I shoot her a sideways glare.
“Well, Sprinkles2407 worked! God, I loved that cat. He was so fluffy.”
I make a mental note to change my password stat. My first cat’s name and old Tennessee address obviously aren’t foolproof.
We’re at a stoplight and I take full advantage, giving her an eight second death stare. “Liv, really? That’s a bit much. My profiles were just fine, thank you.”
“Your profiles were not ‘fine,’” she says, making air quotes. “They were terrible. Your photos didn’t even look like you. That one of you at Disneyland in front of the tea cups?” She gives me a questioning look.
“What? I was trying to look adventurous and fun!”
“Adventurous and fun? More like wind-blown and cross-eyed, with mustard on your shirt.”
“I had a corn dog that day. Sue me.”
“Bex, it’s time to move on from corn dogs and tap into your horn dog. Which is why you need my help. I found some much better pics from your Facebook account. I also rewrote your bio.”
All I can do is shake my head and smile in resignation. This is so Liv—revamping my life in the first fifteen minutes of hitting the ground. You’d never know she just got off a twelve-hour flight. Sensing my unease, she forges on in a tone that means business. “Okay, I can tell you’re not thrilled, but I’m here for seven days and I’m not going to leave any stone—or app—unturned.”
I look over at my best friend who’s flown all the way from London to be my wingwoman. She may be bossy, but I’ll always jump into the deep end with her.
I hadn’t been out for happy hour in what felt like ages and after a quick Yelp search, The Vacancy appeared on the list as a highly rated hot spot. I’d been there years ago and remember it being fun so thought it was worth a revisit. With food trucks out front on Friday nights, it’s a bit of a dive bar in a very refreshing, not Hollywood way. Plus, apparently they have a great happy hour. And Liv and I love our happy hours.
Once inside the dark and moody space we climb onto the maroon faux leather bar stools, hang our purses on the hooks underneath the bar, then put our heads together as we browse the specialty cocktail menu. It’s a well-coordinated exercise that we do in perfect unison, even after a long time away from each other. We’re like the synchronized swimmers of happy hours.
“What can I get you two?” asks a smooth voice from across the bar. We both look up to see an attractive forty-something man with a mop of dark hair, coco-brown eyes and a perfectly chiseled jawline. He’s wearing a button-down denim shirt that fits snuggly over his muscular chest and arms. I immediately give a quick glance to Liv with a hint of a smile.
Placing thick cardboard coasters in front of us, he continues. “Happy hour’s on until eight. All house wine and beer on tap are five dollars, well drinks are six. And everything on the specialty menu is two for one.”
“I love a twofer! Twofer!” I laugh too loudly while the bartender stands there waiting patiently for our orders. I catch myself awkwardly then turn to Liv. “What are you having, Liv?”
“Gin and Tonic with lime, please,” she says decisively.
Predictable, I think to myself, she always orders the same thing.
“Okay, and what’ll you have?” The bartender fixes his eyes on me, and I can feel the heat radiating off him. I run my finger down the menu, using a moment of pretend indecision to get a grip. I hope to God I’m not blushing. He is so cute. “I’ll have the Kentucky sour. Two, please! Double fister!” I say, awkwardly holding up two fists like I’m some kind of amateur boxer. He’s nice enough to smile and ignore my lame attempt at being witty, then turns to make our drinks.
Under her breath Liv hisses, “Okay, let’s tone down the weirdness a notch or twofer. You act like you haven’t seen an attractive man before. Did you just get out of lockdown in a women’s supermax?” She shakes her head in disappointment. “Bex, we need to work on your game.”
“Game! What game? I’m a single mom, I don’t have time for game. Besides, we just got here. Like, five seconds ago. What do you want me to do? A burlesque show? He’s not even my type.”
“I’m sorry, good-looking and nice isn’t your type?”
“No. Okay, well, he is good-looking and so far he does seem nice, but, Liv, come on, I know this is going to sound bad but I don’t want to date a…”
“Bartender,” we both whisper it at the same time.
I feel like shit for even saying it out loud. But, really, the late night lifestyle of a bartender just wouldn’t fit with Maddie and me.
“Which in this town means he’s probably an actor. No way,” I say with a groan.
Liv raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know that. He could be a food chemist that’s into mixology. He could be studying to be a sommelier. Hell, he could own the place.” While she rattles off these outlandish possibilities, her voice rises in pitch. “You can’t be so quick to shut things down before they even start.”
“I guess.” She does have a point. I’m always telling Maddie not to make assumptions about people before she gets to know them. I should be following my own advice, but I know where this road leads. A dead end.
The bartender places our drinks on the coasters and leans his elbows against the bar. “I haven’t seen you two here before. Are you local?” It’s the early side of happy hour and with so few customers around he’s got a little time to chitchat. Lucky me!
“Oh, I am, but I don’t get out too much. It’s been a rough…”
“I just flew in from London today. Thought I’d take this one out on the town!” She gives a conspiratorial smile to the bartender. “Not married, I see.” She gestures to his left hand. “Bex here is single too.”
Oh my God. This is so embarrassing.
“Thank you, Yente.”
“Fiddler on the Roof! I love that musical.” The bartender grabs a rag and wipes off the recently evacuated bar top to the right of me, humming what sounds like “If I Were a Rich Man.”
“Are you a singer?” I ask.
“I used to be. I auditioned for Fiddler years ago for summer stock. Met my ex-wife at that audition, actually.” He looks right through me, seemingly into his past. “Wow, strange to think of those times…Anyway, now, I’m a substitute teacher by day, bartender by night.” He takes a contemplative pause, which makes me curious for more of his story. There’s a lot going on behind those eyes.
I take a sip of my drink, intent on letting the conversation breathe for a moment. But Liv has other ideas. “Bex is divorced, too. And a musical theater geek. You guys have a lot in common!”
Subtlety isn’t really Liv’s strong suit.
“Is that so?” he says with a laugh. “Bex is it? I’m Brandon. Nice to meet you.” He extends his hand, and I give it a solid shake.
“And this is Yente. I mean, Liv,” I rib.
The moment is interrupted when Brandon is flagged down by a customer on the opposite end of the bar. “I need to get back to it.” He holds up a finger to the man, letting him know he’ll be over in a moment. “Um, I hope this doesn’t come off as strange, or overly forward considering we just met two minutes ago, but,” he pauses and looks right into my eyes, “would you be interested in getting a bite after my shift tonight? I’m off at eight.”