The Lonely Drop (2 page)

“Jenny, I can cover the bar by myself for maybe another half hour, but I need you, or I need to pull someone from upstairs before happy hour gets in full swing. I swear to God, Daniel has the number one spot on my shit list right now.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Miriam’s on her way to watch the kids. I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible.”

“This is the third weekend he’s forgotten in as many months. When you gonna sue for sole custody since you’re pretty much living it already?”

“You gonna give me a raise so I can pay my lawyer for that?” she huffs into the phone. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair. Miriam just pulled into the driveway. I’ll be there in twenty.”

She hangs up without saying goodbye.

I hand the draft off to one of Jenny’s regulars, a scrawny red-faced guy in a trucker cap. “Here you go, Jonah.” I smile at him, and he gives me a half-hearted grin, but it’s clear he’d rather be flirting with Jenny.

I pick up two beer coasters and slide them across the bar to the businessmen, rattling off my greeting and gesturing to the menu above the bar, “Welcome to The Lonely Drop, guys, what can I get—”

I break off in shock as I look up to meet the very stunned gaze of a man I never expected to see in Asheville. He’s all wrong here. He’s too shiny, too perfect. He’s too New York or London. What the hell is he doing
here?

“Nick?” A rush of emotions slides across his face too fast for me to catalog them all. Surprise, wonder, pain, but then pure, unbridled pleasure. “Oh my God, Nick Hana, it’s really you.”

“Kevin Dorsey.” After all these years, his name doesn’t hurt to say, but I flinch anyway. He takes my hand like he’s going to shake it and then pulls me into a hug from across the bar. His scent rushes over me, bringing decade-old memories along for the ride. He must still wear the same cologne, because he smells every bit as enticing as he ever did. I resist the urge to bury my face against his neck and breathe it in, remembering all too well the taste of the skin there.

“Shit, Nick, I can’t believe it’s you. Small world, man. God, you look good.” He lets me go and then lets his gaze travel up and down my body, his grin going wider as he takes in my flushed cheeks. He’s one to talk. He’d been tousled-cute at twenty-two, but with his coffee-colored hair cut short and ten years more experience behind his hazel eyes, he’s grown into his looks. He’d been cute, and I’d thought he was gorgeous then. Now? He’s devastating.

“S-so do you,” I stammer. “I— you’re in
Asheville.”

He laughs. “For a couple of days. Dad’s taking over a company here, and he sent us down to do some of the early transition stuff.”

“Your dad sends you to fire people?” I can’t help the bitterness in my voice, and his smile falters a little.

“Well, it’s part of my job. I’ll be hiring people too.” He looks around the Drop and looks back at me, confusion plain on his face. “And you’re… tending bar?”

I flush red all over, part anger, part embarrassment— and more anger because I have nothing to be embarrassed about. Some of my favorite people on the planet tend bar, and often as not, I do too.

“I own the bar. And the restaurant upstairs.” I turn to his companion, a pretentious-looking ladder-climbing type wearing too much cologne and a suit that’s cut a little too big— more like he’s got a bad tailor than like he lost weight. “Hi, Nick Hana, proprietor. I went to college with Kevin. We played soccer together.”

“I’ll have the IPA.” He glares at me, obviously annoyed I’ve interrupted his opportunity to kiss up to the boss’s son.

“Dom. This is one of my oldest friends, Nick Hana.” Kevin’s voice is cold as he repeats my introduction. The guy— Dom— snaps out of his sulk and reaches out to shake my hand. As soon as I let go, I turn to tap his beer, hoping to hide how flustered I am at seeing Kevin again.

“What for you, Kev?” I call over my shoulder.

“I’ll have the same. You brew on site?”

“We do.” I can’t help it, my chest puffs a little. I’m
proud
of this little brewpub. It’s a good place, a friendly place. I’ve worked hard to make it the kind of place where the hippies and hillbillies, businessmen and retirees all feel welcome. A good beer, a good meal, and good company. I built that. And yeah, I have an MBA and I use it to pull drafts, and I don’t care what anyone, least of all Kevin Dorsey, thinks about that.

I hand them the beers.

“We do brewery tours on the weekends. If you’re still here Saturday, you should come by.”

“We won’t be.” Kevin’s face falls a little, then brightens with one of those smiles that always devastated me. “But next time, I’ll see if I can arrange to stay longer.”

