Meant for Now

8. Frankie

EIGHT

Frankie

“Frankie, that table still needs their drinks,” Bev called, effortlessly pouring three shots of vodka with one hand while customers swarmed the bar at least three bodies deep.

“I’m going right now,” I said.

Shit. What had they ordered again? I pulled out my pad of paper that was now puffy and hard to read due to the pitcher of water I’d spilled on it earlier.

This was the end of my fifth shift. At first, Bev had been quite confident I would improve. Now, I think she saw me as more of a liability and likely regretted asking for my help in the first place.

If you’d asked me last month, I’d have insisted multitasking was one of my strong suits, but working at Marie’s had made me come to the realization that I was sorely mistaken. I couldn’t take the constant onslaught of customers pulling me in every direction. “Can I get a side of fries?” “Don’t forget about my espresso martini.” “Another napkin when you get a chance.” I couldn’t think straight with all of the demands. But I still showed up every time I was scheduled, which Bev said was better than nothing. Likely the highest praise I would get out of her until I showed some real improvement.

I found the drink order I was looking for and rushed to make it before slipping out from behind the bar and dropping it off. Another table that was finally ready to order after sitting there for fifteen minutes also flagged me down. Something else about working in a restaurant was that it was almost impossible to remember to smile and be friendly while I was also trying to feed and water these vultures. I would never take for granted the service industry again.

Once I was back behind the bar, I rang in the food order before starting to help Bev with the next rush of customers waiting to be served. Making drinks was probably the only part of the job that I enjoyed. I wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but at least I had some of the simpler drinks locked down. Plus, Bev had a laminated book of drink recipes that she kept behind the bar. Sometimes if it was a guy who ordered something I wasn’t familiar with, I asked them what was in it while batting my eyelashes and smiling. They never seemed to take offense to that.

Three girls all dressed in pastel puffy jackets finally made it to the front of the bar line. They all had perfect blowouts tucked underneath fuzzy hats and faces full of makeup. Had they actually gone skiing or were they just here to look cute? Honestly, a vibe I could get behind.

“What can I get you all?” I asked.

Two giggled at something the blonde had said and I tried to shove down the pang in my chest. They were about my age, and judging from the expensive outfits and manicured nails, clearly had their lives together. Alright, I had no way of knowing that for sure , but I could tell they weren’t stressed about anything at the current moment. Meanwhile, I was here. A girl struggling to tend bar with an unsteady future. I’d already had more job application rejections than I could count over the past week. It was completely disheartening. I knew the job market wasn’t great right now, but to not even be able to land a phone interview was a huge blow to my already-fragile ego.

“We’ll have three palomas,” the blonde in the pink coat relayed to me, hardly making eye contact.

“Great choice,” I said with a forced smile.

I poured tequila into a shaker, followed by grapefruit soda, then finished making their drinks before running back to the kitchen and dropping off a few orders.

After about another forty minutes, the bar had finally quieted down a little. It was still crowded, but the rush that always happened after the ski hill closed had finally dissipated.

“You’re getting better,” Bev observed, wiping a few glasses and placing them behind the bar.

“That’s kind of you to say, but I know you’re lying.”

Bev tossed her head back and laughed at that, but she didn’t fight me further on it. She hadn’t been kidding when she said she was basically running the restaurant now. Aside from me, there were only a few other bartenders and waiters working here still.

The bell above the door chimed. A few guys in branded Key Ridge ski hill employee jackets walked in. Lifties. A group of them almost always came in after their shifts. I saw one familiar face trailing at the back of their cluster. Even though they were all a few years younger than him, Oliver occasionally joined their group.

Oliver took off his beanie and ruffled his dark waves, before glancing my way. He winked at me, then tossed his stuff onto the table .

We’d only shared a few snippets of conversation since I started working at Marie’s. I’d been so busy either here, or holed up in Mattie’s basement applying to jobs, I hadn’t really gotten out much. But any time Oliver popped into the bar, I could guarantee that he would take every opportunity possible to tease me about my atrocious bartending skills. And, of course, he hadn’t given up on taking me snowboarding. I’d never admit this to him, but I might have relented if not just to see him more. But he’d been slammed with lessons every day, so even if I had agreed, he wouldn’t have been able to take me yet. Instead, I savored the brief, flirtatious moments we shared whenever he stopped by during my shifts.

It was hard to believe we’d shared that kiss. It had been almost two weeks at this point. It was so outside of something I would typically do that I could almost convince myself it had never happened. That is, if Oliver didn’t insist on reminding me of it every single chance he got.

“We can’t keep meeting like this,” Oliver said, stopping in front of me at the bar and propping one elbow up so he could rest his chin in his hand.

