It’s an even tighter fit than usual. This has become the dumping ground for anything we especially don’t want to get covered in dust or paint. All our cheesy Taverne Toulouse slogan posters are leaned up against the wall, and my ‘Please Don’t Do Coke In the Bathroom’ sign has found a temporary home hung above my desk.
Part of the renovation plan includes turning this closet back into an actual closet. All the storage strategies I’ve been daydreaming about for years are finally coming to life. We’re going to have room for a real—albeit tiny—office.
Zach and Dylan are practically sitting in each other’s laps as they face me. I bite back a laugh; we have serious business shit to discuss.
“It’s occurred to me that I cannot both own and manage this bar.”
The two of them share a look.
“Okay,” I admit, reading their expressions. “It’s occurred to me that I cannotreasonablyboth own and manage this bar, even though we all know I’m likely to try.”
Dylan laughs. “That’s more like it.”
“I want this place to be the best it can be, and you two have more than shown that you’re ready to step up to the plate. I know it’s not typical for a place this small, but I was thinking we could have one front of house manager and one for the back—”
“You’re asking us to be managers?” Dylan interrupts, staring at me like I’ve just told him I want a kitten to run the place.
“Well, yes, that was the intention. Do you not...want to?”
“Want to? Of course I want to! This place is like my second home, but...I mean it’s one thing to make me a cook, but amanager? You know about my...my past, and—”
“And it’s never affected your work before now. Do you think that’s likely to change?”
He shakes his head, a fierceness coming into his eyes. “Never. I’m never going back. I just don’t want people to think less of you or your business.”
“If anyone thinks less of me for making you a manager, Dylan, then quite frankly, they can take their opinion and shove it up their ass.”
He grins at me. “You know I’m gonna quote you on that.”
“I’m counting on it.” I smile back at him. “Can I count on you?”
“Abso-fucking-lutely. What do you need me to sign?”
He grabs a pen off my desk and brandishes it like a sword he’s ready to stab through any contract I throw at him. I applaud his enthusiasm and then turn to Zach, who’s been keeping quiet.
“What about you, Zach? I’ll even throw in a fancy plated name tag if you want.”
He indulges me with a laugh. “It means a lot that you’re asking, Monroe, and I wish I could say yes, but I’ve actually been meaning to tell you that once we open up again, I’d like to go down to part time—if you’ll still have me as an employee, that is. Is it weird if I’m a bartender and an investor too?”
“Kind of,” I admit, “but do you really think I would fire you, Zach?”
He strokes his farmer beard. “I don’t know. You’re kind of on the warpath these days. I wouldn’t want to get in your way.”
“Yeah, you were a BAMF before, but now you’re like a badass BAMF,” Dylan adds.
“The ‘BA’ stands for badass,” I remind him. “That’s redundant.”
“And she’s still a stickler for grammar,” Zach teases.
“Why part time?” I question him. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“Like I said before, my ecommerce stuff is picking up, and I want to devote more time to it, but I’d miss this place too much if I quit completely.”
‘This place,’ my ass. I’ve got a suspicion it’s more than just ‘this place’ he’s staying for.
“I can’t lose one of my best closers,” I assure him. “So I guess that makes you the sole candidate for manager, Dylan.”
After I’ve shooed them both out of my office, I put in another couple hours at the desk before my designer shows up and we head off to do a brainstorming session over coffee. Orchestrating a huge renovation project is a far cry from chasing drunks out after last call. I spend most days convinced everyone can tell I’m in way over my head, but I’m learning more by the day, and I think I’ve got a shot at landing this freefall on my feet.
