This place is way too damn quiet. Most of the locals are inside due to the nasty weather. Remnants of another tropical storm swirling along the coast have brought a deluge of rain. Seems fitting since I’ve been in a funk since the night I left Callie’s after the dinner debacle. I sank even deeper after seeing Callie and Gray the other night. Not sure if she’s adjusted her schedule to further avoid me, but I haven’t caught sight of her, and me...I freaking miss her. As stupid as it is. But I know I need to get past that. I also feel like a complete tool because if I end up taking her position, she’s screwed into going to work for her parents.

I’ve cleaned just about everything there is to clean. The bar’s stocked. Only two patrons, Bert and his war buddy, Cliff, are deep in conversation at the end of the bar.

Now’s as good a time as any to brainstorm my ideas for this place. To prove I’m motivated and have a vision for this place and its growth. That I’m management material.

I pull a small notepad from where it’s normally stowed beneath the bar, near the register, along with a pen. A new app has caught the attention of a lot of locals where they can look up certain bars and restaurants to see what beers they serve on tap. Customers can rate the beers and check into our bar or share the bar on their social media pages. I think it’d be a great way to drive new customers here, and it’s cheap to be a bar featured on the app, costing less per month than any drink you can order at Starbucks.

“What are you working on over there?” Bert says.

“Just an idea for the bar.”

“Let’s hear it.” Bert folds his hands over his chest and waits eagerly.

I tell him my idea, and his face lights up. “That’s genius. I like the way you think outside the box. A sign of a true businessman.”

I smile for the first time in the past couple of days. “I’m going to bring it to Tom today.”

“Let me know how it goes. Did I ever tell you about the first time that I tried to open my own woodworking business?”

I shake my head. Bert’s barely mentioned work in the years I’ve bartended at On Tap.

“I used to work as a bagger at Publix, and any chance I got, I’d be in my parents’ garage building things. Chairs. Stools. One time I even made a sleigh bed.” He smiles wistfully at the memory.

“What’d you do with the stuff you made?” I ask, tapping my pen on my business plans.

“I’d take them to the farmers market and sell them. One weekend, a guy comes up to my booth and asks me what I did, really interesting fella with a bowler hat. He came back for three weeks, then ended up buying my entire stock, handed me a check, and told me to open my own business.”

“That’s awesome.”

“Sometimes, it takes the right person at the right time to give you your start. You’ll get there, kid.”

“Thanks.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” And then he pulls a card out of his jacket pocket and hands it to me.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for your birthday. Don’t open it until then.”

I nod and tuck it away in my jeans.

Tom strolls around the corner, heading my way. He has paperwork in his hand, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s already made his decision about the manager’s position.

“Reid.” He sets the papers on the bar top and rests his forearms on the wood. “How are things going for you?” Tom eyes me in an odd way, almost analytically.

“It’s going...well.” I attempt to fight off my wariness and forge on. “I wanted to talk to you about an idea I had for the bar, actually.”

He arches an eyebrow. “What idea’s that?”

I straighten and clear my throat, then give him the details of my idea for utilizing the app. I’m finishing up when Tom suddenly interrupts.

“No, that’s just not something we’re into here.”

His immediate negative response catches me off guard. “But I can see it bringing in a good deal of new customers. And it’s not expensive to be a part of it.” It’d be a no-brainer. Something that, if I had my own bar, I’d implement.

Tom waves me off. “Reid. That’s just a fad the young kids are into right now. It’ll pass. We need to keep up with what we’ve been doing here.”

Which is basically nothing.

Not to mention, it might be a fad, but it sure as shit isn’t one that’s costly if we were to participate. Less than four bucks a month and potential new customers who will order at least one beer? It’s seems like a win-win for me.

“I actually need to talk to you about something.” My boss’s tone is hushed, and he darts a look at where Bert and Cliff sit at the far end, well out of earshot. Tom’s gaze locks with mine, and I get one hell of a foreboding feeling from it.

“Okay.” I swallow hard, a million things flitting through my head, wondering what’s got him so serious and stern looking.

“Callie no longer works here.”

Shock reverberates through me at his words. “She quit?”