Next time.
Kevin Dorsey is going to be in Asheville again. Next time. I try to stamp down the hope unfurling in my heart. No. I don’t want Kevin in my life. I don’t need his flirtatious smiles or his friendly hugs, or the temptation when he turns to me and says something like “Stay. I want you to stay tonight.”

Ten years ago, when I was a shy, still-virgin at twenty-two, it was hard enough to say no to him when he said those words, a warm, turned-on gleam in his eyes. I deserved better than to be a notch in Kevin’s bedpost then, and I still do. Ten years later, with a few serious relationships behind me, I’m more convinced than ever that sex is best when it’s about love.

No, I don’t need a
next time
with Kevin Dorsey.

I notice the heavy plastic coaster next to Dom. “You guys are eating upstairs?”

“Yeah. The girl working the desk at the Haywood Inn recommended it. Small world you would own the one restaurant she gushed about.”

I make a mental note to send Tammy lunch sometime next week. “Well, the lasagna is my mom’s recipe. I remember you liked that, back then.”

The coaster starts blinking and vibrating. Kevin reaches for his wallet, but I wave him off.

“On me tonight. It was nice to see you.”

“Listen, Nick, I’d love to catch up later. How late are you working tonight?”

“I’ll be here until after we close. At midnight.”

He frowns. “Okay, listen, I’ll come downstairs after dinner and leave my cell number. I just… man, it’s good to see you.” The frown turns into one of those brilliant smiles, and it hits me right in the gut. I find myself smiling back. Apparently, any willpower I had around Kevin Dorsey was used up in one fell swoop ten years ago.

“I’d like that.”

****

Three hours later, Kevin returns to the bar, sans Dom. Jenny and I are moving in practiced tandem behind the bar. She sings along with the music coming over the speakers and tosses her cocktail shaker like she’s the second coming of Tom Cruise in that eighties movie. The mood is light when she taps me on the shoulder and says, “There’s a hottie standing by the bar with his phone number on a napkin. Nice suit, too, he’s probably loaded.” She whispers, “You lucky shit.”

I roll my eyes at her. Jenny’s obsession with rags-to-riches romance novels is legendary. The only thing she’d like more than to believe I was living one would be to be living one herself. “It’s just Kevin,” I tell her. “Old soccer buddy.”

But when I turn and see him there, hands in his pockets and that warm smile on his full lips, I feel like I should be growing Pinocchio’s nose. There’s no such thing as “just Kevin.”

Jenny snorts and pats my shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

“Where’s your colleague?” I ask, placing a coaster in front of him.

“He went back to the hotel, thank God. He’s an insufferable little shit. I can’t begin to tell you how pissed off he was when he realized there was no filet on the menu.” Kevin chuckles, then mimics his smarmy coworker. “Why would you waste a perfectly good per diem on rabbit food?”

I laugh; I can picture it perfectly.

“The meal was outstanding, by the way. I had your mom’s lasagna. It’s even better than I remember.”

“Thanks. I added nutmeg. She’s probably cursing me out for it from beyond the grave.”

His face falls. “Oh shit, Nick.”

A lump forms in my throat. Of course, he didn’t know. It’s not like he’d have seen her obituary in the small hometown paper where it ran. I don’t like to visit the raw place inside where I still grieve for her. An only child to a single parent, I’m unmoored now, family-less, and there are no words adequate. The tightness I feel in my chest, it’s more than loneliness, it’s the isolation at the end of a family line.

“It’s been a few years.” I say the words as though they’ll protect me from my own grief, the way time sometimes does.

“I didn’t know. I would have…” he trails off and looks down at his shoes. “I don’t know what. I would have come to the funeral. I’m so sorry, man.”

“Thanks, that’s very kind of you to say.”

“Hey, I know we drifted apart after college, but I thought…”

I hold up a hand. “It’s been ten years, life happened in the meantime.”

“I wish I’d known it was happening to you.” He offers another smile. “So, want to tell me more about it?”

“About Mom? No offense, Kev, but I really don’t want—”

“About your life. You have this place. You’re living in North Carolina. I want to know more.”

I pull an IPA for him and set it on the coaster. I pull one for myself and go around the bar to join him. “After Amherst, I got my MBA, same as you. Then Mom started getting sick right about the time I finished school. I had some offers in Boston, but I moved home to Vermont to help take care of her. She was in hospice by the end of that year. After she passed away, I married her nurse. A few months later, I realized I had been insane with grief, and we divorced, amicably. I fled to North Carolina and bought this place. Turned it into a vegetarian brew pub, and here we are.”

