Page 28 of Undone, Love Times Three

“You know anywhere else?”

“Sure. There’s Blue’s Hideaway. It’s a decent place, good craft beer. And the atmosphere is laid back. A lot of women go there. They have dance nights unofficially. I went once, girls were up dancing on the bar, not for money or anything, just for enjoyment. It gets super busy and there’s no preferential treatment,” he eyes the men in suits.

He’s thinking these old dudes won’t want to go, but it’s just me and Reed.

Sounds better than a strip joint. I thank him, slip him a couple of twenties, and head back to let Reed know we’re going for a more authentic experience after we eat and have a few more drinks in the box.

Fortunately, he agrees.

312 IPA

Adele

The bar is always jumping on game day. Lately, I’ve had to get security to prevent us breaking code for being overcrowded. By closing time, I’m dead on my feet. But I love it. This place is my baby, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything.

Tonight is no exception. I’m rushed off my feet behind the bar, alongside Brie, Jacob and Sharlene, my bar staff. Out on the floor I have Curtis, Bobby and Gina, running orders outto prevent build-up at the bar. That is a new thing for Blue’s Hideaway, having QR codes on the tables.

I’m not a technophobe, but I’m traditional and try to run the bar the way my uncle did before he died. It was popular back then. Now, it’s got five-star reviews on Trip Advisor, it’s talked about by bloggers. It’s one of those‘destination bars’in Lakeview that sends tourists flocking our way.

That is saying a lot, considering the number of amazing bars and restaurants in the area.

I was resistant to using an app to serve my customers for a while. Curtis convinced me to try it. Now I don’t know how we managed without it.

My watch vibrates, letting me know a new order has come through. I glance at the screen beneath the bar and see an order for two pints of the 312 IPA. It’s our specialty beer, so named for the grandkids in the family. My two uncles had one kid and three kids, respectively. My dad had my brother and me.

It’s made, bottled and sold solely to Blue’s Hideaway by my cousin at the family brewery in Clarendon Hills, where we all grew up. It’s a balanced blend of citrus-forward hops and light malt sweetness. It’s the caramel malt that is the surprise, and the secret ingredient we guard with our lives.

So many people have tried to figure it out and we’ve been asked to distribute wider so many times I’ve lost track. The one thing Uncle Harvey requested before he died was never, ever give up the secret of 312. And only ever serve it at Blue’s.

We’ve stood by that, even though we could make hundreds of thousands of dollars from distribution. It has brought us such a great reputation, the whole secrecy thing. It always gives me a kick when people order it.

The beer comes in special 312 glasses, which are midnight blue with gold trim and the words ‘Bold, Balanced and Unforgettable’on the side. That part is maybe a little cheesy, but it hasn’t put anyone off yet.

Lifting two chilled glasses, I look for one of the floor staff, but everyone is busy. Grabbing a tray, I set the bottles and glasses down and move from behind the bar.

Jacob eyeballs me as I pass. I’m not the kind of boss who sits in an office and watches the staff work. I’ve always and will always be hands on. This is my bar, and I love working here, not just owning it. Weaving through the people with practiced ease, I approach table twelve.

It’s near the back of the bar. Not an optimal table if you want to be right in the middle of the action, more a quieter section, if there is such a thing in here on game night.

There is a rowdy bunch of college kids back here. They’re no trouble, though. I was that age once. And if a situation ever gets out of hand, I know how to handle it. Being the only girl amongst the Brody family taught me a lot.

It’s another one of those things the bar is famous for. The owner is a kick-ass boss who knows how to handle shit. But she is also one of the coolest chicks you could ever hope to meet.

That is how I was described in one review. Curtis got it printed, framed and hung it on the wall. I take it down, but it pops back up in another area of the bar.

Squeezing my way through the crowds touching no one is an art form I have down to a T. Table twelve is a high table with four stools. Men in suits occupy two of the seats.

The fair-haired one’s tie is undone and hanging down against his white shirt. The other is wearing a black shirt, with his suit jacket folded on the chair back. He is facing away from me.

Many men come in here. A lot of them are hot. Looks factor into how I initially feel about a guy. Of course they do, but it’s not everything. I’m attracted to personality, to the standards someone holds and the conviction to stand by them.

Suits don’t do it for me either.

“Here we go, two 312 IPAs.” I set the glasses down on the table.

“Thanks sweetheart,” the guy facing me leans one elbow on the back of his stool and runs his eyes up and down me.

Okay. I resist the eye roll. There’s no hanging around to chat in this bar. I’m about to turn as the second man reaches for his bottle. He lifts his head to look at me and our eyes lock. Holy shit.

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