Page 6 of Books and Hookups

Silently, we scanned the patrons. They were mechanics with grease on their jeans, teachers drinking after a long day with sugared-up kids, landscapers brushing grass clippings out of their hair and onto the sixty-year-old wood-plank floor. My siblings and I had gone to school with some of them. Barb had served them for years. She’d served some of their parents too. It was a place people came to connect with the community and have a little fun after work.

In my eyes, it was perfect.

“I’ve been thinking,” Leo said, “what if we used the kitchen to run a catering business?”

I coughed on a sip of water. “You mean on the side, in addition to the bar food?”

“Yeah. It’d bring in extra cash. I’d manage the whole operation. It’d be my food truck on rails. Well, not literally. But I could make so much more food in a real kitchen. Banquets, weddings, you name it.”

I pictured Leo trying to share the tiny space with the cook. Norm had worked with Barb since day one, and I was pretty sure he’d rather quit than bump shoulders with an entire catering staff, including my upstart brother and his fanciful menu.

“Do you really think there’s room for a catering business and Norm back there? Installing extra equipment would be?—”

“Expensive, I know.” Leo sighed. “Maybe we can brainstorm about it later.”

“Sure.” I’d always humored my little brother’s nutty ideas. I’d gone along with my fair share too. But this wouldn’t be one of them. “Let’s talk tomorrow. You and I are opening.”

“Right. Sorry I was late tonight. Time got away from me.”

It wasn’t the first time. Still, I said, “Don’t worry about it. Barb and I had it under control. I’m glad you’re here now. Get their drinks?” I pointed at a group of nurses at the far end of the bar.

“On it.” He tied an apron around his waist and strode toward them.

Barb, Leo, and I worked like a well-oiled machine that night. There was a rush at eight and another at ten. Barb handled the accessible end of the bar like always while Leo and I took turns serving the rest of it and carrying cases of beer and racks of glasses to the dishwasher and back. We floated and replaced two kegs, and Barb arranged rides for those customers who needed them.

By eleven thirty, the bar was only half full. We’d closed the kitchen. I cut two servers and carried up what I hoped was the last bucket of ice when a tingle raced across my skin. I glanced toward the door.

She’dwalked in, cheeks pink and dark curls wild from the wind. She unwound the scarf from her neck, strode to Barb’s end of the bar, and sank onto a chair like she owned it.

I couldn’t help smiling. Mom had fond memories of an old app where the person who’d visited a particular location the most often was crowned the mayor. If that app were still around, Lucie Knox would be the mayor of Barb’s Bar. And she acted like it.

Flashing a queenly smile at another regular, she turned as Barb set her drink on the coaster.

Another scotch night.

After dumping the ice into the bin, I edged closer.

“…total nightmare, as usual,” she said. “Hey, Danny.”

Whoa. The white flash of her teeth dazzled me. Was she wearing lipstick? I tried to be subtle as I scanned the rest of her. She wore a dress under her black coat. My breath caught at the glimpse of her tan legs, which reminded me of another night when they’d been wrapped around my waist.

She hadn’t missed my checking her out. Lucie never missed anything. It was why she was such a talented reporter. She tipped her head. Her dark pupils glittered. “What’s up?” And then she glanced pointedly at my crotch.

I took half a step back and bumped into the back wall, rattling a bottle of Tito’s.

“H-hi, Lucie.” I bent to straighten the bottles in Barb’s speed rail so the labels faced out, but that only made more blood rush to my face. Why could I never keep my cool around her?

“Busy night?”

Barb watched us, her eyes glinting.

“Yeah, I guess.” I checked the garnish tray. Damn, it was full. “What with the holiday and all…”

“Holiday?” Lucie crinkled her forehead.

I waved at the red and pink streamers hanging from the glass rack. “Valentine’s Day.”

“Right.” Slowly, she nodded, and my heart rate slowed by a few beats. Maybe she wasn’t cruising for a post-dating disaster hookup. Maybe she wanted to chat and I wouldn’t be faced with the temptation to follow her upstairs, only to have my heart bruised when she inevitably kicked me out without so much as a cuddle.

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