Page 7 of A Fowl Match

“Look, my friend and I showed up late and we wanted to sit next to each other. I point to Olive standing behind me and she gives a pearly white smile, all her teeth on display, and awave. “Would you be able to move down a seat so that we aren’t separated?Please.If you don’t mind? I didn’t mean to bother you again. And I’m so sorry about hitting you in the head.” I ask as nicely as I can, feeling slightly bad for disturbing him and saying that comment aloud. Kill with kindness, right?

“I do mind, actually. I was here first. And I happen to like sitting here. It’s the best view of the stage.”

So that’s how it’s going to be. Two can play at this game.

“Are we twelve? ‘I was here first.’ I haven’t heard that one since middle school. And is one stool down going to block your view of the stage? I don’t think so.”

“Whatever you want to think,darling.”

Darling? I am not anyone’sdarling. First, he calls me Miss, now I’m darling! What’s it going to be next? I don’t think the next one is going to be a nice term of endearment.

I’ve come to the conclusion that he is a gigantic jerk. And this will not end well.

Tonight, I will end up doing one of two things: making my one phone call to Olive, while at the police department, begging her to bail me out. Or two, punching this guy straight in his smug face. I hope the latter, but both could actually happen, I realize.

I need to be civil; we are here for a good time. It’s not like I want to choose violence. Or have these negative thoughts. That’s normally Olive's forte. What has gotten into me? Something about his instant scowl set me off.

“Hey Olive, Mr. Grumpy won’t move. So, I guess we have to be separated,” I say loud enough so he can hear.

“I don’t care as long as I can order a drink,” she says and waves over the bartender, ordering a whiskey neat. The bartender/owner, Mason, knows my order so I don’t have to say anything. I never stray from my usual, while Olive likes to change up her order every time. Mason smiles at me and starts making our drinks.

I sit at the bar, sliding my fingers across the smooth wood grain surface. The lights are bright in here, but the dark walls make it a relaxing environment. Sounds start to travel from the stage, announcing the band's first song.

The microphone whizzes and the sounds of someone tapping on it fills the bar. The chatter of the once loud environment dies down. “Ahhem, thank you all for being here to hear our new set. The first cover we’re going to play is ‘Drinkin' my baby (off my mind)’ by Eddie Rabbitt.” The singer's voice sounds across the bar with melancholy. Mason slides my beverage towards me across the bar.

“One mocktail for Vivi and a whiskey neat for Olive.”

“Thanks Mason.How’s business?” I ask.

“No problem. Anything for you.” He wipes the counter off with a rag. “The last couple weekends have been packed so I’m hiring a couple more employees. The Heartbreakers have been bringing in a ton of customers lately.”

“Call me or stop by if you need any help before you find someone.”

“You’re the best. I might need you next weekend if I can’t find anyone by then.”

“Mason!” Olive calls, trying to get his attention before I can answer.

“Olive!” He shakes his head and shoots her a grin.

“I’m making some strawberry pop tarts on Monday as a test. I want to perfect them before I add it to the breakfast menu. If you stop by in the morning, you can be my test subject.”

“I’ll be there, no doubts about it. My stomach is already grumbling.”

“Hey! Where’s my invite? Are we not best friends anymore?” I tease Olive, knowing all too well I’m not about to miss out on her pastries. Her coffee shop, The Olive Bean, is a daily stop before I open for the day. It keeps me sane.

“Well, you would’ve known you were already invited if you listened to me on the walk here. You were in a bubble thinking about the chickens, remember? I had a full-on conversation with myself.”

“Oops, sorry Olive, I’ll be there.”

“Good.” She nudges Grumpy with her elbow, and he grunts in response while turning his gaze to her. “You want to join us on Friday at the Olive Bean a half hour before I open? Strawberry Poptarts.” She wiggles her eyebrows up and down.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on. They’ll be delicious. Hopefully. I can always use a few more opinions.”

“Okay. I’ll stop by for a few minutes.”

I glare at Olive, and she winks at me.

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