Page 12 of Shortcake
On the other hand, they were buying rounds of drinks for literally every human inside the bar and dropping money like they were Wall Street tycoons in the eighties.
As obnoxious as they were, I didn’t care as long as they weren’t harassing my customers or my employees, which only consisted of me, my right hand man, Keith, and Tim, the guy who handled our karaoke nights. Well, usually. Sometimes I grabbed the microphone and did it myself. Regardless, I wasn’t about to kick them out.
Especially since it was my first official night as the owner (and not just the bartender and manager) of my bar, Shortcake… previously known as Bombshell. Speaking of, my youngest brother Finn slid into the barstool in front of me, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend, and my best friend, Haylee. “Hey Shortcake,” he grinned.
I scowled at him as I grabbed a clean pint glass and tilted it beneath the local IPA draught spout. “Do you want this Bissell Brothers or not?”
Haylee elbowed him. “Leave her alone. It’s her big night.”
“Thank you, Haylee,” I said, setting the half-filled IPA down. “And for your loyalty…” I curled my fingers around the neck of the bottle of pinot noir she’d been drinking and topped off her glass.
Finn sucked his cheek. “That’s cold, Shortcake. It’s notmyfault you’re five-foot-nothing.”
Arching my eyebrow at him, I finished filling his pint glass. “Yeah, but it is your fault that that childhood nickname caught on, resulting in literally everyone in high school calling me that foryears.” I swear, it was only a couple years ago that I finally got people in this town to start calling meAddy.
My other best friend, Enzo adjusted her glasses, looking at me from over the top of them. “If you hate the nickname so much, why’d you name your bar after it?”
I slid the beer to Finn and sighed. “Because, despite my best efforts, half of this town still only knows me by Shortcake Evans.”
Finn snorted a laugh as he brought the IPA to his lips. “Old man Lemper still doesn’t even know your first name is Addy.”
“He doesn’t?” Enzo asked.
“Nope,” Finn popped the ‘p’ in the word. “He calls herMaddie.”
I held out my palm as if that was Exhibit A. “See? So by naming the bar Shortcake, I could alert the locals to the fact that it was owned by the one and only Shortcake Evans.”
“You also make the best shortcake I’ve ever had in my life,” Haylee said, eating a final bite of the hefty portion of my homemade dessert. “What kind is this again?”
“Strawberry-lemonade.” A woman at the end of the bar motioned for me to grab her check and I nodded an acknowledgement her way.
“The nickname can take on a whole other meaning now that you’re serving your shortcake here at the bar, too.” Enzo took a sip from her glass of wine as I punched a few buttons and printed out the woman’s tab.
That was the plan.
“Precisely.” My girlfriends got it. They gotme. Not that I expected any less. There was a reason they were my ride or die. I placed the check into a leather folder and dropped it quietly in front of the woman.
The other added bonus I got by serving food at the bar? We didn’t have to have an age restriction at the door. So what if my menu was four items long and consisted of crockpot mac & cheese, paninis that I could make on my foreman grill, and various shortcake recipes? It was enough for the town bylaws that underage patrons could come in and have some food and some sodas. Plus, I created a mocktail list specifically for the under twenty-one crowd.
That idea was courtesy of my brother’s girlfriend, and the town manager of Maple Grove, Elaina. Despite our rocky history, she really came through for me in getting this place off the ground and transitioning my role here from the bartender job I’d had ever since I turned twenty-one into business owner.
And not to brag, but every single item on my menu was homemade by yours truly and when we ran out, we ran out. End of story. Tough shit, better luck tomorrow.
My oldest brothers Neil and Liam told me that was no way to run a successful business, but they could take their advice and shove it. This was my bar now and even though I loved this place, work was not going to consumemylife like it had theirs. There was no way in hell I was going to wake up at three in the morning to start baking. Or spend the money to put in a full kitchen in the back. Hell no.
This bar was my baby and I loved it.
But it wasn’t going to be my life.
I’d already worked out a clear schedule, closing the bar entirely on Monday and Tuesday, and paying Keith generously Sundays and Wednesdays to run it himself.
I turned to walk away and give the woman space to pay, but she stopped me with a wave. “Here you go, Shortcake!” she said, grinning. “Keep the change. And congrats on your opening night! The place is fantastic.”
Smiling, I thanked her. She looked familiar, but I didn’t know her by name, which was unfortunate. I try to learn my regular’s names and drinks they like.
I noted what she looked like—pretty woman, probably early 40s. She had been here with another woman on what looked like a date. Hopefully she’d be back soon and I could ask her what her name was. Until then, I’d just remember her asDirty Martini Big Tipper.
The phone behind the bar rang. I answered it, pinning the cordless landline between my shoulder and ear. “This is Shortcakes, how can I help you?”
