Epilogue
This Is Not a Baseball Bar
OLIVER
I do not hate happiness.
People always assume this about me because I have a normal face and an appropriate amount of suspicion of public enthusiasm.
That is different.
Happiness is fine in theory. I support it at a safe distance, behind glass.
What I hate is inconvenience.
Unfortunately, happiness is usually inconvenient.
Case in point: Bitter Bloom.
Six months ago, the bakery next door was a moderately chaotic business owned by a woman who forced me to be her friend in high school and who I’m not sure has listened to me once, ever.
She was known for having a few too many feelings, too many latte names, and a questionable relationship with her car’s gas gauge.
Now, the bakery is thriving. It always was. But this is a whole other level.
There’s a difference. And it mostly involves my life becoming worse.
Every morning, people line up outside for Halston’s pastry like it contains the secrets of the universe. One man called it “the pastry that saved my marriage” the other day, which made Halston cry for eleven minutes and made me ban him from talking near the pastry case.
He still comes in twice a week.
Bitter Bloom’s coconut latte has become a problem.
It’s too sweet. It’s absurd.
She has another salted caramel and banana one that makes me feel sick.
Warren claims not to like them, but Warren is a liar.
He still orders black coffee in public like a man with principles, but I’ve seen him drink Coconut Bloom lattes in the alley when he thinks no one is looking. Once, he had foam in his mustache and tried to tell me it was only quality control.
Halston knows this. But she knows everything now, mostly because Warren no longer treats communication like a guarded secret family recipe for some reason.
They keep notes everywhere. Halston’s most recent note says:
CHAOS BUDGET REMAINS SACRED.
I hate that one the most because Halston invokes it whenever she wants to do something unreasonable, like creating a limited-edition maple brown sugar latte named after a fictional mule from her D this is a personal value.
Unfortunately, the Vipers have become regulars at Saints my father is dead; half the city thinks I’m going to ruin the team; and your bartender just told me this place has secret champagne,” she whispers.
I look back at her.
Her smile softens by a fraction. Not for effect this time. “I’d call that an emergency.”
I hold Matilda’s gaze.
She looks like a woman who has spent years being watched and still somehow has not been seen.
Annoying.
I turn, reach to the top shelf, and retrieve the emergency champagne from behind the vermouth.
“Traitor,” I say to Halston.
“Host,” she corrects.
I peel the foil and pop the cork.
Several players cheer, then immediately stop when Matilda glances toward them.
Good.
At least she’s useful for crowd control.
I grab the least fancy glass I can find. A short tumbler. Thick-bottomed.
And I pour.
Matilda watches my hands.
When it’s full, I slide it across the bar. She looks at it, then at me.
“This is a whiskey glass.”
“This is a bar in Baltimore.”
She smiles, our fingers almost touching when she picks it up.
Matilda raises the glass. “To bad inheritances!”
I pick up the water I’ve been sipping. “To worse customers!”
Her laugh is quick. Surprised and real.
It hits the bar between us like a dropped match.
She looks like a woman about to become trouble.
I watch her drink.
Another woman has entered my life with grief in her eyes and chaos in her coat, and apparently my bar is once again the designated site of emotional property damage.
Outside, Baltimore keeps glowing.
Inside, Saints & Sinners hums with heat, sugar, whiskey, champagne, coffee, friendship, bad decisions, and something dangerous.
“So,” she says, eyes on mine. “About your bar.”
I pick up my drink, take a slow sip, and look at Halston.
She’s smiling so hard she may injure herself.
I look at Marley, who is deranged with joy.
I look at Warren, who looks… the way he always looks.
I look back at Matilda. “No.”
She grins. “We’ll see.”
I already know I’m going to regret this.
The worst part is that, for the first time all night, I’m not bored.