Page 27 of Small Town Firsts
So far Lucky’s seemed to be the easiest for food and a beer, but I wanted something more than pub grub tonight. But I was also wearing an ancient pair of jeans and a T-shirt with a brewing house logo.
If I went home, I’d land on my couch and then be pissed that I didn’t have food in me.
I really needed to go grocery shopping, but it was too damn hot to cook. Getting a grill for my deck was at the top of my shopping list. Working ten hours a day in the barn left me with very limited hours where an actual store was open.
I’d have to order one for delivery.
“Fuck it.” I locked up and crossed to my truck, my boots still squishing from my hose dunking earlier in the day. Maybe I just needed to get some greasy fried chicken at that spot I’d found in Crescent Cove and go the hell home.
Even at seven at night, the air was oppressive. Just the thought of greasy anything made me queasy.
Figuring out a direction made more sense in my truck where the windows were open and I could have the air conditioning blasting at me at the same time.
Energy conscious? Hell no.
Did I care right now since my balls were already sweating? Nope.
I found myself heading down the back road out of Happy Acres, past the newer signs for Brothers Three Live where the concert series had carved out a spot in the woods. I’d already had a look at the upcoming artists through the summer and a few of them had itched at my brain for a pairing cider.
The heavier country rock leanings of Flynn Sheppard coming out of the speakers begged for a whiskey. Not that whiskey was in our wheelhouse here. But maybe it could be. I’d never looked into the distillery side of grain alcohol. For now, I could collaborate with Hayes on a moonshine that would go well with a higher proof hard cider.
Because my brain was still on work, I didn’t really pay attention to the fact that I’d headed down the winding road toward Crescent Lake. The small town there was more on the family-friendly side, but along the lake there were a few more restaurants—including The Mason Jar which I’d been meaning to stop into.
Good time as any.
The parking lot was bumping and the porch held a damn lot of foot traffic. I almost pulled back out of the gravel parking lot to head to my default pizza spot when I noticed a familiar hatchback.
Not many old ass Mercury Tracers were still road-worthy. I had a feeling that even less were that very ugly rust orange color that Kira owned. Was she here with friends?
Just maybe I’d bump into her.
I found a spot at the far edge of the parking lot and hoofed it up to the wraparound porch that made up the front of the restaurant. The steps were three deep with people even before I got in the front door.
A sunny blond was slipping in and around the people waiting on the porch. She made notations on the tablet strapped to her hand and seemed to have a limitless apron full of small buzzers restaurants used to let people know their table was ready.
I shoved my hands into my pockets, waiting patiently until she got to me.
“Hi. Our wait time is about thirty minutes.” She was focused on her tablet and tapping away efficiently, her head down. Finally, she looked up and her eyes widened. “Wow.”
“Thirty minutes is a bit more than I can handle. Growing boy and all.” I added a little charm to my voice as I rubbed my belly.
Her gaze dropped to my hand then bounced back up, her cheeks flushed.
“If you don’t mind eating outside, we have a bar on the back patio with seating.”
“I don’t mind.”
She nodded and peeked up at me one last time before she typed something. “That should just be a five minute wait.” She handed me the small disk. “You can go around the porch or through the restaurant to the back when this buzzes. There’s a hostess around the back.”
“Great.” I grinned down at her. “Thanks.”
I wandered to the side of the wraparound porch where fewer people were waiting. The view of the lake was impressive at every angle—especially now when the sun was heading below the tree line. Torches lit the porch and twinkle lights led the way to the corded off back patio.
No runners for The Mason Jar.
Smart. I imagine more than one person thought they could get a free meal off the busy place. I wasn’t exactly a design kind of guy, but I saw the appeal of the view.
Kira and the Manning men had built a great space at the orchard with the Taproom and the concert space that was close enough for ambiance, but far enough apart to allow for conversations. The outdoor patio was set up with more of an industrial flair than the homey Mason Jar.
