Page 2 of Brad & Finn
Brad had been in here a couple of times over the years, noting minor changes each time the place came under new management. This time, it seemed like all the Paul Bunyan paraphernalia was gone, replaced with rustic paintings and old lanterns that cast warm light around the wood-paneled room. The stone floor looked like it could do with a good sweep—or maybe that’s what it was supposed to look like.
Either way, the smell of hops and fried food washed over Brad like a comforting wave, and he made his way to one of the few empty barstools. He cast a cursory glance at the folks standing around the bar but didn’t immediately recognize anyone.
“You here for the reunion?” a gruff voice asked, and Brad glanced up to see the barman inclining his head.
He was tall, several inches taller than Brad’s six feet, with shoulders Brad could imagine grabbing onto and a thick waist he could wrap his legs around?—
“Uh…yeah, I am,” Brad said, heat flooding his cheeks as he grabbed a sticky menu and buried his face in it.
It’d been a long time since he’d been with someone, but that was no excuse for fantasizing about the bartender. Besides, his bushy beard and plaid shirt didn’t exactly scream queer. Their little town had come a long way in the past twenty years, in part due to the influx of new blood, like the owners of this bar, but he still wouldn’t call it a queer haven. While he’d love to make some connections while he was back in town, he wasn’t counting on them being intimate.
It would be nice to do a better job at keeping up with folks, though. Social media hadn’t hit its stride until he was well into college. He’d kept up with a few buddies through Instant Messenger and text, and when Facebook hit his college campus, he’d followed a few people here and there, but for the most part, he’d lost touch with everyone from back home.
“Is this your first time back in the area?” the gruff voice asked, completely ignoring Brad’s makeshift shield.
Brad tilted the menu down and peered over it. “No, my mom’s still in the area, so I come back once a year or so. It’ll be the first time seeing most of my classmates, though.”
The bartender inclined his head again, but turned around when a man on the other end of the bar called for a refill. Brad’s eyes strayed downward, clocking the bartender’s thick legs—and he quickly forced his attention back to the menu.
He was surprised to see that none of the local beers he remembered were listed anymore. He wasn’t the biggest beer drinker, so it didn’t bother him too much, but he began to understand some of his mother’s ire. He glanced over at the manonce more, thinking it took some balls to come into a new town and overhaul a place like this.
He placed the menu down, and the blonde woman appeared in front of him. “What can I get for ya, hon?” she asked, her gravelly voice carrying a hint of exhaustion but also that southern hospitality he always missed when he went back up north.
“Double of whiskey, on the rocks,” he said, straightening up out of his usual slouch. “I’m actually celebrating a promotion.”
One blonde eyebrow raised indulgently as she grabbed a whiskey glass and scooped a few ice cubes into it. “Oh, yeah? Here in town?”
Brad placed one arm on the bar and leaned forward. “No, I’m based out of Chicago now. Or, I guess, come the end of the month, I will be. The past few years, I’ve been a bit all over the place.”
The woman spun the glass of whiskey across her knuckles, and Brad made a mental note to tip above his usual 20%.
“Excited to settle down a bit?” she asked, as she poured the whiskey, which just so happened to be one of Brad’s favorite brands.
“Honestly? I think it’s about damn time. Getting too old for all this running around. It would be nice to put down some roots.”
The woman handed him his whiskey. “Well, that’s something to drink to, ain’t it?”
She held up a glass of water, and Brad’s chest warmed as he clinked glasses with her. “I’m Brad.”
“Bronwyn. You let me know if you need anything else, hon.”
Brad took a shallow drink and then a deeper one as the warmth hit his tongue, loosening his shoulders and back. This was precisely what he needed. A little relaxation after a long dayof travel and a friendly toast—even if it was just a bartender doing her job.
Before he could take another sip, a voice called out to him. “Brad Willson?”
He turned to look at the man sitting at the end of the bar. In his mind’s eye, he could see that face but twenty years younger, a football helmet blocking out most of his forehead.
“Miles Johnson?”
The man, Miles, nodded, and Brad didn’t even hesitate. He stood up and scooted down the bar until he was seated right next to his old friend.
“Miles, buddy, how‘ve you been?”
“I’ve been good. How about you?” he asked, tilting his head towards where Brad had just cheersed with Bronwyn. “Celebrating being back in town for the reunion?”
Brad felt childish excitement overtaking him. He’d wanted to celebrate, and if he was remembering correctly, Miles had always been a good guy. He’d been a bit reserved, not close with many of the other football players, but he came around to a few parties and joined them at lunch from time to time.
Brad decided to take a chance and share his good news. “Not quite, but I actually am celebrating. I just got a big promotion back in Chicago.”
