Page 1 of Her Grumpy Bartender

CHAPTER ONE

Max

“First,the ice machine went down, then my delivery got delayed and I’m almost out of my good vodka, and now the main gig booked for tonight canceled. Anything else going to happen, or did I meet tonight’s quota? Fuck, man.” I ran my hand over my short beard and scratched at the scruff.

“Rick’s working on the ice now, and I can make a liquor store run in the meantime. Relax, Max, we’ve got this. We’ve dealt with worse,” said Don, one of the bartenders I hired when I first opened my bar, Mixer, from across the desk, his expression hopeful. It’d been a few years since I opened, and Don had become my closest ally and hardest worker. He kept the morale high. Something I needed more than I expected to.

I leaned back in my chair and groaned. “Worse? Worse than this?”

“Yeah, remember when the bathroom flooded? Or when we ran out of ice? Or the time?—”

I held my hand up. “Okay, okay. I get your point. No need to remind me of all that shit.”

“You want me to see if Liam and his band can take tonight’s spot?”

“Yeah, and if not, I’ll do it.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want to anymore?”

“I talk shit all the time. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

Don shook his head and got to his feet. “You’re way more talented than you give yourself credit for, boss. We all make dumb mistakes in the past. I think you should be the main gig every live music night.”

“Thanks, Don, but like I told you before, that part of my life is over. I fill in here when necessary. That’s about as far as it goes.”

“I know. But I won’t stop singing your praises, boss. I know talent when I hear it.”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here.” I dismissed him with a wave and a half smile.

Don’t get me wrong; I loved the praise from Don, from my frequent customers, and from a few others on staff, but I closed the door on that part of my life a long time ago. Now, I lived a quiet, peaceful life in the small town of Appleridge, where I mixed drinks in my own bar and occasionally played a live music night or two. No more crazy partying, drinking, and endless drug use, the days blending into the other, and barely being able to perform at shows. No more disappointing my band members, my manager, my fans, and most importantly, myself.

But did I miss it?

Fuck yeah, I did.

Unfortunately, when you fuck shit up, sometimes it’s no longer repairable.

An hour later, the ice machine was up and running, Don stocked us up with a few bottles of vodka, and the night went on. The live music part of the night was set to begin in an hour, and when I checked the gig schedule, I read the only name left—Gemma McLeod.

Usually, they’d be a little snippet of an introduction, but nothing. I guess I’d see when she came in. I was always interested to find out what kind of music someone played along with what instrument, if they wrote their own music, or had any quirky techniques. Music still fascinated me to this day, and I doubted that would ever change.

I also noticed who came in early and seemed dedicated and who just wanted to make a quick buck.

A few of our regulars began staggering in. The place slowly filled up, and Don served drinks while I set up the area for the live music. The time passed quickly, and I hadn’t realized how fast until I saw the look on Don’s face.

“Uh, boss, it’s almost showtime, and no one’s here to play.”

“A solo act, some woman named Gemma, was signed up to play. You sure she’s not around somewhere?”

Don shook his head. “Not that I know of. And Liam and his band can’t do tonight, so it looks like you’re up.”

I blew out a breath and ran a hand through my hair. “I figured as much. Looks like I’ll be playing a full set, too.”

Don opened his mouth to respond when a woman appeared beside him, looking frazzled yet gorgeous at the same time.

Long brown hair mixed with blond pieces tumbled down her back in waves, and her blue eyes shone bright along with the smile stretched across her perfect pink lips. I couldn’t help but take her all in, like my brain had an itch I had, noneededto scratch immediately.

She wore a long flowing skirt with a lacy form-fitting top that accentuated the swell of her large breasts. Hemp-style necklaces and bracelets with beads and charms added to her unique style, and my eyes spotted a few small pieces of ink, such as a butterfly and a flower, one on each wrist. Her skin shimmered beneath the low lighting in the bar, and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her if I tried.

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