Page 8 of Employing Patience

Then I graduated college, came back home, and started learning how to run the brewery. Away from that toxic scramble of figuring myself out with other equally stupid young adults, I cottoned on to a few things.

No men I knew touched platonically.

Whenever Dad struggled, he did it alone.

Feelings were the worst kind of f-word.

And looking at that made me realize I didn’t want to end up that way. I didn’t want my friends to end up that way.

It took a long time to grow comfortable with who I am, and who I am is someone that will cheer hard for his friends. I love them. I love my whole group of divorced guys, and when I see them hit rock bottom and build themselves back up again, it fills me with the kind of elation I don’t get from anything else.

When good things happen for me, sure, it makes me happy.

When good things happen for people I care about, I want to shout it from the damn rooftops.

“You summoned, oh powerful one?”

I almost huff at the sound of Joey’s voice, and when he drops his ass against the table right beside me, that urge deepens.

“I summoned Travis,” I say.

“Sorry, he’s too busy right now.”

I glance over to where he’s wiping down the bar. “Doesn’t look too busy.”

“That’s because you don’t have my professional eye.”

“Or annoying personality.”

“You pronounced adorable wrong.”

“I said what I said.”

“Hi,” Orson says, lifting his voice. “I’m Orson.”

Joey glances over his shoulder at my friend. “Yeah, I’ve seen you around. How do you know boss man?”

“Friends.” Orson’s delighted as he looks between us. “And how do you know boss man?”

“He hired me.”

“Right. And that’s it?”

Joey nods. “Plus, he thinks I’m hot.”

And there it is. “You think you’re hot.”

“No, I think you’re hot.”

“Back on this again?” I pretend to be exasperated, but I love it. All my staff flirt with me, and it’s fun, harmless, the type of flirting that’s more banter than anything else. With Joey? I have no fucking clue.

On my end, there’s nothing innocent about the things I want to do with him, but it’s impossible for me to pick what’s going on in his head. I try not to draw attention to it because I crave his interest, but it’s a dangerous game. He knows the thoughts I have. He flirts with me anyway.

He could be playing me like an idiot for all I know, and I’m giving him total power to do exactly that.

“You know,” Orson says. “All I wanted was a bacon sandwich, but this is much more delicious.”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” I grumble.

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