AllFreeNovel
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I huff, “It’s on the house, then. I don’t know what to tell you, D. It’s amaretto, syrup, and lemon juice. That’s it. If you don’t like it why don’t you order a beer instead of a sorority sister drink?”
She frowns, but still manages to not look offended. “I wasn’t in a sorority.”
I laugh, “You order drinks like you are.”
“Is this abuse necessary?” she says with a wink.
I come around to the front of the bar to polish the brass rail. I don’t want to get closer to her but some of the other people who drink here are slobs and I don’t want their fingerprints on the rail. I’m pretty particular about this whole new handcrafted set up. As I should be; it was my hands that did the work after my Gramps died, leaving the bar to me. Gramps, one of the most famous left handed pitchers ever in the American league, retired in this town and lived out the rest of his days slinging drinks. Why? Because he loved talking to people and people loved hearing stories from his glory days. The only thing I inherited from the guy was this dive bar, and I’m doing my best to keep it real.
“Abuse? You’re the one who accused me of watering down my drinks, which I do not do. Maybe your tastes are just changing.”
“Excuse me?”
I don’t really feel like elaborating, but she brings it out of me. “I read an article that says every seven years your tastebuds change. Foods that tasted bad to you when you were younger, maybe you like them now. Maybe your favorite thing isn’t your favorite anymore.”
We’re playing an odd sort of game of chicken right now, with me polishing the brass rail, and her body not getting out of the way as I make my way closer to her with my rag as I polish it.
“Excuse me,” I say and she leans back, but I’m in such a rush that she’s not quite quick enough and my bicep grazes her boob.
“Whoops. Sorry,” I grunt.
I finish the job while she stares at me, eyes wide and speechless for once in her life.
Neither of us say anything for a few minutes. Finally I move on to cleaning the tables that don’t need cleaning, and she recovers her composure.
Dahlia says, “You do realize you’re saying this to someone who is extremely loyal to her own tastes and sensibilities. My taste buds are exactly the same as always.”
Whipping the towel into a laundry bin behind the bar and grabbing a clean one from the fresh pile that Kenny brought down from my dryer in my upstairs apartment, I say, “That sounds like a personal problem.”
She takes another sip and shrugs. I guess drinks that are suddenly free taste better.
“Back to the subject at hand. You just have to stand there and be your usual self.”
I could bounce her for beating around the bush. I’ve tossed plenty of dude bros out of my bar for lesser offenses, suc
h as wearing Axe body spray. “What are you up to?”
She downs the drink, her eyes innocently on the ceiling to avoid meeting my gaze for a moment as she gathers up courage.
“Dahlia.”
Her shoulders drop. “Ugh. Fine. You just have to be your usual self, while ... people take a selfie with you and/or Kenny.”
“The fuck are you talking about? I don’t do selfies.”
But she’s in tourism director mode. Winning personality, dauntless enthusiasm. “Everyone who attends the Fall Festival gets a map of all the businesses that have a painted jack o lantern. They take a selfie with the proprietor and then post it on social media with the hashtag—“
“Nobody is allowed to say the ‘H’ word in here. Also I don’t have WiFi.”
She ignores me. “...With the hashtags printed on the map and they’re entered in a drawing.”
Fidgeting, I twist my towel around my hand. “Lot of rigmarole to enter a drawing. I’ll make it easy for you. Have everyone put their business card in a fishbowl, shake it up...”
“Bo-ring!” she chuckles and dismisses me with a wave of her hand.
That smile of hers could win over an angry Shrek. But it’s not working on me. “I like boring. Boring, same old customers pay my light bill. One time visitors and transient millennial newcomers do not.”
“But that’s kind of the point. We attract new people, and those people come back and become regulars, improving your bottom line. Also, you are a millennial as much as I am.” She points at me, not letting me get away with my rant.
