Champagne Toast (29 page)

“
You
’
re protecting yourself.  Deep down you
’
re hoping he
’
ll walk through those doors, aren
’
t you?
”

“
Yes,
”
I breathe.
“
What the hell is wrong with me?  It
’
s been two years!
”

“
It
’
s time for you to start dating again, my dear.  Guys are constantly hitting on you.  Just go out with one of them and get your feet wet.
Relax and live a little.  Stop sitting here, waiting for him to come back.
”

“
But, he
’
s the only one I want,
”
I insist.

“
Because you don
’
t know any different.  You
’
re stuck, stuck here doing the same thing you did when you were with him,
”
Bree says snidely.

“
Excuse me?  You
’
ve been working here longer than I have!
”
I snap at her defensively.

“
You
’
re right, you
’
re right.  But, I ditched Jon a long time ago, and I moved on with someone else.  And now I
’
m happy.  You
’
re not happy
at all
and you know it.
”

“
So, what do I do?
”
I ask, my defenses lowering.
“
I don
’
t want to feel like this, Bree. I don
’
t want to think about him every goddamn day.  I
’
ve wasted hundreds of days thinking about him.
”

“
Tonight, if someone flirts with you, flirt back.  If they give you their number, take it and then
use
it.  Go on a date or two or three.  Do what Evan
’
s doing. 
Move on
.” 

Those last two words make my stomach churn.  Th
e thought of Evan moving on, falling in love,
getting married make me ill.  Instinctively, my attention falls on my empty finger; I twist the skin missing the sapphire ring that used to sit there.  The biggest mistake I ever made was taking that ring off.

“
I
’
ll try, but I won
’
t promise anything.  I
’
m not going to date some loser just to get over him.  I
’
m not that desperate.
”

“
Whatever, I
’
m not saying you should shack up with the next drunk ass frat guy who walks through the door.  I just want you to open yourself up a little.  Try to imagine a future with someone, anyone, besides Evan.
”

“
Fine, we
’
ll see.
”

***

Three hours later, the bar is packed and just as Bree predicted, men are paying attention to me.  I
’
m not shocked.  I
’
ve been working here for years and I
’
ve had my share of intoxicated men showering me with compliments and pick-up lines.  I guess I
’
m just immune to it.  But tonight, I
’
m coming to terms with opening myself up to the possibility of meeting someone.  That someone might be here in this bar tonight, someone worth spending time with, someone who might help me forget about him.

As I
’
m taking drink orders, I notice a man with sandy brown hair at the far end of the bar, typing on a laptop.  He
’
s handsome with small tortoise shell glasses, wearing a button down shirt with a t-shirt underneath.
He looks up from his laptop and we make eye conta
ct.  When I notice the t-shirt ha
s a picture of The New Kids on the Block, I laugh to myself.  He looks down at his shirt and shrugs his shoulders, smiling at me.  I let myself smile back as I finish pouring two pints of beer.  Just as I
’
m giving change to my customer, I see t-shirt guy has made his way down to this side of the bar.

“
Hey there,
”
t-shirt guy says through a grin.  His hair is a little spiky in front, which reminds me a little of Evan.  But, his pale skin and freckles are attractive and different.

“
What can I get ya?
”

“
What do you have on tap?
”
he asks, looking at the beer dispensers behind the bar.

“
Everything we have is listed on the board,
”
I say, gesturing to the chalkboard above the bar listing all of our beer on tap.

“
Oh, sorry, this is my first time here,
”
he says, looking up a the board.
“
I
’
ll have a Sam Adams, please.
”

“
You got it,
”
I reply, lifting a glass and filling it with amber liquid.
“
Laptop in a bar, huh?
”
  T-shirt guy grins, looking down at his Mac.

“
I
’
m a writer.  Sometimes I like to people watch a little bit.  It gets me inspired, I guess.
”

“
Interesting,
”
I say, getting a closer look at his clothes.
“
Nice t-shirt.  Most guys wouldn
’
t be so bold as to wear that
.” 

“
I
’
m comfortable in my heterosexuality,
”
he grins, sipping his beer.

