Speakeasy (True North #5)(16)

“But did you read it?”

Zara rolls her eyes. “Sweetie, I’ve spent far more time behind a bar than you have. I could run your bar with one hand tied behind my back.” She demonstrates by tucking one hand behind her body and grinning at me. “I could probably do it with two hands tied behind my back, but pouring drinks with my boobs sounds clumsy. Good for tips, though.”

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Nah. The truth hurts, Alec.”

Okay, sure. I’m having a little trouble handing over the reins to my crazy little sister. The whole family is stunned that Zara grew up to be a competent adult and a great mom.

Not that I’m willing to say that out loud. I value my balls too much.

And I hate admitting that Zara is right. She might actually be a better bartender than I am. Worse—she might be a better businessperson than I am. Her coffee shop is doing great, while I’m still struggling.

Success has never come easily to me. I was the kid who struggled in school—the one who did the homework but still got Cs. “Not the sharpest blade on the tiller,” Uncle Otto used to say about me.

Nobody ever said that I was smart. They only said that I threw the best parties. That’s why owning my own business is such a gas. The Gin Mill is the first thing I ever did in my life that has a fighting chance.

Right after high school I tried the navy. But the Rossi family doesn’t fare all that well in the military. I lasted less than two years before they discharged me for medical reasons. A bone spur in my shoulder made me unfit for duty. And after I had the surgery to fix it, they’d already processed me out.

Following that, I went to work for a friend’s snowboarding tour company. It went bankrupt. Then I got a job as a manager at a ski area that—wait for it—went out of business.

I’ve always lived cheaply, though. So I’d saved up some cash by the time this old mill went to auction. The price was low because it stood vacant for years after Hurricane Irene flooded the ground floor. I rebuilt parts of the interior with my own two hands. And when I needed capital, I sold an upstairs apartment to my brother Benito.

Benito is the one I originally asked to work tonight, because his commute is just a flight of stairs. But Ben said he’d rather hang out with my niece than pour drinks. So now Zara is tending bar for the first time since I bought the place.

“I want a bonus for doing this favor,” she says, pointing at the beer taps. “How about a four-pack of Heady Topper? For Dave’s visit next week.”

My impulse is to say no, just out of stubbornness. “Fine.” I sigh. “Just don’t get caught carrying it out.” The law does not allow me to sell beer for takeout.

“You take me for an amateur?” Zara scoffs. “What did we just discuss?” She turns to me and begins to shadow box.

“Easy, killer.” I grab Zara’s fists and kiss her forehead. “You’ll get your bribe. Although it’s not easy keeping that particular beer in stock.”

“Stop.” She gives me a little shove. “I don’t want to hear about your whoring ways.”

We both laugh, because all good jokes are based in the truth. The reason my bar never runs out of the sought-after craft brews is because the daughter of the beer distributor thinks I’m good in bed.

Although. We had a mix-up the night I had to help May move out of Daniela’s house. I went to dinner at the Shipleys and forgot all about poor Chelsea. One of these nights I’ll make it up to her.

Not tonight, though.

“Where are you going tonight, anyway?” Zara asks, adding a lime wedge to her beverage. “Hot date?”

“Nope. I’m actually going to a law school function with May Shipley.”

Zara blinks. “Wait, really? You? Mr. Party Boy visits the legal scholars?”

“Hey,” I complain. “I clean up nice. Don’t you think?” I run my hands down my button-down shirt, which I’m wearing over black trousers. I’m presentable. Though Zara is right—I’m not known for being formal. Or serious. You can take the guy out of the bar, but you can’t take the bar out of the guy.

“You look fine. But you and May Shipley? What’s that about? You don’t like the Shipleys. At all.”

“May’s all right. I was checking up on her, and she had this thing she didn’t want to go to alone.”

“She’s having a hard time,” Zara says as she cuts up lemon wedges, which she does twice as fast as I do. “This breakup is crappy luck. And her best friend is getting married.” Zara shakes her head. “That girl can’t catch a break. Treat her nicely, okay? She’s fragile.”

“First of all, May isn’t as fragile as you think.”

Zara lifts an eyebrow. “You know this how?”

“Well… It’s just a feeling I get about her.” The way she fought back when her ex’s hookup was mean. That took guts. There’s just something steely about May that makes my heart go pitter-patter. “She seems solid,” I say carefully.

Zara’s eyes narrow. “You cannot bang her.”

That’s when Smitty decides to grace us with his presence, stepping out from the back room. “Who’s banging who?” he asks, tying on an apron.

“Alec is absolutely not getting May Shipley naked,” my sister says.