He stares at me, jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. You got married?”

I manage not to crack a smile, shrugging instead, but the longer he stares, the harder it is to maintain my nonchalance. My lips start to quiver. Before I know it, I’m doubled over laughing, and he’s scowling at me.

“You are so full of shit, Nick.”

But now he’s laughing too.

“I did
not
get married. I just threw that in there to see what you would say. I needed to get out of New England, though, so I wrote a business plan and came here.”

“Your mom—” He tries to make a disapproving face.

“Would be laughing just as hard as I am at the expression on your face when I said I got married.”

“Yeah, she would.” He raises his glass. “To Mama Hana. Thanks for teaching me about pot and falafel. The world is better because you were in it.”

We drink to my mom’s memory, smiling at each other over our pints.

“How about you?” I ask. “You ever settle down?”

A flash of something raw scuttles across his face before his carefully cultivated, good-natured mask returns. “No. I’m not the settling type. I shot for the moon once, but that crash was pretty hard.”

“Still too pretty for monogamy.” I roll my eyes at him. “Why am I not surprised?”

“It is what it is,” he deadpans. Then he drains the rest of his pint in one swallow. “Listen, I have an early meeting tomorrow.” He grimaces, probably remembering my comment earlier about him firing people. “I’m going to go. Here’s my number.” He hands me the napkin. “And, you know, if you aren’t doing anything after you leave here, text me. I’m staying at the Haywood Inn, room 311. I wouldn’t mind your company while I’m here. I’ll be here until Thursday.” He offers a sly smile, puts a hand on my thigh, and leans close. “I’ve missed you, Nick. I’m glad I got a chance to see you. ”

He gives my thigh a squeeze, brushes a kiss across my cheek, stands, and drops a few bills on the bar. “Call me if you want. Even if it’s after I go back to New York and it’s not for anything more than to say hey. Don’t be a stranger.”

“Kev…” I don’t even know what to say to that. Did he just proposition me? And then back track?

“Don’t over think it, Nick.” He smiles again. “And don’t lose my number, okay?”

I look down at the napkin in my hand, suddenly remembering the humiliation that led me to toss a similar scrap of paper in the garbage ten years earlier. “Right. Um, about what you said about company? Are you talking about catching up on old times or…?”

“I’m talking about whatever you want.”

“I’m not going to have sex with you.”

He flinches. “My friendship has never been contingent on whether or not we had sex. I’m sorry if I ever gave you that impression. Call me, don’t, it’s up to you. Like I said, I’m here until Thursday.”

He flashes me one more smile, but this one doesn’t seem to have any heart behind it. Then, he walks out of my bar.

I tuck the napkin into my pocket and return to my work, wondering how he’s the one who propositioned me and I’m the one who feels like an ass.

****

Yeah, I’m a chickenshit.

I don’t call him. I don’t even copy the number into my phone. I almost throw it away. Twice. The second time, it actually makes it into the garbage can in my little office at the back of the restaurant, but I dig it out and stick it in the safe instead. Out of sight, out of mind, but if I really want it, I know where to find it. Done.

I have a moment of weakness Wednesday night. The Drop is only a ten-minute walk from my house on Montford. I stand on my porch for twenty minutes watching daylight leach from the sky, until it’s too dark to walk. I would feel silly driving over there to get his phone number. I fish my phone out of my pocket and dial the bar.

“Lonely Drop!” Jenny answers. I can hear bar noise in the background, laughter and music and clinking glassware.

“Hey, Jenny. How’s everything going?”

“Hey, Nick! Everything’s fine, baby. Crazy busy. You don’t usually call in on your night off, what’s up?”

“Nothing. I thought I left something in my office. Was going to ask you to get it for me. But it’s not urgent, and you’re busy, so no worries.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, go serve some beer.”

“’Night, boss.”

Thursday comes and goes, and on Friday morning, the regret hits me hard. He’s gone, and I’ve missed any chance I had at making a real reconnection with him.

I used to think I got nostalgic over my college years because everyone does, but honestly? I get nostalgic about Kevin more. I miss him. I miss the soccer games, and how he always knew exactly where I’d be on the field for a pass, like he had some sort of Nick-radar. I miss the post-game celebrations and how he’d pull me into his sweaty body for a hug. I miss bringing him to Vermont with me for the holidays because he loved my mom and she fussed over him the way his own mom never seemed to.