Page 58 of The Barkeep and the Bro

Mitch leaned back and shifted away in his seat. “Charlie…we can’t.”

It was like someone had turned on the brightest lights in the joint. He stood up and zipped up his fly.

I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing swirling in my chest could be properly translated into words. I gave Mitch the most awkward head nod in history and bolted.

20

MITCH

Ihad to give credit where due: the estate where Ellie and Tim booked their wedding was beautiful. Breathtaking. One of FDR’s old houses, it was situated on a sprawling hill overlooking a valley of blooming trees with glimpses of the sparkling Hudson River in the background. The old Victorian mansion had a wraparound veranda and large windows looking out into the valley. Springtime in New York was risky for an outdoor wedding; the weather report said there was a more than fifty percent chance of rain. We had an outdoor plan but also the main ballroom available if we had to be indoors. The two upstairs floors had been converted to hotel rooms, complete with an old-fashioned check-in desk downstairs that had mail slots for each room with a key. The overflow of guests for the wedding would stay at a small one-story motel across the street.

Ellie flitted about the venue when I arrived. She, Tim, and their friends got to work decorating the space in their faux-bohemian style. The DIY wedding had a charm to it, as each piece meant something. The mismatched globe centerpieces Ellie had found by scouring Goodwill shops and Facebook Marketplace symbolized their love of travel. Each guest received a passport holder when they checked in, complete with itinerary and table seating.

It hadn’t hit me yet that my only daughter was getting married this weekend. I was in catering mode. By the grace of God, we had pulled off all preparations. I roped in the Single Dads Club to help with last-minute food prep over the past two days.

Charlie and I drove up together in the truck holding all the food and equipment. We didn’t talk much during the drive, mostly going over the logistics of the event. I kept it business only and avoided the strangeness that hung between us. Charlie didn’t bring it up either, and he seemed distant, like maybe he regretted it.

I wanted to tell him how much I thought about what happened on the couch, how his lips and hands brought me to life and were a drop of water in a desert. But dammit, I shouldn’t have given in, no matter how badly I craved his body. I was going to hold it together this weekend, and then we’d have a talk when we returned to Sourwood. Maybe Stone’s Throw wasn’t the best place for him.

“I’ll start bringing in the kitchen equipment and set it up so the food can stay warm tomorrow,” Charlie said when we arrived. He was all business. Didn’t even end his sentence with Boss. He hopped out of the truck and immediately began unloading. His muscles flexed under the weight of the equipment he hauled out.

“I’m going to check in,” I said when he came back for another haul. “I can check you in, too.”

His face dropped. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I thought you were booking rooms for the staff.” The way he said “staff” lanced my heart. It was almost clinical.

“I…” Oh shit. As organized as I was, there was always one thing I forgot. One task that slipped through my mental cracks. In all the craziness of preparing, I had only booked a room for myself as the father of the bride. Charlie had evolved into my right-hand man for this operation, so he’d need to stay on the premises, too. “I’m going to check in and figure it out. Keep unloading.”

He didn’t say anything, just went back to doing his job. He seemed mad at me. Just what I needed this weekend. Being a responsible adult wasn’t fun for me, either. I wanted to keep going on the couch. I wanted to twist him into a fucking pretzel.

But we couldn’t.

Inside the lobby, a wiry man in a suit manned the check-in desk, which was bookended with fresh cut flowers.

“Mitch Dekker. Checking in.”

His face lit up. “Ah, Mr. Dekker. Father of the bride. Welcome, welcome. We have you booked for two nights in a room with a king-size bed and a lovely view of the valley.” I was already looking forward to collapsing on the bed at the end of the night. He turned to his cubicles of keys and plucked one from the center. He clacked away on his computer, confirming my reservation and payment. “Excited about this weekend?”

“I’m also working the event, so it’s hard to get excited just yet. I have a party to pull off.”

“It’ll be wonderful. It’s going to be a lovely evening, clear skies.” He handed over a goody bag of snacks and water that Ellie had put together for guests three nights ago. “For you.”

“Uh, listen, I forgot to book a room for my employee who’s working the event.” It sounded even stupider when I said it aloud. I chuckled so he’d maybe find it funny. “Do you have any extra rooms available?”

He made an exaggerated frown face that veered from customer service to kindergarten teacher. “I’m sorry, Mr. Dekker. We are all booked up for the big event.” His eyebrows jumped, but I did not share his excitement about the big event currently.

“You have no rooms? None?”

“It’s not a large space.”

“What about the motel across the street?”

“Let me check.” He called them and relayed the conversation to me in more exaggerated facial reactions. He hung up and frowned.

“They’re all booked up, too?”

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