Chapter 8
Emmett
T
here’s nothing like three horny old men talking about my 18-year old bartender loud enough for the whole damn bar to hear to start my day.
If it wasn’t for my red-headed neighbor, I’d be able to get some sleep and not begin the day with my patience as low as the damn ground.
Seeing Drew’s cheeks heat up this morning was as good as caffeine to wake me up, but the rush I felt during our elevator ride quickly wore off when I got to the bar, greeted by the delivery guys bringing me everything I didn’t order.
There is something about Drew that gets me worked up to the point I don’t know how to act around her, so I just resort to being an asshole. And something about her hazel eyes and tight black pants linger in my thoughts.
After talking with the good-for-nothing delivery guys for 15 minutes this morning, trying to figure out where the miscommunication was about what I ordered and what I got, I realized I was getting nowhere. Nowhere except for more pissed off. I could tell the two guys didn’t care, and it was above their pay grade, so I just took what they brought hoping the holiday crowd wouldn’t be too picky with their alcohol this season.
Giving the two guys a hard time definitely did not have the same effect as getting Drew all flustered.
I spent the rest of my time this morning before I opened making the schedule for the next week, assigning the different morning, afternoon, and night shifts between me, and my two bartenders. I took the bulk of the shifts, knowing that the two of them have more going for them in their lives than I do now.
I ended up concluding that I’d have to hire another bartender soon, if I didn’t want to spend an unhealthy amount of time here. But I decided that that would be a job for another day. I had serious doubts with myself and my patience to deal with the process of finding, interviewing, and training someone anytime soon.
I am finding, with my reaction to these three assholes currently seated at my bar, that I was right in assuming so.
Any other day with these guys talking about Annie’s cleavage, I would just give them a look to shut them up, but today I think I might kick their asses.
The former being the better option if I want to keep this place in business, so I make eye contact with one of them from behind the bar making my message loud and clear. The next thing I hear from their corner of the bar is a clearing of a throat and muffled voices changing the subject to who the hell cares.
It’s a quarter past ten o’clock this morning, and I opened up my bar 15 minutes ago. The usual crowd of regulars is here, starting their holiday weekend off with something strong, wanting to pick up where we left off last night.
Most of them have been coming since my dad bought the place 25 years ago, so I’m used to their banter. But today, it took me less than half an hour to already want the day to be over. Granted, my day at the bar started about three hours ago, earlier if you consider waking up to my neighbor/unwanted alarm clock, but that’s what I get for owning the bar and living below Drew.
“Annie, I’m going to head to my office to do some paperwork,” I say over my shoulder as I head into the back. I don’t listen for her response, but I hear her making her way over to the guys asking for her to turn up the TV.
Something about wanting to hear the news.
Lenny’s, renamed after my sister, was much more fun when my priorities were pouring Seven & Sevens and Captains and Cokes all day while my dad did all the orders, phone calls, and bills that take over my list of things to get done now.
When I was old enough to start working here as a bartender, I always wondered what he did in his office all day. It wasn’t until five years ago when he got to the age where Wisconsin winters became too much for his old bones, and he and my mom migrated to Florida, spending only the three summer months here in Wisconsin.
At least that was the plan, the three months here. I don’t even remember the last time they’ve been back for more than a week.
Personally, I think it was more than their old bones that made them want to spend a little less time in these parts.
It does gets cold, and they're retired so, besides me, there’s nothing left holding them here anymore. I was at a very different point in my life when they decided they wanted to sell their house and do what so many of their retired friends with adult children were doing, so they had no problem leaving me behind.
I know that being around alcohol is hard for my parents too, and it’s not easy to stay away from it in when you own a bar, or even just being in Wisconsin for that matter.
And I get it.
I remember thinking I would never take another sip of alcohol when I heard how Lennon died. I was 18 at the time, so my sips up until that point had been done illegally, and I held to that promise I made to myself, and Lennon, until I was 21 and realized she would’ve totally made fun of me for being such a square.
In my parents’ minds, alcohol leads to drinking which can lead to getting drunk which can then unfortunately lead to drunk driving.
I can’t blame my parents for wanting to get out of here and out of this scene, but it won’t bring her back.
I shake my head to try and shake the thoughts out, a few strands of hair falling from my now-loosened top knot. I take out the hair tie and quickly re-tie my hair to get it out of my face.
This is the most I’ve thought of my parents, or Lennon, in months, and I need to get my mind off all of this.
Sitting down at my desk, I grab my backpack and take out my laptop to start thinking up some marketing materials for the new year. When I finished up the brainstorming, I move to planning when to do inventory and look at the budget going into the new year. I should probably get those things done soon with the year ending in just a few weeks.
I go to grab my headphones from my pocket, so I can just zone into the work I have to get done. If I want to be productive for these next couple hours, some Asking Alexandria and A Day to Remember will help me get there.
I reach in my pocket and come up empty, just now realizing that I didn’t grab them from my bedside table this morning.
Damn, I think. At least the day can only go up from here.