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A different kind of noise, she thought. Not the sizzle of meat on a grill, the whack of knives, the clatter of dishes. Here voices filled the big room with its long black bar, its tables and booths. Music pumped from the juke, but not loud enough to overwhelm conversation.
She saw Roddy and his brothers—regulars—at their usual booth near the dartboard, drinking beer and chowing down on bar nuts. Coors for Roddy and his brother Mike, she thought, and Heineken for brother Ted. If their father joined them, he’d order a beer—on tap—and a bump.
She took the pass-through behind the bar where the bartenders worked.
She’d relieve Wayne, currently adding a slice of lime to a bottle of Corona.
“Got a little bit of a lull,” he told her, and gave her his full-wattage smile. “Guy at the end of the bar’s running a tab. He’s on his second vodka tonic, so keep an eye.”
He served the Corona to another stool sitter, exchanged a few words before he slipped back to Morgan.
“Waiting for his date—Match.com—first time. She’s late, he’s nervous.”
Cute, Morgan decided, on the nerdy side. She’d put down money he had a full gaming system in his living room.
“Got it.”
“I’m gonna clock out then. Have a good one.”
As always, she checked her supplies—the ice, the limes and lemons, the olives, the cherries. She filled a couple of orders for tables, and was about to work her way down to Corona when she spotted a woman of about thirty step in, look anxiously around before she approached the guy at the bar.
“Dave? I’m Tandy. I’m so sorry I’m a little late.”
He brightened right up. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s nice to meet you. Do you want to get a table?”
“This is fine. Is this fine?” She slid onto the stool beside him.
Morgan shifted down the bar as they smiled at each other with expressions of anxiety and hope.
“Hi. What can I get you tonight?”
“Oh. Um. Could I get a glass of Chardonnay?”
“You sure can. I love your earrings.”
“Oh.” Tandy put one hand up to her left ear. “Thanks.”
“They’re really pretty,” Dave added. “You look great.”
“Thanks. So do you.” She laughed as Morgan poured the wine. “You really just don’t know, do you? I was so nervous, I walked around the block. That’s why I’m a little late.”
“I was so nervous I got here twenty minutes early.”
Ice broken, Morgan thought as she served the wine.
And this, she admitted, was one of the reasons she loved working in a bar. You never knew what might start, might finish, might bloom or break in a friendly neighborhood bar.
By the time Roddy and his brothers plowed through their burgers, the place started filling up. The Match.com couple decided to get a table after all, and a platter of nachos.
Morgan made a mental bet on a second date there.
Vodka Tonic cashed out, left a miserly tip.
Darts thwacked against the board to cheers and catcalls of onlookers.
A man in his early thirties came in. He made her think of an incognito movie star with his dark blond hair, chiseled features, gym-fit body in jeans, boots, and a pale blue sweater—looked like cashmere. He slid onto a stool.
She stepped down to him. “Welcome to the Next Round. What’s your pleasure?”
