Page 79 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“That’s one possibility. They were actually thinking of building it out, making it bigger.”

“How big?”

“Mitch.” He put a hand on my shoulder, sending chills down my back. “You work incredibly hard. Keeping the lights on is a seven-day-a-week job. You can’t keep doing it alone.” He inhaled a breath. I wondered how much of this was practiced, and how much he brainstormed with Hannah to hit the right pain points. “I respect your hustle; I truly do. How much longer do you want to keep it up? You’re still a young guy. What else could you do with your life?” He clapped me twice on the shoulder. “Think about it.”

27

CHARLIE

Ihad to admit, it was hard being at a party like this and not being able to dance. The wedding band was playing all the hits, from old school to even attempting a rap song. Amos said they were the same cover band that used to play Applefest, which was apparently a really big deal around here.

I quietly tapped my foot to each song and mouthed the words when nobody was looking. I loved watching other people have fun, though. The dance floor was packed with guests. Younger folk danced in groups while older couples filled out the periphery. But not Mitch, though. He wasn’t a dancer. I smiled to myself, imagining him busting a move on the floor.

People gave me compliments throughout the night. There weren’t so many people that I couldn’t remember what everyone was drinking. I plastered on a smile every time Skeeter and Asa returned for more. Our interactions became less and less friendly and more and more businesslike. Skeeter didn’t even look at me when he ordered his last drink. He had graduated from beer to mixed drinks. He slid his glass over. “Double vodka soda,” he said with slurred words while checking his phone.

So much for friendship. This was my life, and I was tired of people telling me how to live it. If I wanted to bartend, I would bartend. If I wanted to have sex with a guy, I would have sex with a guy. And if that guy were my boss and ex-girlfriend’s father and a good deal older than me, then so be it.

He was hot.

He was more than hot. He stirred my damn soul.

The crowd went wild. During the next song, the mayor of Sourwood himself got on stage for a guitar solo for “Let’s Go Crazy” by Prince. The guy had moves. His boyfriend screamed in support at the foot of the stage, and it made me smile.

“Alright, alright,” said the lead singer, one alright short of a full McConaughey. “Our next song is a special one. It’s the father-daughter dance, as requested by our bride. Even though she knows her father hates to dance.”

Guests circled the perimeter of the dance floor, leaving Ellie radiant in the center.

“Where’s Mitch?” Skeeter yelled at the top of his lungs. He was wasted and was now in his yelling phase.

The crowd parted, and Mitch came onto the dance floor. His eyes lit up upon seeing Ellie, and his usual stone face was working overtime to contain all the emotion wanting to spill out. I had seen beyond the stone facade. His vulnerable, lusty look when he kissed me filled my head.

I swooned at him, a full-on swoon. Who was I?

The band played a classic—“I Will Always Love You” by Dolly Parton, but I only knew the Whitney Houston version because my old grocery store played it all the time. The song filled the space, and Mitch and Ellie began dancing, swaying in the center of the floor with a spotlight on them. Mitch gazed at his daughter with love pouring out of him. It tugged at my heart.

The sweet moment was cut short for me by Skeeter slamming his glass on the bar. “Fill her up, bartender.” The words stumbled out of his mouth as he held onto the bar for balance. His eyes were glassy.

I picked up the vodka bottle, then put it back down. “Actually, buddy, I think you’ve had enough tonight.”

His face dropped in disbelief. “You fucking with me?”

“Have some of this.” I handed over a water bottle, which he looked at like I was holding a dead cat.

“The fuck is that?”

“H2O. You’ve had a lot tonight.”

“So? I’m not driving.”

That was most likely true, but from my training, I knew I couldn’t accept that as fact. I had to make smart decisions. He might’ve been one of the few who weren’t staying over. Or he might’ve decided to find another bar for an afterparty.

This was not an act of pettiness for what he said to me earlier. This was about making sure we didn’t get sued.

“Have some water. You’ve been drinking a lot.”

Skeeter drank a lot whenever we went out. I began realizing it was a recurring problem, and he could down more than any of us.

He became more enraged, the alcohol and anger coming together to turn him a terrifying shade of red. “What the fuck? You can’t cut me off. We’re at a fucking wedding.”

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