Page 111 of Wrecked

“Thirty-five years, I’ve had this place. If you’d told me then that we’d be lighting the bar on fire and playing Britney Spears, I would have told you, Over my dead body.”

I let go of the doorframe and step further into the room. “Technically, Brit-Brit wasn’t around then, so you never would have said that.”

He laughs through his nose. “Smart-ass. Debbie Gibson. Is that better?”

“Much. Now, what’s this about? You’re not changing your mind, are you?”

One cheek rises up, showing off a dimple. “You see that there?” He points to the monitor. “That’s a successful business idea. This was a cowboy bar. A cowboy bar in the southeast corner of Ohio. What was I thinking? It was crazy then, but I kept it alive. I had a good run. Until I didn’t.”

He looks around at the pictures on the wall. It’s covered in photos of years of good times had in the bar. He had darker hair back then. Always a mustache. He was bit thinner, too, but I’d never mention that. The guy is still looking good for sixty-five.

Some of the more recent photos have me in them. I look up at one in particular. It’s Paulie and me behind the bar. We’re practicing our bottle-juggling moves from the movie Cocktail.

“When you interviewed to work here, I thought you’d last a few months. Man, did you surprise me. I never had a barback who worked as hard as you. You cleaned, and you restocked. You were here early and stayed late. You worked on through the summer.

“I thought, Eh, this kid just wants to get a few bucks. She’ll be gone in the fall.

“You stayed, and I’ll be honest. I was upset when you dropped out of community college. I told you that then, and I’ll say it again. It was a mistake. You’re too smart.”

This conversation is not going in the direction I thought it would go. My high from the Fire and Ice is drifting to a dismal smoke.

“Do you know why I’m selling the bar to you?” he asks. “Because you’re so smart.”

The compliment totally goes to my head because I laugh out of embarrassment. “I’m not that smart.”

“Leah, you’ve turned around a has-been country-themed bar that’s been in the same neighborhood for thirty-five years and breathed new life into it. You pack it every weekend. One of our best nights is Mondays. Do you know how hard that is?”

“Is that why you let me throw all these themed nights?”

“You’re getting a little carried away, but you’re finding yourself. What kind of bar is McConaughey’s going to be? With all the wild antics, what are you going to keep?”

“Well, the cowboy decor is going, especially the bull. I’m sorry.”

“I only kept it for you. Was happy to see you break that record. What else?”

“I’ll keep a few cowboy elements, like the Stetson. It works with the McConaughey essence and brings history to the place.

“The wrecking ball is never making an appearance again. That was a bust. Fire and Ice Night is a keeper. I might make it a weekly thing. I showed you my plans for the lounge. I want to have that where the bull is, overlooking the dance floor. I’m going to add a sound system. Nothing crazy, but I want to kick up the music a little bit.”

“That’s good. I’m proud of you, kid. You’re gonna be amazing.”

“Thank you for believing in me.”

“You’re hard not to believe in. Why else would I hand my prized possession over to a twenty-three-year-old kid who’s wearing a onesie?”

I look down at the red unitard I’m sporting tonight.

“Now, get back out there, and set this place on fire.”

I rush up and give him a huge hug.

“Thank you,” I say again. This time, it’s for more than selling me the bar; it’s for being my friend.

I get the rum that I originally set out for and bring it to the bar. Suzanne is now in the back of the bar with Rory, sucking face, as they did the first night they hooked up. I grab my phone and look at the series of texts from Adam. I missed a bunch.

I hope you were kidding or else I’ll have to kick someone’s ass. And, by someone, I mean, Matthew McConaughey. How long do you think the drive to Austin, Texas, is?

Looks like you’re working hard. Drive ’em crazy.