12. Chapter Twelve
Chapter Twelve
I checked my watch for the millionth time before returning my attention to the closed front door of the pub. We opened at twelve, but I’d told Dylan to get here at eleven thirty so I could show him what we did to prepare beforehand.
I’d given Milly the day off since she worked as much as I did, and there was no need for three people to man the bar on a slow Monday.
Over the weekend, Dylan had texted a couple of times, telling me he’d found a great YouTuber who demonstrated how to pour the perfect pint and so he was pretty convinced he’d nail it right away.
I hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed if it took him a few tries to get the hang of it. Dylan was one of the most intelligent people I’d ever known… academically. Practically, however… Well, I’d seen him lose more than once to a can opener.
After what felt like aeons of waiting, there was a firm knock on the pub doors. I unlocked them, jiggling the key a few times because it always got a bit stuck, and I made a mental note to spray it with some WD40 so that Dylan wouldn’t have any problems if he were opening or locking up. Milly would probably thank me for it, too.
I swayed slightly when I finally got the door open. Was Dylan spraying himself with pheromone enhancers or something? I didn’t remember being quite this affected by his scent before he left for uni, although I suppose I’d had years of practice. This had been like a hit after three years of sobriety. There was no giving it up again, that was for sure.
“Are you gonna let me in?” Dylan asked, lips quirked into a smile.
“Oh. Yes. Sorry, here.” I stepped back and followed behind him as he made his way to the bar.
He looked smart, dressed in faded black skinny jeans that hugged his peachy arse in a way that had me biting my fist. On top, he had on a dark green polo that brought out the moss green of his eyes, which sparkled with insurmountable life and energy that was all Dylan.
“Working here probably won’t be like you’re used to—“
”—I’m not afraid of hard work, Axel,“ he interrupted, glaring at me.
“That wasn’t what I meant. I only meant you’re probably used to a bit more excitement than you’ll find here. It’s nothing but a small town pub,” I explained.
“It is?” he asked, his voice laced heavily with sarcasm. “You don’t say. It’s almost like I was born and raised in this town.” He arched a perfectly tweezed eyebrow at me.
“Touché.”
Once I’d shown Dylan where to do the cash count and how to open up the till, we took all the chairs from off the tables and put out some beer mats. By the time all that was done, it was noon, so I opened the main door and used a wedge so passers-by could see we were open for business.
Half an hour later, one of our regulars, John, a retired painter and decorator, came in and ordered his usual.
For the first time, I let Dylan watch me pour, and he studied me like there would be an exam afterwards. Then, I rang it through the till, showing him the correct buttons to press and how to set up a tab. His fingers twitched like he was dying to take notes, and I stifled a smile.
“Got underage workers now, do you?” John asked gruffly, nodding his head at Dylan like he couldn’t hear him.
“Dylan’s twenty-one, John. He’s Cooper Bailey’s younger brother, remember?”
“I heard he’d ditched small-town life to get a degree,” John muttered, saying ‘degree’ like Dylan had left to join some kind of fascist organisation to be ashamed of.
“ He did go and get a degree. And now he’s working here,“ Dylan interjected, clearly fed up with being talked about like he wasn’t there. He smiled menacingly at John.
“Not much of a degree if all it’s landed you is a bar job in a town like this.”
I had been about to step in and explain to John that Dylan was only doing this temporarily as a favour to me. That he’d be onto bigger and better things in no time at all. Just watch. But then Dylan’s next words stole those thoughts immediately.
“Respectfully, Mr Faron, I disagree. Locals like this are community hubs for a town like ours. They help combat loneliness, are a venue for music, and keep local brewers in business. Not to mention that I’d imagine you’d be pretty gutted if this place closed down,“ Dylan said sanctimoniously.
I didn’t bother to fight the smile that spread wide across my face. Dylan was a spitfire when he wanted to be and the way he called the town ‘ours’ was more of a comfort than it ought to have been.
“He’s even worse than that cousin of yours,” John grumbled. “Well, Dylan Bailey , put your money where your mouth is and pour us another pint, will you.“ He downed the last of his drink and eyed him expectantly.
At that, Dylan suddenly looked like a deer in headlights, but then, like I could peer inside his brain, I saw the moment he’d had a word with himself, told himself he’d watched the videos and watched me, and he could pour a pint.
Grabbing a fresh glass, he methodically held it with precision at a forty-five-degree angle before doing a sharp pull on the tap handle. Three long pulls, and he set it under the tap to settle for a moment while he added the order to John’s tab. Then, he returned and added a final small pull to give the pint the perfect amount of head before placing it on a beermat in front of John. Dylan had the smuggest look on his face, and I couldn’t blame him. In fact, I was proud of him.
Working here might not be anything like what he’d been used to those last few years, but one thing that never changed about Dylan was his tenacity. There wasn’t a challenge he wouldn’t rise to with the determination of a dog with a bone.
“That was perfect, Dyl, you’re smashing it,” I praised him, and he beamed all the way to his eyes.
“See, studying pays off. It should be considered a transferable skill on my CV, really,” Dylan said, going off on a tangent.
“Not many people study quite so proficiently as you do, lo— Dylan.”
As always, he blossomed under the praise, and my brain helpfully took that moment to suggest that he probably had a praise kink, and wouldn’t that be fun?
With a handful of customers served and having gone through most of the basics with Dylan, there wasn’t much to do. Just minutes after John had gone and taken a seat out of earshot of us, Dylan asked me a question that had clearly been on the tip of his tongue for a while.
“So, uhm. I noticed that I haven’t seen Lauren since I’ve been back.” He wiped at the perfectly clean bartop with a tea towel in a transparent effort to make the conversation seem casual. I fought the urge to snort a laugh.
“She still lives in Raynard.”
“Oh. I can’t really scent her here. Has it been a while since she visited?” He glanced at me over his shoulder with curious eyes.
I could just tell him we broke up almost two years ago… I could .
“Yeah, it’s been a while,” I replied instead.
He huffed, clearly irritated at not getting a clear answer to his inquisition.
A few minutes of silence passed by before Dylan turned to face me with his hands on his hips. “Are you still together or not?” he blurted.
I appreciated how reliably short on patience Dylan was and burst out laughing at his pouty face, which only stood to infuriate him more.
“I don’t see why this is funny,” he snipped.
When I finally stopped laughing, I explained, “Sorry. I just knew what you meant the whole time and was waiting to see how long until you just asked me outright, and it really wasn’t very long at all.” I laughed some more, but then he stomped off to the far end of the bar in a strop and began taking the clean glasses out of the dishwasher aggressively enough that I was mildly concerned he might accidentally break something.
Approaching him like you might a skittish deer, I placed a hand on his shoulder and turned him to face me. He glared up like an angry kitten, and I had to really fight the urge to smile.
“We aren’t together anymore. Haven’t been in a long while,” I said.
“How long?” He looked sad for some reason I couldn’t understand.
“Almost two years.”
Dylan’s mouth popped open in surprise. He looked like he was about to ask me why I didn’t tell him, but then he clearly remembered why and just appeared sad again.
“Do you miss her?” he asked instead.
“No, not anymore. It was a long time coming. The last time I spoke to her, she was engaged and expecting a kit. I was happy for her,” I explained honestly. It had been a relief to see Lauren move on and no longer feel responsible for holding her back from a future I couldn’t give her.
“You were?”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at his pedantry. “I am .”