Page 11 of On The Rocks

“I’ll hitch a ride with you.” Justin followed his brother and gave me a salute. “Happy to have you back, beautiful!”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.”

Kain stretched his arms over his head. “Want me to cook you something, Len?”

“Nah. Go on home to Bells.”

“She’s got a wedding today. Her and Helena are tied up until tonight.”

“Well, in that case. How about your disco fries?”

Griffin straightened up on his stool. “Oh, hey. That sounds good.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

Undeterred, Griffin just gave him a winning smile. “Yeah, but if you’re already cooking.”

“Bah.” Kain snapped his way across the hardwood in his flips. “Fine. Only because now, I want them too. I’ll make some turkey burgers too. We gotta do a supply order, Len.”

“Already making one in my head. I’ll have one written up for you before I leave.”

“That’s my girl,” he shouted from the doorway to the kitchen. “You kids play nice.”

Griffin shook his head. “Kids. I’m barely two years younger than him.”

“Old man.” I stacked my dishes into the high heat dishwasher and cranked it on.

The chugging sound eased a few of my frayed nerves from the drive in. I’d stashed my Jeep in a storage unit outside of Manhattan. After making sure she was roadworthy after four months off the road, it had been a five-hour drive up to Turnbull.

“Maybe to you. I’m afraid to ask how old you are.”

“Rude to ask.” I took stock of my bar. “But you can help me carry out my gear from the storage room.”

“Can do.”

He waited for me by the end of the bar and we both walked to the room off the front of the taproom. It had a keypad entry, thanks to our thief from a few seasons ago. I punched in my code and the locks snicked open.

The room was cool and dark as I propped the door open. I flicked on the light and the usually large room felt small with him in there with me. I went right to my shelves. All my gear was labeled. Glassware, shakers, strainers, muddlers, and my favorite pourers had been packed up for the winter. I had specialty jiggers for my flair work, as well as various shakers I used to perform with versus the ones for everyday workhorse use.

I turned with a box, and he took it. “Give me another two of them.”

“They’re heavy.”

“I pulled a tree out of the earth today. I’m good for it.”

“Pretty sure the crane did the work, bud.”

He grinned, his toothpick twitching. “We had to do the digging.”

“Okay.” I set another box on top of it, then a smaller third one that had all my small shot glasses and jiggers. “Actually, I’ll keep these.” I set it aside then changed it out for a box of mixers.

“Don’t think I can handle it?”

“I think you can handle it just fine, but I’ve been collecting these shot glasses for years. Don’t want you to slip on your ducky Crocs and kill them all.”

He grunted. “Fine.”

He was back for another round of boxes before I could make a stack of my own. When he picked up my specialty ones, I put my hand firmly over it. “Trust issues, darlin’?”

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