“There are other bars on Main Street, ya know?” I said, although I secretly loved his teasing. Seeing him at Marie’s or around the lodge was one of the only bright spots in my life lately. I liked the little surge of butterflies that flapped around in my stomach every time he flirted with me. I enjoyed the prolonged eye contact.

“None with this level of impeccable service.”

I rolled my eyes at that. He was giving me a hard time because the last two times he’d been in, I’d messed up his drink order.

“Hey, I’m getting better,” I insisted. “Plus, last time you were here, it was packed. At least you got a drink. ”

He laughed. “You’re right. I suppose I should be grateful you at least managed to shove something into my hands.”

“Exactly.”

Oliver smiled and shook his head. His dark hair curled up behind his ears, probably due to the wetness of the snow. “Can I get four shots of tequila please?”

“Four shots? Are you trying to wind up face down in a snow pile before eight?”

“Ha. Ha,” he said dryly. “They aren’t all for me.”

I poured the shots and set out a tray to put them on, along with already-cut-up lime wedges and a saltshaker.

“Thanks.” He slid his credit card over. “You can keep it open. I’ll be back to bug you.”

“Counting down the minutes,” I said, unable to keep the smile from creeping across my face. Oliver’s good-natured attitude was infectious. The more I got to know him, the more I realized my initial judgment call about him had been correct. He was so not my type. I doubted he’d ever used the word “ambition” before in his entire life. To him, this lifestyle wasn’t temporary. He’d likely spend the next few decades doing exactly the same thing—jumping from place to place, working seasonal jobs. Not moving up. Staying the same.

But even knowing all that, there was something charming about him, something I found hard to resist. I could act like I didn’t feel anything, but there was no denying the excited nerves that swirled in my gut every time I caught a glimpse of the guy.

The excited swirl in question abruptly stopped and my smile fell when Oliver bypassed the table of guys he’d arrived with and went straight for the table of girls I’d served palomas to earlier. They giggled at something he said as he set down the shots in front of them .

Heat pricked the back of my neck. I knew I should have looked away, but I couldn’t.

I watched as he slid into the empty chair at their table and leaned into the blonde one. Suddenly, all the times he’d flirted with me felt tainted. I’d thought we had something. A mutual interest. A potential friendship. I don’t know. But I thought I had been more special than a table of three random girls he’d spotted out of the corner of his eye. Seeing him wink at them made me certain I wasn’t though.

Damn it.

Oliver passed out the shots and they all tipped them back. I turned away, unable to watch the scene any longer. I wasn’t sure if I was more upset by the sight or the fact that I felt an inkling of jealousy right now. Oliver and I had shared all of one kiss and a few sessions of playful banter. I had absolutely no right to be feeling the way that I was right now.

But my body didn’t get the memo. My pulse quickened as I busied myself tidying up behind the bar, forcing my eyes to stay trained down. I couldn’t let Oliver catch me staring.

“Can I get a pitcher of beer?”

I looked up, only mildly startled, to see one of the guys that had come in earlier leaning on the bar and smiling at me. He looked young, barely twenty-one.

“Sure, can I see your ID?” I asked.

He handed it over, and I recognized it immediately as being a Florida ID. My eyes scanned to his birthday where I confirmed that he was legal, but barely.

“I’m from Florida too,” I said, handing it back to him.

“No way. What part?” He stuffed the ID back into his wallet.

“Close to Orlando. You?”

“Cocoa beach,” he said. “Finally came up here for college, and I’m never going back. ”

I nodded as if I could relate to what he was saying. While I had moved from my hometown to Atlanta, it was for a career opportunity, not because I disliked Florida. Wherever I ended up next, I certainly couldn’t see myself staying in Colorado. It was too laid-back.

“What kind of pitcher?” I asked.

“Whatever’s your favorite.” He slouched against the bar awkwardly and smiled at me. I wanted to laugh at his sloppy attempt at flirting.

“Coming right up.” I pulled a pitcher out and set it against a tap before pulling down the handle.

Foam filled the bottom. “Shit,” I muttered, tilting the pitcher to try and rectify the situation. I was bad at this. Every single time I poured a beer or a pitcher, there was too much damn foam. I offered an apologetic shrug to the guy but he was staring at me with googly eyes. Somehow, I didn’t think this kid would call me out on it.

“What’s your name?” he asked when I set the pitcher in front of him.

Might as well play along. Usually, the lifties tipped the bare minimum, but maybe if I flirted and laughed at their jokes, I could get a few extra dollars. It wasn’t like I was in desperate need of the money, but I did love a challenge.

“Frankie. What about you? I think I’ve seen you guys in here before.”

“Kenny,” he said, before crinkling his nose. “Frankie is a funny name. Short for Frank?”

I narrowed my eyes and my smile faltered. But Kenny wasn’t joking. He genuinely looked perplexed.

“Um, no. It’s short for Frances.”

“Ohhh, right. That makes sense.”

