Speakeasy (True North #5)(40)

“So they have to start with a really bland brew in the first place. And the boiling kills off the natural carbonation, too, so they have to recarbonate in the bottle, or keg it.”

“I get it.” I make a mental note to search for a better NA beer for my bar. Maybe Chelsea knows one I could carry. I don’t want to serve any shitty beer at the Gin Mill if I can help it.

Well, except for a couple of national crap beers that I have to stock in bottles. Because there’s no accounting for taste.

Griffin goes on. “There are a couple of ways to fix the problem. You can use a vacuum chamber to reduce the air pressure. Then the alcohol will boil off—”

“—at a lower temperature,” I finish. “It’s like trying to make pasta in the High Sierras.”

“Exactly.” He grins. “There’s a couple other methods to try. You could start with a strain of yeast that produces very little alcohol, leaving you with less to remove later.”

“Or both,” I say slowly. But it must not be easy, or else Corker’s wouldn’t be for sale at a fine Vermont brewhouse.

I make ten more drinks while Griff continues the lecture, wherein he uses words like “vacuum distillation” and “arrested fermentation.” And now I think I know more about brewing non-alcoholic beer than ninety-nine percent of the population.

May gives me an apologetic smile, but Griff isn’t annoying me. Not today, anyway. I wish they’d come in here every night so I could see her pretty face. The length of her hair trails down over one shoulder and I have the world’s briefest fantasy about wrapping it around my hand while we’re shaking my headboard.

Goals.

“So, do you guys want to hear a joke?” I ask them. I’m about to follow up Griffin’s chemistry sermon with a bar joke. But we all have our special skills.

“Of course,” May says.

“Okay. A mushroom walked into a bar…”

“Hey, Alec,” Becky interrupts, hefting the full tray of drinks I’ve just loaded for her. “I picked this song just for you.”

Then I hear “Black Velvet” by Alannah Myles coming through the speakers.

“Oh man,” Smitty says, shaking his head. “Here we go.”

“Black Velvet” is a little game I have with Becky. She about peed herself the first time I lip-synched to this song. Now she puts it on whenever a customer has been rude to her, and she needs a pick-me-up.

And, hey, I can’t disappoint my favorite waitress. “Sorry, kids. The joke will have to wait.” I pick up an empty beer bottle for a microphone, and I begin to sashay down the bar to the slow, sexy beat. I hear May’s giggle, but I can’t look at her because I’ll laugh and ruin it. I know the lyrics by heart. I sing the first line into the bottle with all I’ve got.

Or I pretend to, anyway. Why own a bar if you can’t have a little fun at work?

As the song crescendos, I wail “Black Velvet” into an empty bottle. Lots of my patrons are watching, especially the women. And half a room away, Becky is doubled over, but not before the tray of drinks makes it safely onto a table.

A man has to keep up employee morale.

Griffin looks vaguely nauseated by my little performance, and somehow that makes it more fun. “Another one?” I ask him after the fadeout.

“No thanks, man,” he says. “I’ll finish this one and go meet my girl.”

“Suit yourself.” Lorde’s “Royals” is the next song to come through the speakers. Becky’s in a take-no-prisoners mood tonight.

I wander into the stock room for a second and pull out my phone. I fire off a text to May. Come home with me later.

After I swap out the Guinness keg, there’s already a response. Don’t know if I can sneak away after the movie.

What? Separate cars, right? Tell ‘em you need to stop for gas or at the 24 hour drugstore. Boom. Done. As in—you’re done by me.

I stuff the phone in my pocket and walk back to the taps. May is bent over her phone, and Griffin gives her an impatient nudge. “What are you doing? Let me guess…Selena again.”

May looks up, her expression guilty. “Sorry.”

“When are we going to meet this girl, anyway?”

“Never,” May says, tucking her phone back into her bag.

“Why not?” Griffin drains his beer.

“Because you’re too curious. I don’t want you judging me.”

“I wouldn’t,” he says, pulling out his wallet. “I’d be judging her.”

This hits me right in the funnies, and I can’t help but laugh. Loudly. At least he knows he’s an arrogant prick.

May can’t even look at me. I know she’s conflicted about lying to her family. But that wasn’t my idea, so I don’t feel obligated to stress over it.

Griff offers me his credit card, and I wave it off. “No charge.”

“Nah, man, it’s cool,” Griff says, setting the card on the bar. Both Shipleys are looking up at me like maybe I’ve taken leave of my senses.

“I don’t see you guys often enough,” I insist. “And now I know all about the challenges of non-alcoholic beer manufacture.” I slide the card back toward him. “Have fun tonight.”

They disappear a minute later.