Chapter 12
TWELVE
Internet fame didn't exactly transform the bar that Friday night, but it did fill a few seats.
Benny was swallowed whole by old schoolmates and two former Cassidy's Place regulars who all admitted they'd seen his post about grabbing a drink.
They buzzed around him like he was the most interesting thing to happen in Arbor Bay since the Robertsons had opened their greenhouse to the public that one random Saturday years ago.
And while Santana may not have been new to the bar, her excitement sure was. She buzzed around Jack before and after Benny left, like a very determined bee collecting gossip instead of pollen.
It was only after the ten thousandth question that Jack caved.
He took her to the office and told her about the deal.
To his abundant surprise, that made her go quiet.
Even when it was time to talk shop about the party and parade during a particularly long lull in patrons, she was more thoughtful than vocal. Which, for Santana, was saying something.
Finally, Jack couldn't take it anymore.
“You once talked about the possibility of a Veronica Mars reboot—never mind the actual reboot—for an entire shift.
Open to close, that's all us poor bartenders heard. Veronica and Logan and dad-daughter crime-solving. Never mind that damn firefighter show and how two of them should be kissing because of the ‘couch theory.’” Jack shook his head.
“I don't remember the specifics past that because you just kept talking and my brain could only hold so much.
So, you being quiet now when we have a sitcom-worthy gambit going? I'm actually worried.”
Santana tilted her head to the side. She was running calculations. Jack wasn’t sure he was ready for them, but he couldn’t deny he was intrigued by their potential.
Her curls shifted at the movement right before her eyebrows pulled in.
“It's just that, well, you're doing things the hard way. The two of you, I mean.” She lowered her voice and gave a quick look around to make sure no one could hear.
Now that Benny had gone, so had his new shadows.
“I get the deal is to cover his secret while helping the bar, but you two are going all out. You probably drum up more business and convince his new followers you're a fun item just by posting a bunch of pictures with snappy captions. Maybe a video or two. Instead you’re now in a pageant? And cracking down on a decent parade float? Seems a lot for something you might not actually have to work too hard at.”
Jack was ready to defend himself but paused.
She had a point.
“But they agreed to do all the festival crap when they went to the Robertson estate,” Dixon slid in from the other end of the bar. “It'll look bad if they back out now.”
“True,” Santana conceded. “But why go to the lunch in the first place? Seems like that could have been avoided at least.”
Dixon gave Jack a smug look at that.
Jack sighed.
“Carol is harder to avoid than you think once she’s focused on you. After running into her at the café, everything just kind of spiraled. One minute I was about to enjoy my coffee, the next I was bitching about the empty roll of painter's tape Roger Norman had in his toolbox.”
Santana gave him another odd look, like she was trying to puzzle something out.
It was starting to grate.
“What?” he asked.
“I've known you a long time, and it just kind of seems like you're going the extra mile after already going an extra mile.” She shrugged.
“I have to figure that Benny must be okay to be around because, even to us, you haven't complained about him at all. Just Ms. Peggy, Roger, and cheap painter’s tape.” Her expression softened.
“He must be something special, is all I'm saying.
Jack neither confirmed nor denied that sentiment.
“He's a means to an end and vice versa. It's nothing but business between us.”
Well, and the brief but hot make-out session you had with him a few hours ago. In private. Which was in no way a part of your plan.
Santana didn't look convinced.
Jack waved the pad of paper in his hand at her.
“You're borrowing trouble when we should be focusing on the task at hand.” He thumped the pad back onto the bar top, then made a show of looking out at the main room.
The regulars were the only ones dotting the tables and booths.
The only people left on the patio were a handful just passing through.
“We're about to go from under capacity to over at this party we’ve been roped into.
If we're lucky. That means we need to make sure we have everything stocked, ordered, and problem-solved by then.” He paused.
“No more focusing on how I'm—apparently—usually a dick to people in need.”
Dixon laughed.
Santana raised her eyebrow at him.
“Everything you just said was a deflection,” she said. “I hope you realize that.”
Jack rolled his eyes.
“Deflection or not, if Benny and the Robertsons manage to deliver a crowd to us, we need to make sure we're ready for them.”
Thankfully, no one argued that.