“
NKOTB, huh?
”
I ask, t
rying hard to suppress my smile.
“
Boy band from the 90s.  Who was your favorite guy?
”

“
Haha, don
’
t know that I had a
‘
favorite
’
.  They were all pretty cool.
”

“
So you actually listened to them?
”

“
The New Kids?  Are you kidding?  My older sisters were obsessed.  They wore jean jackets with New Kids buttons, we had VHS tapes of their concerts and Teen Beat posters
hanging
everywhere.  My parents were very tolerant.
”

“
Wow,
” is all I can think to say.
“S
o, I can see you
’
re still a fan.
”

“
My sisters gave this to me last Christmas as a joke.  It
’
s comfortable, so I wear it.  Whatever,
” he
says.
“
My name
’
s Jason.  Jason Kelly.
”

“
Nice to meet you, Jason Kelly.  I
’
m Kate.
”

“
That
’
s a beautiful name,
”
he says before taking another swig of his beer.  Normally, I
’
d say something sarcastic and tell the guy to leave me the hell alone, but I
’
m trying to follow Bree
’
s advice.

“
Thank you,
”
I say.
“
So you
’
re a writer.  What are you working on?
”

“
It
’
s a suspense novel, and it
’
s a royal pain in my ass.  I
’
ve been trying to finish this chapter for a week now.
”

“
Wow, must be a long chapter,
”
I reply.

“
No, not really.  I
’
m just a really slow writer.  Usually I write in the coffee house down the block, but tonight I wanted to hone in on a few shady characters in the story, and I thought a bar would be a good place to find some to observe.  You know, for inspiration,
”
he says polishing off his beer.

“
Can I get you another?
”
I ask, pointing to his empty glass.

“
Yeah, that
’
d be great,
” h
e says, closing the laptop and resting his elbows on the bar. He twiddles his thumbs round and round as he watches me pour his second drink.  His intent stare makes me a little uneasy, but in a good way.  T-shirt guy may be worth considering.  I haven
’
t thought about Evan for the last few minutes.  Until now that is.  Damn him.

“
So, are you a full-time writer?
”

“
Someday, I hope.  But, right now I
’
m
also
waiting tables at The Cheesecake Factory downtown.  Glamorous, I know.
”

“
Nothing wrong with being in the service industry,
”
I reply, pointing to myself.  He laughs in response.

“
So, what about you, Kate?  Is bartending your passion?
”

“
Hardly,
”
I say, shaking my head in disgust.

“
Tell me, what makes you tick?
”

“
Photography,
”
I say tentatively.

“
Awesome,
” he says, wide-eyed.
“
Would I have seen any of your work?  Like in a magazine or something?
”

“
Would I have seen any of
your
books at the bookstore?
”
I counter, defensively.

“
Whoa,
”
he says, raising his arms in a pose that says
‘
I surrender
’
.

“
Sorry, it
’
s a little bit of a sore topic for me
.” 
Pursing my lips, I feel guilty for reacting so strongly.

“
Okay, I get it.  Well, to be honest, no
,
you wouldn
’
t see any of my books at the bookstore, but you
can
buy them.  Online, that is.  I self-publish.
”

“
Oh wow, I
’
ve never heard of that.  Do you like it?
”

“
I actually love it,
”
he grins.

“
That
’
s great,
”
I say sincerely,
“
you
’
re making your own rules.
”

“
Absolutely, I mean I could send queries for a year, hound agents and beg them to represent me or I can market myself and sell books my own way.  And I
’
m lucky because it
’
s working.
”

“
So, how many have you written?
”
I ask, leaning up against the bar.  Feeling a kinship with a fellow artist.  The fact that he
’
s doing things his own way is actually motivating for me.  Maybe there
’
s a way that I can make my own rules when it comes to my photos.

“
This is my third novel, and it
’
s really the hardest one.  I thought it
’
d get easier and easier, but it doesn
’
t.  I
’
m learning that
,”
Jason
pauses, looking me up and down.
“
Okay, so I want to ask you another question about yourself, but I
’
m afraid you
’
re going to bite my head off again
.”
His audacity makes me laugh.