Chapter 28 Cam
28 Cam
I turn the screen toward the man in the gray parka. He taps his credit card before hefting his beer into a tote bag.
“Have a good day,” I say, forcing a smile onto my face.
It’s usually not a problem to smile.
Some people have a rather romantic notion of what opening a craft brewery is like, but it’s a lot of work. I thought I was prepared for all that it would entail, yet I wasn’t, not fully.
Still, there’s nothing else I’d rather be doing… most days.
Today is not one of those days.
It’s a Sunday, which means that if I had a “normal” job, I could be home, but instead, I’m at Leaside Brewing. One of our suppliers suddenly went MIA, and there’s a scheduling issue that I need to sort out. Normally, I don’t mind the putting-out-fires aspect of the job, but now, I wish I could be on autopilot.
Which I sort of am, standing behind the bar, popping over to the other register whenever someone pulls something out of the four fridges that comprise our bottle shop, but there are lots of things on my mind. Lots of problems to solve. And I’m only in the taproom because Miriam is out sick.
“Another Dufferin Grove?” I ask the guy sitting at the far end of the bar.
He nods. He’s an avid home brewer, and his wife recently left him. They’ve got a couple of kids in their teens. He comes in a few times a month.
The next fifteen minutes are busy, and when there’s a lull, Justin emerges from the back.
“You doing okay?” he asks.
“Yeah.” I force another smile.
I’m not really okay, and I’m sure he knows it, but I’m coping.
My grandma died ten days ago, so I haven’t been here as much as usual. She was ninety, and her health had started to go downhill a few months ago; it was a death we were all prepared for, grieving before the end actually came.
Still, knowing she’s no longer in this world is a blow.
It seems unfair that time just keeps going. I wish it could stand still for a while, let me adjust to this new reality, but the world doesn’t stop for my personal life.
A single woman comes in and sits at the bar. After removing her large coat and her winter hat, she regards the tap list.
“You don’t have the Corktown today?” she asks.
“No, sorry,” I say. “We only have it in the summer.”
She must have been here before. I assume that’s why she looks oddly familiar, like a distant memory. She has long dark hair. Dark eyes. Shoulders I can’t help noticing in that wide-neck sweater.
There’s something compelling about her. I can’t quite describe it.
I do my usual spiel about the different beers on tap, but I stumble over my words, which isn’t like me. I laugh and continue as though it’s no big deal… which it isn’t.
Yet it bothers me more than usual. Probably just because everything is bothering me more than usual today—or because she’s rather pretty.
After I set down her Annex Pilsner, which is one of our mainstays, she gives me a lingering look that makes my skin prickle. It feels like she’s searching for something and hasn’t found it. I have the strangest sense that I’ve disappointed her.
This bothers me too.
She slowly sips her beer, and I assume she’s waiting for someone, but once half an hour has passed and no companion has appeared, I figure she’s here alone. That’s rare: we don’t get a ton of women who sit alone at the bar.
“Would you like another?” I ask when she’s almost finished her pint.
She shakes her head. “Just the bill.”
She pays with her credit card, then puts on her hat and coat before heading out into the January weather. Maybe she had a little time to kill—between shopping and meeting a friend for a meal, perhaps?—and that’s why she came in.
With a sigh, I wipe down the bar and help the next customer.