But I don’t want to do that. I don’t want to be that. The kind of person who abuses their authority and makes other people clean up their mistakes. I take this job seriously, with all the responsibilities it comes with. This town depends on me to bebetter than the man who came before me, and I’ll be damned if I let them down.
Once I’m finished, I drop the stack on another pile to be filed by the admin, and head out to the bar.
Cash is already there, behind the counter with Harper, giving her a quick test on the taps.
“This one is finicky,” he says. “You have to pull it a little to the left or it sprays everywhere. We thought about replacing it, but it gives the place character.” He grins at her, and she ducks her head and grabs a glass, trying to mimic the motion he just did.
It only sprays a little at the beginning, when her grip on the lever isn’t as firm as it should be, and she wrinkles her nose a little. “Well, fucked that right up,” she says, her lips quirked in a smile.
“But you corrected it,” Cash says. “And you’re still learning.”
“I’m probably going to mess it up at the beginning every time.” She says it like it’s a joke, self-deprecating and amused. Harper has this way of deflecting compliments that makes it seem like she’s not used to getting them. Or at least not used to them being sincere.
She’s gonna struggle with Cash then. Man has sincerity leaking out of his pores.
“You’re not gonna be worse than Jessie,” I say, striding up to the bar.
Harper tenses a little when she realizes I’m there, but she still seems fairly comfortable. Like she’s getting used to being here little by little, but she’s not sure what to make of me yet.
“God, it’d be hard to be that bad,” Cash replies, then winces. “She was nice enough, but?—”
“I know,” Harper cuts in. “At least there’s a low bar for me to clear. Be better than Jessie.”
“You’re gonna do fine.” Cash raises a hand like he’s going to pat her on the shoulder, and Harper flinches away minutely.It’s a gesture so small that she might have just been twitching with an itch or something, but I pick up on her discomfort immediately.
Cash either does too or just thinks better of touching her and runs that hand through his hair instead. “We open in an hour,” he tells her. “Keep practicing.”
I keep an eye on Harper while Cash and I do the rest of the work to get the bar open for the night. She keeps her head down, but there’s determination in the lines of her brow and the set of her shoulders, and by the time we’re ready to open, she’s got the perfect pour almost down completely. A fast learner.
The thing about small towns is there’s not a lot of places to hang out after the work day. Most businesses close around six, everybody wanting to go home and have dinner and get off their feet. There’s a movie theater the next town over, and if you don’t mind a drive, the city with its malls and attractions isn’t too far.
But for the locals who just want to unwind after a long day on the ranch or running the feed store or whatever, there’s our bar. They put on the game or whatever’s easy to yell at and switch their brains off and order cheap beers and fried food.
So we fill up fast.
At first, it’s just a few people here and there, but then the ranch hands and field workers come in, and the people who commute to work outside the town and just want a drink before heading home, and before long the bar is humming with the sounds of people drinking and talking.
There’s a baseball game on the TV, and Harper is in the thick of it, making drinks and taking orders, doing her best to keep up.
Most people are curious about her, and I can tell that she can tell. She keeps her interactions brief, but friendly enough that it probably won’t affect her tips too much. She keeps the beers cold and ready, and that’s good enough for most of the patrons we get.
Cash checks in on her every now and then, making sure everything is going smoothly, before disappearing to the back to handle some paperwork for inventory.
Usually I go back and help him with that, but I have a feeling like someone needs to stay out here and keep an eye on things, so I plant myself in a corner and do that.
“What do you have on tap tonight?” an older woman asks Harper at one point.
She rattles off the list perfectly, and the older woman nods, ordering an IPA before going to settle at the end of the bar.
One of the ranch hands from the place up on Morrison comes up to the bar once the woman has cleared off, and he leans on it, taking his time deliberating.
Harper waits patiently and then nods when he orders something bottled.
“And put it in a glass!” he calls. “I want the good shit tonight.” He laughs, turning to see if anyone’s going to laugh with him, but no one really does.
That doesn’t stop him from making conversation with everyone at the bar while he sits there. He puts back three beers, one after the other, and it’s obvious that he’s feeling them. His voice gets louder, his laugh echoing across the bar, even over the sound of the game and people’s conversations.
A few other people look over at him, making faces at the way he’s acting. A couple of the long time regulars come over to murmur to him softly, but he waves them away.