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While I wait for customers to come, I pull out my notebook and check over what I want done with our booth for the parade. Of course, I want some of the bottled cocktails to be for sale, but I also want to introduce the non-alcoholic version and the mulled wine I’ve been tinkering around with. Mulled wine is an acquired taste and would only be available for the holiday season, but it could bring in some good business.
Along with that, the decorations need some work. I love all of it, the tinsel, the garland, the holly, all of it. But I don’t want a gaudy booth. I want it to look good and elegant, drawing attention to the bar and our wares. This bar is my brother’s dream and being able to be creative is mine. So, it’s important that this booth showcases that.
We’ve been in business for seven years now, but this year will be the first that we have our own booth and I want it to be the best. Other bars in town have booths and do well, bringing in more customers. It’s our year to do the same.
Humming, I sketch out the booth and the decorations I want to have bordering it. The booth is more like a stall, with covering on the top and on three sides. I’ll have room for a long table, some boxes of inventory, and a drink dispenser to keep the wine warm. From there, I’m able to do whatever I want. Starting with color, color, color! Not only the typical holiday colors, but all the colors of the rainbow.
I just have to find someone tall that is willing to help me. Bryce refuses, saying he needs that time to rest and walk around to visit other booths. If it comes down to it, he’ll help, but my brother is not the physical one in this family. If stereotypes are to be believed, I should have been born an alpha.
That makes me giggle. Our parents said the same thing, but they never meant any harm. They liked that Bryce and I subverted expectations of the alpha/omega hierarchy. Bryce is all alpha—big, strong, very take charge—but he doesn’t like to do manual labor. I love all that stuff.
And decorating of course.
I get the booth down to my specifications just as the first of our regulars walks in. “Dyl!” Reese shouts, slapping the bar as he slides onto a stool. “I’ll take my usual.”
“Reese, I swear, I’m going to get you to try one of my cocktails one day.” I give him a wink and turn around to pull down the ingredients for a Manhattan.
He makes a pssh sound and I chuckle. “Never, kid. I’ve been drinking a Manhattan since I was your age and I ain’t about to quit now.”
Reese was one of our first customers, giving our bar a shot because it was closer to his condo. He told plenty of his work friends about us, getting us business. He’ll always be family and always gets his first drink on the house.
Laying out a napkin, I place his glass on it and lean on the bar top. “Tell me, Reese,” I say, turning on the charm, even though it’s wasted. Reese loves alphas—makes no secret about it—so he knows this is all silly flirtation. “When are you going to whisk me away from this terrible life and make me your house husband?” I put my hand on my forehead and pretend to swoon.
His laugh is hearty as he takes a sip of his drink. “As soon as you change your designation, sweetheart.” He sips again, humming in appreciation. “Damn, Dyl. You sure know how to make a drink. I might have to change my mind about the house husband thing.”
Chuckling, I slap him with my towel and move on to the others that walked in. I move around the bar, talking to everyone, making them feel comfortable, and guaranteeing some tips for the day. With it being the holiday season, people are more generous, dropping fives and tens in my jar as opposed to ones any other day. I’ll take it.
Time slips by and I sing along with some patrons to the Christmas music coming through the speakers. It’s the same songs over and over, but I don’t mind. And the more people drink, the less they mind.
My favorite song comes on and I start to belt it out, drawing the attention of the patrons at the bar. A few join in, but most let me sing my own tune. I have a decent singing voice and I’m not afraid to show it off. Just as I hit the end, the door opens and a loud-mouthed alpha groans and says, “If there’s Christmas karaoke, I’m out.”
I grin. In the seven years I’ve been bartending, there’s always one Scrooge who steps through the door. Let’s see if I can change his mind.
Chapter 3
Andrew
While the sweet voice in my ear is alluring, he’s singing Gods awful Christmas music. Had I known I wouldn’t be able to get away from it when I left home, I would have curled in bed with ear plugs in. Anything to get all this music and festivities and this homey feeling from my head.
I glance at the bartender who was singing, and he gives me a wide smile and a small wave. Even though he’s stunning—hazel eyes, brown hair, and full lips that make me want to hop over the bar and ravish him—I don’t give him the time of day. He’s too cheery, especially during this season. Not my type. Even though they don’t look alike, he could be Carlton with how excited he seems about this season.
Instead of waving back, I turn to the back of the bar, indicating a free table near the rear. Miles and his friend, Rome, take a seat beside each other. After we remove our coats and scarves, Miles gives me a shit-eating grin. “You’re up to get the first round.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Why me?”
“Because you have an admirer,” Rome says, tipping his head to the bartender. When I glance back, I see the bartender still looking at us. His smile is still wide, like he’s glad I know he’s checking us out.
I scoff. “He’s not looking at me.”
Rome chuckles. “Sure as hell ain’t me.” He pulls his shirt down only slightly and I see his neck peppered with love bites. “I’m sure any omega can spot these from a mile away.”
I bristle with jealousy I didn’t know I would feel. I haven’t been bitter about people being in relationships. I haven’t.
Miles smirks at me. “I’m in here all the time with my boyfriend. He knows I’m not single. It’s you, my man. What are you going to do about it?”
“Get our round,” I say with annoyance.
With more anger than necessary, I scoot out of the booth and approach the bar. In the short amount of time we were conversing—the guys taking shots at me, more like—the bar got swamped. But the omega is taking it all in stride, mixing drinks and keeping up a steady stream of conversation. He’s laughing and joking, while his hands move a mile a minute, mixing drinks, popping caps off beers, and taking money and cards for payment. He’s like a well-oiled machine, taking his work seriously while having fun at the same time.