They spent the rest of the night looking over supplies, checking on pending orders, and brainstorming pop-up needs that might arise during the event. The pad of paper filled up, and by the time Jack and Dixon left for the apartment hours later, it felt like they'd had a productive time of it.
Even outside of their front door, Dixon was still in planning mode.
“Toilet paper,” he said, leaning against the wall while Jack fished out the key. “We need to make sure we have a lot of it. And plungers. And—tampons?”
Jack passed him a questioning look.
“Tampons? But we don't have a tampon dispenser to fill.”
“Maybe we can get a little basket or something to put on the counter. We can buy different kinds and make it all look really nice. Give people some options while they party if they need them.” Dixon’s expression soured. “I bet The Drinking Spot doesn't do that.”
“The Drinking Spot has brand-spanking-new bathrooms. Modern chic is how Santana described it. I don't think an assortment of tampons in a wicker basket is going to really impress anyone.”
“Says the man who doesn’t have a hormone cycle to deal with,” Dixon mumbled.
Jack had to give that one to him.
“You got me there,” he said.
Experience had taught Jack that he was looking at a Dixon who was five, maybe ten minutes away from being passed out on his bed. Despite a slow night, they'd spent an extra hour after closing cleaning in preparation for the party.
Jack wasn't far behind in the exhausted department.
He'd had a hell of a day himself.
“Well, fancy tampon selection aside, we really need to nail this party,” Dixon said. “I'm glad Benny hooked us up for it. Maybe we can win back some of our patrons.”
He nodded, a flash of pride across his chest.
“I'll drink to that.”
Dixon headed to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and was asleep with his bedroom door open, lights still on, before Jack could even drink half a glass of water.
Some would think of him as a mess, but his cousin was really just a man who lived his life with tunnel-vision focus.
He loved Cassidy's Place, just as his dad did, and just as their grandfather had before them.
His day-to-day was spent much like Jack's.
He went to the bar, worked at the bar, and then worried about the bar.
Everything else?
Well, it fell by the wayside more often than not.
It was one of the reasons Dixon moving in after Jack’s breakup with Felicity hadn't been the worst idea. It was easier to feel reassured that he'd made all the right decisions when it came to his dedication to the bar when he was splitting the rent with someone who felt the same way.
Felicity hadn't understood why Jack didn't dream bigger, but Dixon?
He knew that the bar was bigger than any dream.
It was family.
Jack smiled at his cousin now. He turned the lights off and shut the door. He emptied his glass and did his nighttime routine in the bathroom on reflex.
It wasn’t until he was lights out in his own bed that he ran the highlight reel of the day.
Or really, just the one.
Benny with a hard on.
Pressing against him.
His body warm, compact, and absolutely distracting.
If Benny had only known how fast Jack had gone from ready to return the kiss to…ready to take him to the bed.
But then, like almost all good moments, it was ruined by an interruption.
Callum.
It was a good damn thing Benny had heard him come in, because Jack had not.
As far as pains in the asses went, though, Callum rated low on the totem pole in Arbor Bay.
Jack had seen him a few times at the bar, but they'd never really talked.
In the kitchen, after Benny had all but fled, he'd fallen into an easy and quick conversation with the man, despite the Guy-reveal of it all.
The lack of prodding had been enough to make Jack like him. Or, at least, not dislike him.
There was a relaxed quality about him, even if Jack couldn't quite grasp his and Benny's relationship. They'd yelled at each other like Jack had seen Dixon and his sister do countless times, but then something had changed.
Benny came back in with a look of such intense something that Jack and Callum's conversation had died down in an instant.
Whatever feeling was there, it reflected in his brother until, finally, Jack couldn't take it anymore.
For once, he'd disliked the silence.
Jack blamed that odd, non-conversation on why he wasn't bothered by Benny's nearly non-stop babbling while they had painted at Roger's house. And Benny had talked. A lot.
Not even Jack mentioning the kitchen kiss in the car beforehand had deterred him. He’d instead deep-dived into the story of the last time he'd painted a room.
That story had stretched the length of the car ride and then segued into another story about how he and his last boyfriend—some idiot named Lyle, of all things—had spent an entire night arguing over how to stain a dresser.
Benny babbling about one thing or the other had become the soundtrack accompanying the first coat of paint on Roger's nursery.
It hadn't been horrible.