His expression turns to one of distaste. “No. I fired her. She was getting sloppy with her work and she also”—his eyes bore into mine—“apparently fraternized with a co-worker.”

Oh, shit.

But Callie’s been fired? After all this job meant to her. Fuck.

“Tom, I—”

“Look, Reid. I get it. We all have our weak moments. But I can’t have that become an issue here.”

Wait a minute… “Are you firing me?”

Tom scrunches his face in distaste. “No. You’ve been with me for years.” Then he sobers, the stern expression coming to the forefront. “Just don’t pull a stunt like this again.”

I nod slowly, almost dazed. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” He reaches out a hand, and we shake briefly. “Congratulations on becoming the new manager.”

“Thank you.”

He scoops up the papers from the bar. “Hopefully, this rain will let up.” He disappears down the hall, returning to his office.

I peer out the front windows at the downpour of rain. “Not likely.”

Internally, I commiserate with the rain. I feel like my emotions are splashing in various directions. This isn’t right. I didn’t earn my position—it was given to me because Callie was fired.

And she’s paying the price for something we did together.

* * *

Flooding in many of the lower lying downtown streets has the bulk of local shop owners shutting their doors early.

“I have a few things to take care of here, so just head out whenever you’re ready.”

I nod at Tom. “I’m actually done, now.” I hesitate, resting one palm on the doorframe of his office. “I wanted to see if I could talk to you for a minute.”

Tom waves a hand to one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk. “Sure. Take a seat.”

I dive right in. “I wanted to know if you wrote me up for what happened between Callie and me, and our violation of the non-fraternization policy.”

Tom leans back in his desk chair. “No, I didn’t.”

My eyes pinch closed briefly. Dammit.

“What’s the problem, Reid?”

I lean forward in my seat, rest my elbows on my knees, and link my fingers together. “I’m confused as to why she got fired, and I didn’t get but a slap on the wrist.”

Tom frowns. “You’ve been here for a while, Reid. We take care of our own.”

“Callie’s been here for three months. She wasn’t one of us?”

My boss releases a tired sigh, irritation etching his features. “Look, Reid. You and I both know things happen.” He gestures with his hand. “We’ve all had weak moments. I just don’t want it becoming a habit—”

Holy shit. He can’t be saying what I think he’s saying. I slowly straighten in my chair.

“Don’t give me that look.” Tom rolls his eyes. “I’m giving you a second chance. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, kid.”

I shake my head. If Callie lost her job, then I should have the same consequence. This is beyond fucked up. “This is wrong, and I’m not sure I’m comfortable with the situation you’ve put me in.”

My boss’s eyebrows fly up, nearly hitting his hairline. Then he huffs out a surprised laugh. “Jesus, Reid. I try to help a guy out, and this is how you repay me?”

The sudden distaste overpowers me. Bile rises in my throat, but I somehow maintain composure.

I exhale slowly before I rise from my seat. I reach out a hand to Tom, and he shakes it tentatively, uncertainty evident in his expression. Once I release his grip, I take a step back and shove my hands into my pockets.

“Thank you for this opportunity, Tom. But I have to respectfully decline. I quit.”

I exit the office, leaving my stunned and speechless boss behind.

* * *

Two weeks later, I’m sitting on my couch, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do with the rest of my life.

How the hell I’m going to make it without Callie.

Someone knocks on my door, and I tear myself from the dent I’ve worn into the couch and open it.

“Happy Birthday, man,” Gray says. His smile falters when he sees my undoubtedly disheveled state. Hygiene hasn’t exactly been a top priority as of late. “Shit, you look like…well, shit.”

“Nice to see you, too.”

“I’m just not used to seeing you like this. Get your ass into the shower. Now.” He stares at me, waiting for me to haul ass to the bathroom or something.

“Don’t make me invoke rule number three forty-seven of the friendship code.”

“And what would that be?” We don’t have a damn friendship code. At least not one I’m aware of.

“I’ll carry your ass in there if needed. Seriously, you smell like garbage.”

“Fine.” I make my way to the bathroom and take a long time in the shower, basically wallowing in self-pity for how stupid I’ve acted in every facet of my life. I’ve fucked myself over, royally.

