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Anthony:Text me the address.
* * *
“I had no idea it would be so crowded here,” I say, pushing my way past a group of students. One of them is wearing a home-knit beanie, the other a crop top. Not exactly Anthony Winter clientele.
He mutters behind me. “Really poor lighting in here.”
I suppose that’s true, but it gives the place some charm. Cozy, instead of seedy. I stop at one of the few empty tables. “Is here all right?”
He nods and we have a seat on rickety chairs. A single, fake flower dangles precariously on its equally fake stem in a beer glass on the table. “How’d you find this place?” he asks.
“They were handing out flyers on the street when I walked past and I took one.”
Anthony shakes his head. “Only you would actually stop to accept one.”
“Hmm. You wouldn’t?”
“Definitely not. I doubt anyone raised in New York would.”
“Imagine all the things you miss,” I say. “Beer tastings in college bars? Invitations to dodgy underground clubs?”
“The horror.” His eyes glitter with dry amusement, but they turn sharp as a waiter approaches us. He has a towel slung over a shoulder and a stack of menus in hand.
“Here for the tasting?”
“We sure are,” I say.
“Great, welcome guys. Here’s the list of lagers, ales and IPAs we’ll be serving tonight.” He hands us a menu each, slightly sticky to the touch. “There’s a scorecard tucked in there somewhere, too. We’ll be serving them in twenty-minute intervals.”
“Okay, awesome,” I say. “How about… oh.”
He’s already retreating, weaving through the crowd to attend to other newcomers.
“Excellent customer service,” Anthony says dryly. He’s wearing his usual scowl, but for the first time, I’m seeing him in something other than a suit.
A grey sweater stretches across his shoulders, clinging to muscles previously hidden. A thick watch rests on his wrist, no diamonds on it. He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair absently and stares down at the beer menu. I want to reach over and trace his bearded jawline. See if it would tickle against my hand.
He closes the menu. “Read about the first beer, Summer.”
“Read aloud?”
“Yes. I enjoy your voice.”
“Okay. Yes,” I say, smiling. I tell him about the nutty character of the first pale ale, glancing up at him every so often.
He notices, of course. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m just…” I put the menu down. “I want to say thank you again. This beer tasting is on me, by the way. All of it.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“I insist, Anthony. Please. You helped me with Ace, and without your car… thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he says, dark gaze softening. “But under no circumstances are you paying for this, Summer.”
I sweep a hand out at our surroundings. “Please? Look, I know this isn’t your usual scene, and I had no idea it would be this crowded. Please let me.”
“Not my usual scene?”
