Page 32 of Tanner

The place is well lit and accentuated with old photos of Harlem from the 1960s. I’m settling on a picture of a man playing a trumpet on a street corner when the bartender approaches.

“What can I get you?” he asks as he wipes down the counter with a rag. It’s such a bartender thing to do; it makes me smile.

“A pinot noir, please.”

“Coming right up,” he says as he walks over to the other end of the bar and grabs a bottle and a glass. He sets the glass in front of me and starts to pour. “Starting a tab?”

“No. Just the glass, and I’ll be on my way.”

“Long day at the office?” he asks.

“Kind of.” I raise my glass in salute and take a drink. I pull out my iPhone and check my e-mail. I don’t have any, so I start perusing through the news sites to catch up on the current events.

“That’s what’s wrong with society today.”

The bartender’s voice has me looking up from my phone and around the room. There’s no one near me, just a few couples in booths along the wall.

“Are you talking to me?” I ask, confused.

“When I opened this place, people used to sit at the bar and bullshit for hours. You’d have guys trying to recall events of the past and women talking about movies and music. If you didn’t know the answer to something, you kept talking, pulling the answer out of your brain with conversation. Now, everyone just sits here on their phones.”

I nod at his point. “If I don’t know the answer to something, I just Google it,” I say.

“Exactly,” he grunts. “A pretty girl like you should be sitting here with a smile on her face, not frowning at the phone. I can call you pretty, right? I don’t know with all these new rules.”

I put him at ease. “You can call me pretty. And you’re right. These things”—I hold my phone in the air—“have dramatically changed the art of conversation.”

He places a bowl of mixed nuts in front of me. “But don’t let an old man like me discourage you. You go back to your world and enjoy the night.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind the conversation actually. I’ve been in my own head all day.”

He lays his hands on the bar and widens them as he looks back at me. “You came to the right place.”

I stifle a giggle. “Is this where I tell you my life story and you try to fix me?”

“Hell no. I’m a bartender, not a shrink. You want a dirty joke?”

I shake my head with a laugh. “No, thank you.”

“I’ll take that joke, Paul,” a man’s voice says from behind me.

His deep vibrato has my heart beating wildly and my palms sweaty.

I’ve always been a believer in things happening for a reason, so as I see Tanner Sexton take his leather coat off and sling it over the back of his barstool, I try not to lose my cool. Especially as he turns to me with those deep blue eyes and winks.

Paul throws the rag over his shoulder. “A guy walks into a bar, holding a cat. He sits down on a stool and places the cat on the bar. He orders a beer and a can of tuna. Before he even takes a sip, the cat has already devoured the tuna.”

I glance over at Tanner and admire his profile. His hair is pulled back into a tight bun, keeping his face on display, showcasing his high cheekbones and strong nose. I run a finger down my own, wondering if it’s as straight. His jaw is lined with scruff. It’s manicured and manly.

“The bartender says, ‘What’s up with the cat?’

“The guy explains, ‘A while ago, I was walking along the Hudson River when I saw a mermaid drowning. I rescued her, and as thanks, she granted me three wishes. My first wish was for a mansion. Now, I have an estate in the Hamptons with servants and tennis courts. I have more rooms than I know what to do with! My second wish was to be ridiculously wealthy, and so I have a bank account with more money than I can spend.’”

Tanner catches me staring at him, so I focus my attention back on Paul and his joke.

Paul continues, “‘Wow,’ the bartender says. ‘But how does that explain the cat?’

“‘Well,’ the guy sighs. ‘For my third wish, I asked for an insatiable pussy, but I think she misunderstood.’”