough to resist popping over for lunch.
“Hey, boys. Just drinks tonight?”
“Menus too,” Branson said. “Caitlyn will be joining us.”
“Lucky girl,” she said with a playful wink. Her gaze skipped over to me. “How about you, Bryson? You making the boys and girls cry over you yet?”
“Nah, I’m the one crying, unfortunately.”
“Oh, no.” She chuckled as she started pulling our beers. We’d been here enough times she didn’t even ask for our order. “I’ve been there. Almost blew it with my wife, Nat, in the early days.”
“How’d you fix it?” I asked, mostly just to make conversation. I doubted Calista could solve my problems for me.
“Persistence,” she said. “Honesty. Sincerity. I don’t know. I guess eventually she saw that I was going to give her what she deserved—and she was right to hold out for that. She deserves the best.”
She plonked our two beers on the bar. “What will Caitlyn have tonight?”
“She’ll take one of those cranberry-lime mules y’all do. She loves those.”
Calista started mixing the drinks while I picked up one of the laminated menus and perused the options. There was a list of specials. Tonight it was smothered pork chops in gravy and mashed potatoes.
“I’ll take the special,” I said.
Branson looked over my shoulder. “Hell yeah, Caitlyn loves that. Let’s make it three orders.”
“Easy enough.” Calista finished the mule and set it on the bar. “So, who are you crying over, Bryson? They must work quick. You’ve barely been in town a few weeks.”
“My brother fell for him in one night,” Branson said. “Of course, Caitlyn loves him too, so hemustbe amazing.”
“Well, who is thisamazingguy?” she asked, smile tugging at her lips.
“Silas Thorne.”
“Oh, crap,” she said. “You really are screwed.”
I winced. “Why?”
She leaned over the bar. “Look, Silas is great. Don’t get mewrong. But he never dates. He likes to have fun, but that’s all it ever seems to be for him. He loves his job. He’s a great friend, by all accounts. But he’s been in Granville about five years, and he’s never once had a boyfriend.”
Branson looked intrigued. “Is there a reason?”
Calista shrugged. “Beats me. I’m just a bartender who probably just repeated more gossip than she should have.” I must have looked pathetic because she reached out and patted my arm. “Maybe it’ll be different with you. You never know, right?”
I sighed and turned toward Branson. “I’m screwed.”
“Come on, Bry. Let’s grab a table.”
I nodded morosely and followed him across the bar, the greetings from the few folks we’d met blending into background noise. Branson covered the small talk while I got lost in my head.
We’d just taken our seats when Caitlyn arrived. She unwound a scarf and hung it on the back of her chair.
“Is this how it’s going to be every time it’s your turn to cook, Branson Larkin?” she teased.
