Page 27 of The Barkeep and the Bro

“Thank you, Charlie.” He brought me soup. Maybe the cold had worn down my rough exterior, but I was sincerely touched.

“I’ll warm it up for you.” He stepped inside, a hand on my chest to create distance, those brown eyes heating me up more than any HVAC system could. “Go lay down.”

My dick twitched, thinking about laying down with him. But that wasn’t what he meant. He was being nice, and I was responding like a perv.

“The bowls are in the cabinet to the left of the stove.” I returned to the couch and sat up straight. I didn’t feel comfortable lying down in front of an employee.

The sounds of cabinets opening and closing and bowls and pans clanking echoed from the kitchen. I clicked on the TV and flipped through the channels I got with rabbit ears.

“Natasha said you were crushing it today.”

“I made my first Martini. Stirred, not shaken. You would be proud.”

I smiled to myself, picturing Charlie behind the bar. He probably kept up a conversation with the customer the whole time he was making the Martini.

“When I’m feeling better, I’ll have you make one for me.”

“Deal.”

Charlie came out of the kitchen with a piping hot bowl of soup and a plate with a roll and cut-up oranges. The presentation was A-plus. He placed it on the TV tray I set up.

“Caroline’s sells oranges, too?”

“They do not. I stopped at this bougie supermarket, Market Thyme, to stock you up with vitamin C. Got you oranges, apples, and orange juice.”

Charlie folded a paper towel in half and placed the spoon on top. A serving fit for a sick king.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do any of this.”

“I know I didn’t.” He said it with confidence and a layer of something else that added charged energy to the room.

Or that could all be in my stuffed-up head.

“I appreciate it. Let me know how much I owe you.”

He shot me anare you jokinghalf-grin.

“You owe me a million dollars.”

“A million dollars?”

“Yep.”

“Caroline’s raised their prices.”

“Inflation is a bitch.” Charlie plopped into the adjacent recliner. “What are you watching?”

“Whatever’s on.” Caroline’s chicken noodle soup was even better than I remembered. Once it hit my mouth, I entered a state of nirvana.

“The Rangers are playing.”

“Really?” I flipped through the channels until I stopped at the hockey game currently in progress. The Rangers goalie shoved out his leg to stop a puck. I cheered under my breath in between mouthfuls of soup.

“Nice save.”

“Their left winger needs to get better at passing. He keeps letting himself get fouled up charging down the ice,” I said.

“They’ve been having a so-so season.”

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