Page 44 of Of Literature and Lattes
Chapter 20
Mirabella was packed.
Jeremy marveled once again how the restaurant hit every note just right. He’d heard its makeover had been as dramatic as what he had done to the Daily Brew. Local chatter recalled dim lighting, red velvet, gold brocade curtains, and booths that bounced when you scooted into them. It was the epitome of fancy—early 1980s fancy.
But its changes had been embraced with open arms. Now it boasted a black-and-white tile floor, sleek brown leather bounceless booths, and warm vintage Edison bulb lighting. The bar was the real showstopper. Mahogany, lined in copper, with both surfaces buffed to a mirror shine. It was the perfect focal point. Whoever managed this restoration, he thought, sure caught the feel of an authentic Art Deco French bistro, right down to the light notes of gypsy jazz playing over the sound system.
It wasn’t as cool and aloof as some downtown spots, but up here that’d be a miss. The color palette, wood, and copper evoked warmth, family, a certain togetherness that would resonate with a more kid-friendly crowd. And the pop of red. That was new—he definitely wanted to steal that idea.
Each white marble table featured a small tight bouquet of red flowers. Poppies on one table, roses on another, tulips on a third, gerbera daisies on another. It gave a shot of light and life, a bold fresh heat, to the room.
He shook his head as reality set in. He couldn’t afford bouquets. One flower would have to do. It would set a good tone and give a certain warmth to Andante. He shook his head again. He couldn’t afford one flower.
He’d spent hours that morning with Alyssa before her shift at Jasper’s, and the story wasn’t good. The numbers revealed exactly who once supported the Daily Brew and who now avoided Andante.
“You need to reach out to the community more. You need to remind them you’re here for them, not the other way around.”
“It can’t really be about the pillows, can it? I brought them a coffee shop to rival any, anywhere in the country.”
“But did you mean to tell them theirs wasn’t good enough?” She had smiled with the delivery, and that had cut the sting—what a smile—but it still set him back.
Her comment reminded him of the book Ryan had left on his desk days before,Of Mice and Men. He’d picked it up and read it in one night, staying late to bake the shop’s muffins. He’d gotten so engrossed in the story, he burned the last batch. It was the loneliest story he’d ever heard, and he could relate to it. Okay, maybe not Lennie, Curley, and his wife, but he sure knew Candy, a guy so desperately lonely he gloms onto virtual strangers after his dog dies, and appropriates their dream, even offers to fund it, just to not be alone. But the surest way to be alone was to tell everyone around they weren’t enough.
“Have I really done that?” he asked her.
“The numbers suggest that most of her regulars, the Daily Brew’s bread-and-butter patrons, don’t frequent Andante. You’ve picked up a new cross section of Winsome, but you’re missing Mrs. Pavlis’s loyal clientele.”
He had spent all afternoon pondering her comments. Now he wanted Liam’s advice. After all, he and Lexi appeared to have the golden touch. He wove through the crowd to make his way to the bar. There was only one stool left, wedged between two couples. He caught Liam’s eye and lifted his chin in greeting. Liam was moving between customers and the waitstaff collecting drinks at the side counter as if he were working Chicago’s hottest speakeasy rather than a suburban restaurant catering to families and parents on a rare date night. Jeremy noted the patrons’ smiles—Liam knew what he was doing.
Jeremy plopped onto the stool as Liam swiped the pristine wood counter in front of him with an equally pristine white bar towel.
“It’s been too long, man,” Liam greeted him. “Good to see you.”
“It’s been a busy couple weeks.” Jeremy looked behind Liam to the rows of bottles displayed against an antiqued mirror and stacked five shelves high. In-house fusions of lemons, limes, and who knew what else sat on the first shelf in large Mason jars. “That’s new. What have you got in there?” He pointed to a yellow jar on the end.
Liam glanced over his shoulder and lit up. “You gotta try this. I’ve had it in the freezer for a year and just pulled it out a few days ago. Pineapples soaking in Casamigos tequila. It’s sublime.”
He poured a tiny sip into a delicate glass snifter only a little larger than a bottle cap.
Jeremy raised a brow and Liam laughed, pouring in a few drops more.
The liquid was clear and thick, and Jeremy tasted the full rich pineapple on the tip of his tongue as it slid by. It was smooth, sweet, and he agreed with Liam, sublime.
“I serve it as an after-dinner drink. Sweet enough to be dessert on its own or as the perfect complement to Chef’s olive oil cake.”
“I can imagine. I should serve it with my blueberry muffins. Might make them better.”
“You gotta get away from the mixes, man. I keep telling you that.”
“I can’t afford much else right now, or the time to do the research.”
“Make time.” Liam swiped at the counter again. “Now what’ll you have?”
Jeremy stared at him.
“Stretch me a little... You for real?... Fine. One old-fashioned coming up,” Liam droned and shifted away to the next customer.
Jeremy chuckled, wondering how his friend kept everything straight. He reminded Jeremy of one of Becca’s favorite characters, that dog fromUp, who would focus on one thing, then—“Squirrel!”—chase off after another. But while Liam’s lack of focus would be a liability in brain surgery, it made him an excellent bartender. He engaged everyone simultaneously, and he forgot nothing—despite his haphazard demeanor.
