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“Something like that.”
“No, really. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
“I just never thought you’d leave the bar. Which was part of the reason I ruled out dating you in the first place. I couldn’t see myself being serious with a guy who didn’t come home until two in the morning every night.”
“Three. Sometimes four,” he said, and I gasped.
“Really?”
“Sometimes. Depends on the night and the crowd,” he said, and my heart stopped for a second before beating again in its normal rhythm. “You still with me?”
I nodded, forgetting for a second that he couldn’t see me. “Still with you. Just surprised.” I honestly couldn’t imagine the upside-down, backward schedule sort of life, and wondered how he’d done it for so long.
“It’s a lot of late nights, I know. But it doesn’t have to be. And it won’t always be that way.”
“What do you want, then? Like what’s your ultimate goal?” If he had already thought about stepping away from the bar at some point, in what capacity would he do that?
“I think my ultimate goal is to still have a presence at the bar. It would probably be a mistake for all three of us to disappear completely and never be there.”
I found myself nodding along. “I agree.”
“Do you?” He sounded surprised.
“Of course I do. You guys are the face of Sam’s, and half the reason why your customers come there in the first place. If you take that away, what would that potentially do to your bottom line?”
“Exactly,” he said, his tone lightening. “So I know that I’d like to still be there. It’s important to all three of us that we’re always hands-on to some degree with the business. None of us want things going on there that we don’t know about, or wouldn’t be proud of. Frank always wants to be the one to handle the books. To keep things on the up and up, you know? And Nick would have a hard time putting the marketing in anyone else’s hands, I know that for a fact, even if he doesn’t. I love creating and crafting new drinks, so I want to continue being the one who does that.”
“I think that’s smart.”
“Which part?”
“All of it,” I said as hope and happiness weaved through me. “What about your hours?”
“That’s the part we haven’t nailed down yet. I think it’s important for us to be there on the weekends . . .”
I grasped onto his words, deflating a little at the thought of Ryan working on the only two days I had off. My defeatist attitude didn’t last long as he continued.
“Not both days,” he said, “but we’d each be there on either Friday or Saturday until the bar closed. So I’d have only one really late night on the weekend. And then we’d all still work during the week, but more normal hours. Leave the bar around seven or sometimes eight, I’m not sure. We haven’t worked out the details because none of us are quite ready to scale back just yet, but when the time comes, we will.”
“Will you hire more staff?”
“Yeah, we’ll have to hire a manager and a couple more bartenders. It’s either that or sell the place, which we’ve talked about doing too.”
“You’d sell Sam’s?”
“None of us want to, so probably not. But it’s always an option.”
Stepping back was one thing, but selling was a whole other ball game. It shocked me that I was saddened by the thought. “What would you guys do if you didn’t have the bar?”
He laughed. “I have no idea. Probably wish I had a bar to work at.”
Yawning, I glanced at the time. Making sure I read the numbers right, I swore un
der my breath at the late hour.
“Ryan, I need to go to bed.”
“I know. I’ve kept you up late every night this week. Sorry.”