Suddenly, even fake flirting with Kenny felt exhausting. The bar had quieted down significantly and I wanted to zone out until the end of my shift in a few hours.

“What time do you get off?” Kenny asked.

Before I could answer, Oliver slung his arm around Kenny and patted his chest a few times. Hard. He was at least a head taller than Kenny and he looked down at him before glancing back at me. “What’s going on here?” he asked. “Thought you were getting a pitcher.”

“I got distracted talking to Frankie.” Kenny had a dumb grin on his face.

“Frankie’s busy,” Oliver said. His subtle change in tone caught my attention. I squinted my eyes and examined him. He still wore his signature smile, but it looked tighter somehow. His neck muscles flexed.

“I’m really not,” I said. The bar was lively, but no one was currently waiting on a drink.

“What time do you get off?” Kenny tried asking again, but Oliver smacked his shoulder and forcibly turned him around.

“Alright, that’s enough. Why don’t you take this—” he handed Kenny the pitcher “—and head back to the table.”

Kenny looked like he wanted to object but seemed to think better of it.

Oliver ran a hand through his hair before turning back to me. I scanned his face.

“That was interesting,” I said.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his jaw still tight despite the smile.

“You scared off Kenny.”

“Yeah, well. He’s a nice kid but he can’t take a hint.”

His slight look of discomfort was egging me on.

“Kenny was fine,” I said. “And I’m surprised you noticed anything other than the blonde in front of you.” I nodded my head in the direction of the table of girls he’d done shots with .

Oliver raised his eyebrows at that. “Well, I didn’t want him bothering you,” he added, a line creasing his forehead.

“He wasn’t,” I said, only the partial truth. “Seemed like you were jealous or something.” I kept my voice nonchalant, almost teasing. I was testing the waters, but I had no intention of jumping right into the deep end.

Oliver scoffed at that. “I don’t do jealousy, Frankie. And was I really the jealous one? You seemed to be very aware of the table I was sitting at.” I wished I could wipe that smirk clean off his face.

“It was right in front of me,” I added, stuffing any defensiveness deep down. “It was impossible not to notice.”

Oliver’s smirk grew. “Right.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” I insisted, narrowing my eyes.

We stared at each other for a moment, waiting to see who would break first. Finally, Oliver said, “For your information, I was just being a wingman for the rest of the guys. See?” He pointed behind him to the two tables of guys and girls who were now intermixed.

“Good for you.” I tapped my fingers on the bar top. “Can I get back to work or do you want anything else?” I asked in a flat tone.

He ran his thumb and forefinger along his chin, a devilish glint in his eyes. “There is one more thing I want. You. This Friday. Seven a.m. with a snowboard strapped to your feet. I had a lesson cancel so I finally have a free day.”

“Not gonna happen.” I crossed my arms.

“Why?” he pressed.

“I’m busy.”

He snickered at my defiance. “I know you only work nights at Marie’s.”

“I have jobs to apply for.”

“You’ve been applying constantly. It’s all you talk about. ”

I winced at that. Did he think I was boring?

“Are there really that many new applications that open on a daily basis?” he continued.

That gave me pause. I hadn’t expected him to push me on this. The past few times he’d been in Marie’s, he’d made the same attempt to get me out there. But he’d let me reject his previous efforts to get me on a snowboard without anything more than a fake pout. I figured he’d let me do the same this time, but there was a fire in his eyes.

“No, but?—”

“And this will only be for a few hours. You can do whatever job hunting you need to do when you get home.”

“I don’t have a snowboard,” I pointed out.

“Got you covered.” He leaned over the bar to take in my full height. His eyes combing over every inch of me did ridiculous things to my imagination. I held steady though. “What are you. Five-foot-six? I can get you a board. And let me guess. Size eight for the boots?”

“Size seven,” I corrected without thinking about it.

He winked. “Great. It’s settled. You’re coming.”

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of whatever trance Oliver had me under. “I didn’t say that.”

“I’ll have a board and boots ready at seven a.m. Lifts open an hour early on Friday for locals. It’ll be perfect to get you started. It’ll be fun. Ever heard of the concept?”

“I’m fun,” I challenged.

“Really? Could have fooled me.”

I let out a loud, exaggerated huff. “I have nothing to wear.” My resolve had shattered by this point. Why shouldn’t I give this a try? I was fighting it so hard, and for what? To sit alone in my sister’s basement, stressing about my severe lack of prospects?

“Mattie has extra gear. I already asked her. ”

“What? When? You’re conspiring with my sister now?”

He laughed at that, his eyes glinting. “I saw her at the lodge yesterday. Figured I’d ask.”

“Uh-huh.” I folded my arms across my chest, a small sign of resistance, but we both knew he’d won.

He knocked on the bar before walking backward to his table. “I’ll see you Friday. Bright and early.”