Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Ten hours later, I’m behind the bar while he’s on the floor. It’s Friday night, so a couple more people are in. I try to ignore the whispers coming from tables, which is why I’m behind the bar and not out on the floor. “Table four wants another round of Midsummer Night,” he orders. “Good idea, offering samples.” I walk over to grab the bottle, plucking the cork out, and pouring two fingers into the small glasses.
“See, my ideas are already working,” I gloat to him as I place the glasses on his tray and look at a man come in the door. A man I’ve never seen before, wearing jeans and a button-down shirt with a sweater over it. His black hair is combed back as he walks straight to the bar and pulls out a stool. “Hi there.” I smile at him. “Welcome, what can I get you?”
“What do you recommend?” He folds both hands on top of the bar, tapping his finger.
“I can give you a little sampler you can choose from there,” I tell him, and he nods.
“Sounds good,” he says with a smile.
I turn away, walking to the side, taking five little shot glasses out and filling each with a little bit of whiskey before going over and placing them in front of him. “Let me know which one you would like.”
I walk back over to grab a rag and wipe down the bar for the millionth time. “I’ll take the second one.” He holds up the glass and finishes it.
“Neat or on the rocks?” I grab the glass in my hand.
“Neat,” he replies, so I pour two fingers into the glass before walking over to him and placing a square white napkin down, then putting the glass on top of it.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” I tell him, and I’m about to walk away.
“There is something you could help me with, actually.” He picks up the glass, brings it to his mouth, and sips.
My back goes up, and my neck tingles at his voice, and I feel Brady at my back. “My name is Darren Trowel,” he starts, and my body goes on high alert. I just don’t know why yet. “I’m a reporter for a New York magazine called The Future and the Past.” I swallow down, but something is lodged in my throat. “We are doing a follow-up segment on the Cartwright accident.” I put my hand on the bar. “I’d love to ask you some questions about it.”
“Not interested.” I try to remain calm on the exterior, but inside, my whole body is shaking.
“It’s just a couple of questions.” He takes another sip. “About the accident and what you have been doing since. How your life has changed.” He places it back down in front of him.
“I said I’m not interested.” I grab his glass from in front of him. “That one is on the house.”
“I don’t want to—” he says.
“You heard her,” Brady declares from behind me. “You can show yourself out.” The man looks over my shoulder and nods before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a fifty-dollar bill, placing it on the bar. “Here is my number.” He leaves a card on top of the money. “Call me if you change your mind. I’ll be in town for a few days.” He turns and walks out of the door, and only when he’s out and I don’t see him do I let go of the breath I was holding on to.
“You okay?” Brady asks. I shake my head and make the mistake of glancing around the bar at a couple of people looking over at us. Knowing that this little scene will be all over town by the time I walk into my house.
“I just need a minute,” I tell him, turning and walking away from the bar and toward the back. My knees shake as I walk through the swinging door. Taking a couple of steps into the room and leaning against the wall, I let it take my weight. I let my eyes close and tip my head back, and I take a deep breath through my nose and out through my mouth. Putting my hands on my knees, I try to steady my breathing.
The door swings open and then closed, and I know Brady has followed me in. “Why don’t you go?” he suggests, coming to squat in front of me. “It’s not like it’s crazy busy.”
“I’ll be okay in a minute,” I tell him, and he gets up and rubs my back.
“It’s been a long day, go home.” His voice is soft. “You are doing too much too soon. You literally came back and didn’t even test the waters. You just jumped in with both feet.”
“So dramatic and bossy.” I try to make light of the situation, but the last thing I want is to go back out there. “I’ll close up tomorrow,” I tell him, and he just laughs.