By the time I get out to the living room, I’m feeling somewhat human. Grayson picked up the random fast food bags and pizza boxes.

“Time to open presents.”

“You didn’t have to get me anything.” Even though both of us get each other something for our birthdays. Usually, it’s an expensive bottle of alcohol. One year, he got me a beer of the month subscription.

He tosses a card at me. This I’m not expecting.

I open the card and read the gift message.

“I don’t get it.”

“You always said you wanted to open your bar. I’ll help you make sure that you can open it without digging yourself into a shithole of financial debt. Plus, I’ll help you prepare all the papers for the bank when you apply.”

“I have money saved up but not enough for that yet.” Hence why it was so fucking stupid to quit my job on a whim. Even if my intentions were in the right place.

“I just talked to Bert last night. I’m guessing you haven’t opened up your birthday card.”

“My birthday card?” Shit. The card was still in my jeans that I chucked to the floor and haven’t bothered to put back on since I quit. “And why were you talking to Bert?”

He shrugs. “He’s switched bars since you left. Ran into him last night and caught up. Now go get the card.”

I make my way to the bedroom and pull the folded card out of my back pocket and return to the living room. What could possibly be in here that has my friend as giddy as a damn schoolgirl? Bert has always been the type to impart words of wisdom, but I doubt any mantra that can be found in a fortune cookie is going to do me much good right now. I open the card, and a check slips out and flutters to the floor.

I read the card quickly before picking up the check.

I grab the check off the floor, and my eyes bug out of my skull as I read the amount on the check. “Fuck.”

“Is this a good fuck or a bad fuck?” Grayson asks.

I hand him the check.

He lets out a low whistle. “Fuck.” He claps me on the back. “Happy Birthday. Looks like you can open your bar now.”

* * *

It takes me a week to finally wrap my head around the fact that my dream is going to be a reality.

“Thanks again for helping me. Especially with this”—I wave a hand to the seemingly never-ending rain outside—“god-awful mess going on.”

Grayson grins. “What are friends for?” Then he redirects his attention to his laptop and points the tip of his pen at the screen. “What have you come up with so far?”

“I have some ideas.”

I’ve had my nose to the grindstone for an entire week, writing down plans, crunching numbers, and scouting possible locations for the bar. An available building near the waterfront is perfect for what I have in mind.

One bonus from this nonstop work is the distraction it’s offered me from thinking about her. Because I know I’ve fucked up and have no clue how to fix that. So I’m pouring every bit of energy into this bar.

He leans back in his chair, links his fingers, and slides his hands behind his head. “Let’s hear ’em.”

“I’ve been thinking that the place needs a more intimate feel. Where we’d keep things simple. Like microbrews only on tap. Local ones. And the food would be easy things, like beer and cheese dip, or a meat and cheese tray. A limited menu so it wouldn’t be overwhelming. Maybe include two gourmet burgers.” I pause my pacing to gauge his expression.

“Okay.” Grayson nods, appearing thoughtful. “I’m on board so far.” He narrows his eyes at me, and like the best friend he is, he sees it. “But there’s more.”

I walk over to the sliding glass door and stare at the opaqueness created by the onslaught of rain. “I think including the wine component would make it a place people wouldn’t be able to resist.”

“The wine component’s not exactly your forte.” Grayson states this without any harshness—just simple truth.

I shake my head, still peering out at the rain. Turning, I lean back against the sliding glass door. “No, but there is someone who knows and loves wine. Who was raised around good wines.” Turns out, even when I’m trying to push her out of my mind, I just can’t. She’d even become engrained in the base plan of my business. The woman who wants nothing to do with me.

Grayson’s lips press thin, and he squints at me. “How do you propose we get this”—he tilts his head and arches an eyebrow—“someone on board?”

I shake my head and run a hand down the back of my neck, my muscles tense and rigid. I want this person on board with my idea, yes, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want her on board with more.

With me.

“Hell if I know.” That’s the only answer I have for him.

“Well, then. We need to come up with two damn good proposals then.” He scoots his chair in closer to our designated workspace. “Let’s get to it.”

A few hours and several cups of coffee later, Grayson and I release tired sighs. Tired but pleased.

Our gazes meet, and for the first time in a while, I feel like things might work out.