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“It’s brew day,” he says, taking a huge breath and holding it before letting it out again.

“Is that what that smell is?” I ask. But I know what beer smells like, mid process. Barley has a distinct wet cornflake smell.

“Hello, hello,” a bartender who doesn’t look old enough to be serving beer greets us as we approach the only open stools at the bar. Again, fuck these stools. “Whatcha drinkin’?” he asks as he frisbees two coasters in front of us.

Tuck sucks a breath through his teeth before answering. “I’m going to go with the West Coast,” he says, referring to one of the many, many IPAs.

“Great choice,” he says before turning to me. “What about you, boss? What’s your poison?”

“Whiskey,” I state, and the guy chuckles a little too heartily.

“Me and you both, brother. Me and you both.”

Tuck shakes his head.

“I’ll take the stout,” I say because it’s the only thing on the board that I doubt you can see through. I think I got my hopes up when Tuck said ‘drink’ and assumed I’d be enjoying an Old Fashioned by now. This will have to do.

After he sets our beers down in front of us, Tuck picks his up, clinks it to mine and says, “To a well-deserved day off.”

I respond with a noncommittal “Mm,” before taking a sip. It’s rich, thick and tastes like burnt drip coffee and the tail end of a cigarette.

“This is great, isn’t it?” he asks on an exhale as he sets his glass down. It’s already a quarter of the way gone. “Aren’t you glad we did this?”

“I mean, I’d rather be at a normal bar and not in the middle of a clusterfuck of people, but–”

“Oh come on,” Tuck interrupts. “You need to get out more. Enjoy life a little more. Not everything that matters is placed neatly on the shelves of your high-rise office. There’s more to the world. More to life.”

But as hard as he’s trying, he’s not going to be able to convince me that doing this is better than going to a quiet pub or even just sitting at home sipping a drink in solitude.

“You’re going to have to ease up eventually, you know that?” he asks.

“We have different ideas of what that looks like, that’s all,” I say, and he is about to say something else when we are interrupted. My name is being called from across the brewery, and we both turn sharply in the direction of the voice because it’s not coming from an adult.

“Ash! Mommy, look! It’s Mr. Ash! Your boss!”

Jamie is bolting towards me from the line of people waiting for beers, and Natalie looks flustered. They’re next in line, and she’s looking back and forth between me and Jamie and the bartender.

“Jamie!” she calls out, but Jamie couldn’t care less. He’s running full speed ahead towards me. When he reaches me, he comes to a screeching halt, his eyes wild and his grin huge.

“It’s okay, Mommy, I’m going to hang out with Mr. Ash ‘til you get your beer,” Jamie says very matter-of-factly. Natalie still looks worried.

I hop off my stool, nod at her, and give her a thumbs-up before she turns back to the bartender.

“What are you doing here?” Jamie asks. “Are you here for the festival?”

“I–”

“I got my face painted,” he rattles off before I can get a word in edge-wise. “Do you like it? It’s a snake. Mommy says snakes are gross, but I think they’re cool. Do you think they’re gross or cool?”

“Totally cool,” I lie. I fucking hate snakes. I can feel Tuck’s eyes on me and I know he’s got a smirk on that smug mug of his.

“Yeah. Totally cool,” Jamie echoes. “Who are you? Is this your friend?” he asks, and Tuck waves.

“This is my friend Tuck,” I tell him.

“Are you a police officer?” Jamie asks. “You look like you beat people up for a living.”

Tuck chuckles, and I feel like I’m drowning in the kiddie end of a pool.