“Son of a—!!” I shouted in annoyance as the glass I was filling slipped off the edge of the counter, spilling an entire pint of lager down one leg of the distressed jeans I was wearing.
What a craptastic night this was turning out to be.
I grabbed a nearby bar rag to wipe myself off quickly, stomping my boots against the worn wooden floorboards in furious punctuation.
“Jesus, Meg!” My brother Tyler recoiled as my voice carried over the steady hum of classic rock and excited chatter circulating through Three Wishes bar. “Maybe take a minute? You’re scaring off the customers.” Though he made a half-hearted effort to appear stern, Tyler’s pale blue eyes, a hand-me-down from our dad, were more concerned than anything. He grabbed a clean pint glass and scooted me to the side so he could take over the task of filling it on my behalf.
And of course, it didn’t spill all over him. I scowled.
Typical.
It was a dark and stormy Friday night in May, and our bar, Three Wishes, was packed. Every single vintage chair and plush booth spread throughout the room was filled with warm bodies tonight. At least a dozen others were either milling around or hovering near the pool table in the back corner, drinks in hand. The light from the overhead rustic chandeliers glowed softly, and an upbeat energy flowed throughout the bar as everyone eased into the weekend.
Normally, a hopping bar would be a good thing for a business owner. But tonight, one of the three servers I’d hired to help us out had called in sick at the last minute, and there was zero chance I’d be able to find a replacement at this point.
This marked the third time it had happened this month—so it was no wonder I was pissed.
Especially considering Kyle had practically begged me for this job—and tonight, he definitely hadn’t sounded unwell.
“Sorry, boss lady… can’t make it,” he’d said over the phone, like it was no big deal to leave me hanging. And on a freakin’ weekend, no less.
I glanced in irritation—for probably the fiftieth time that night—towards the dripping sound coming from the far corner of the bar, near the stage we used for live music. Because on top of everything else, the ceiling in that section—which had already been showing signs of weakness this spring—had now started leaking during tonight’s thunderstorm. We’d placed a metal bucket below the source, and even through the noise in the bar, I could hear its taunting cry, announcing my inability to keep our family business running in tip-top condition.
Drip… drip… drip… DRIP… slowly dissolving my remaining nerves.
“You calm down!” I hissed, albeit more quietly, as I turned back towards my brother. I cringed inwardly at the sound of myself regressing into a pissy teenager—but at that moment, I didn’t care. The stress of the night—of, well, everything—was pushing me to my limit. “You know damn well that tonight is shaping up to be–”
“... the best night of your life?” A playful voice spoke up from behind me, at the same time our local mechanic, Jimmy, waved his empty drink glass at Tyler from the opposite end of the bar. As Tyler headed in his direction, I took a deep breath before turning towards the voice—revealing a man around my age, clean-cut with sandy blond hair and steel-gray eyes—now greedily eyeing me up and down. He was handsome enough and definitely gave me a surfer-boy kind of vibe.
Unfortunately, with a huge side of ick.
“I think you’re right, beautiful… because the idea of you and I together sounds like the best one I’ve heard all night.”
Come on, dude...
“Not interested,” I said instantly, rolling my eyes as I turned away, pretending to be very interested in cleaning up the spilled beer on the counter.
“Oh, wow… Not even going to ask my name?”
“Oh, wow.” I looked up, not even bothering to hide my annoyance this time. “Not even going to act like a normal person and just tell me?”
“Spicy… I like it. The name’s Lance. You’re Meg, right?”
“Well, at least we know you can read,” I said. I gave him a sarcastic thumbs-up, while pointing to the silver and black name tag pinned to the right side of my fitted burgundy blouse.
“Sure can… but I can do a lot more than that, beautiful,” he said, raising an eyebrow at me suggestively as he reached out to lightly trace his finger across the back of my hand. Instantly, I felt my body tense.
“Lance. Just give me your order, and then find someone else to bother,” I said, my voice cold as I snatched my hand back. I was not in the mood for this.
“Come on… is that any way to treat a paying customer?” He was now inching closer. “I just wanted to get to know you. Have you worked here long?”
Clearly, he was new in town, or a tourist coming to check out the vineyard; we’d already started to see newcomers trickle in for the start of the season. “I’m actually the owner, and I’m very busy.” That was partially true. I flashed Mr. Briggs an apologetic look from where he sat a few stools down—I still needed to bring him his beer, plus I had a few cocktails to mix for customers on the floor.
But mostly, I just wanted to get rid of this guy.
“Fine, but can I leave you my number in case you reconsider? I’m only in town for the week… but I bet there’s a lot of fun that we can get up to in the meantime.”
Ok, he was definitely making my skin crawl now. There was no way in hell I was letting him anywhere near me. I didn’t particularly care to let any guy get close to me. It was easier that way. Less messy. “No thanks.”
Luckily, Tyler returned with Jimmy’s empty pint glass at that exact moment. I motioned him over with a nod of my head.
“What’s up?”
“Yeah, can you serve this guy?” My eyes moved from Lance back to my brother. “Mr. Briggs is still waiting for his drink.”
This wasn’t the first time that I’d gotten unwanted attention from a customer, so Tyler caught my signal immediately.
“What can I get you, man?” Tyler said to Lance, as I moved down the counter to let him take it from there. To hell with the grumpy look that guy gave me. I grabbed the pint of IPA beer Tyler had filled after my colossal spill a moment ago. Guys like Lance were nothing more than annoying, and besides—I was an expert at blatantly ignoring that kind of attention from men, too.
At least work helped me to shake the distinct icky energy he had left me with. Even if this dude was about as smooth as sandpaper, I knew that he was probably harmless.
Yet, my instinct was always to protect myself from any man whenever I felt the warning sirens going off. I knew why that was, too, but I never let my thoughts linger there for long. It had been ten years, after all… ancient history, right?
