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“Do you think she’s the right person for the job?” he asks, piercing me with one of his all- business stares.
“Yeah, she’ll just have to learn what assholes the lunch customers are, but she’ll get used to it.”
He tilts his head to the side. “The lunch customers are assholes?”
I laugh. “Don’t you read the reports I send you? Haven’t you ever noticed all the comps I have to give for food and drink are during the day?” I pop the peanuts in my mouth.
He looks away thoughtfully, then back at me. “You’re right. I wonder why that is.”
“The Karens only come out during the day. I don’t think Gail has to deal with them at night. Plus, people are more relaxed when they drink. I don’t get a lot of alcohol sales during the day, just maybe a few businessmen on a working lunch meetin’ orderin’ specialty brews.”
He chuckles. “Karens?”
“I was calling them annoying heifers but one of them heard me, so I call them Karens now. You know, ‘I wanna speak to the manager,’” I mimic in my best British accent, which fails miserably.
“All the Karens are English?”
I sigh in exasperation. “No, just tryin’ to sound snooty and failin’ obviously.”
He laughs again. “I’ll never stop laughing at all the funny stuff you say, Quinn Walker.”
Tammy sets down the next flight of beers, goes into her spiel of each one, and then leaves.
I pick up the first and clink it with Linc’s. “I’m gonna need some food besides peanuts if I keep drinkin’ like this.”
“Agreed,” he replies, downing about half of it. After a couple of long seconds, he says, “Hmm, that raspberry really hits you at the front and again at the end.”
“Beer snob,” I say, shaking my head and downing mine.
“Literally my livelihood, woman,” he replies, picking up his next beer.
After we order Texas barbeque and stuff ourselves with that, we walk down the street, hand-in-hand, and soon find ourselves at a honkytonk saloon.
Twenty
Lincoln
We enter the saloon, and my ears are assaulted by more twangy country music. It had been playing all during dinner from the live band, and there’s another on stage here, sounding about the same.
I’ve got a slight buzz from the beer, but Quinn’s a little tipsier than me. Still, I take her hand and lead her to the bar, where I order a gin and tonic. “What do you want, sweetheart?” I ask her over the loud music.
“Aww… am I your sweetheart now?”
I chuckle. “Sure.”
“Um, I really want a margarita, but wait…” She looks up at the ceiling as if the answers to life are there, and then says, “No, I just remembered. Beer before liquor, never sicker. Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear!”
I laugh at her yet again. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t want to fly on a plane hungover, so I better stick with beer. Then I’ll have to hit the gym hard when I get back from all the dang calories!”
“Okay. Do you want one of the brews you had at dinner?”
“Surprise me.”
I decide she’s right and cancel the gin and tonic, ordering a beer.
Once we’re served, we walk around and find a high-top table with no chairs, setting our drinks down. We chat for a bit more while we watch couples on the dance floor, swing dancing.
