“Your handyman one of those outsiders?” I wave my free hand to the door.
He gives me a surprised look. “He’s been here his whole life, too. His family owns the largest produce and dairy farm in town. We went to grade school together and I’ve been stuck with him since.”
“Ah, one of those friends, more like a sibling now than only a friend. Makes sense with his level of comfort at this place.”
Silas picks up the middle of the three, a timber brown color. He holds up the glass and I clink mine to his again. “How long have you owned this bar?”
We take a long drink and this one sits better than the last—bolder flavor, warmer tones, and the aftertasteis great. There isn’t the need to pair it with anything; a few of these would go down easily and sit well.
I hum. “Mmm, I like this one. I could drink a few of these.” Silas smiles proudly.
“I’ve had this little spot for almost six years.” He tilts his glass in a slight gesture to the space. “This is my local lager; it stays on the menu year-round. Glad you like it.” We finish that glass, and Silas talks more about the little updates he’s made to the bar. He pulls his phone out to show me some before and after pictures. It’s easy conversation; I like seeing the small details he’s put in, and the stories that come with them.
Suddenly, he stops, and I can tell he feels like he’s been talking too much. He’s a friendly character, and I can see how each of the locals adores him as they come and go.
There has to be a downside to this town; it can’t be this picturesque.
Silas grabs our last sampler and holds it up. I smell again and get that rich aroma I first smelled. I hold my glass up before bringing it to my lips. He was right; I couldn’t have had this one first. Bold. Bodied. Rich. Spiced. This beer towers over the other two and I wouldn’t have appreciated their flavors as much.
“Damn, this is good. What is that? Nutmeg?”
“A brewmaster can’t share all his secrets. I’ve told you enough for tonight.” He offers me a flirtatious smile and then finishes his glass. Without hesitation or much thought, I do the same.
“A refill of any of the three?” he asks. I think about it but decide to decline.
“Honestly, I’d love another glass of the last one, but I still need to drive back to where I’m staying.” Offering him an easy smile. “Maybe another time, I canUber.”
He laughs.
“Uber? Not out here, darlin’. You’d have to call the car service, there are cards up front. It’s a group of kids fresh out of high school offering rides to anyone drunk or sick. We don’t have Uber out here.”
No Uber? Damn, this placeisoff the grid.
“So, tell me, where are you from, and what brings you to a small town without Ubers?” He leans back against the bar, crossing his thick arms across his chest.
I take a long drink of water. “I’m from northern California, and I’m here to get away from it all and focus on work.”
“How can you get away and focus on work?” He refills my water while clearing our beer glasses.
“I work as an editor, so I brought my manuscripts with me. I can get away from family, city life, people, and the rush, and just slow down. I can read, focus, and simplify things.”
Silas nods. “You’ll get that here; it’s real quiet, especially right now. Things won’t pick up until after Halloween. The B and B is a great spot, too. The baker in town brings her fresh pastries in the morning to serve daily, and the sitting room there is perfect for reading.”
“Thanks, I’ll have the check that out. Reading here was working fine, too. Sometimes I just need to change my space to be able to focus the way I want. Tell me more about the charms of your town,” I say, leaning forward, and he does. He gives me little snippets of what this little slice has to offer: Saturday markets for a few more weeks before they stop for winter, stores that I should check out, and what I can find in the neighboring towns.
“We used to have a great little bookshop, but it’s closed now. Mrs. Hewitt recently passed and all her kids have careers of their own. So the shop is unmanned and thespace for sale,” he finishes. That makes me sad to hear. I love local bookshops and the fact that this town’s just closed its doors for good is a little heartbreaking.
“Damn, that’s so sad.”
“Yeah, it can be hard when local stuff closes like that. We had to wait three years for a new barber to open and they split the shop with a salon. The atmosphere can get tense at times.” He laughs.
I laugh lightly but it turns into a yawn—the traveling, unpacking, food, and beers hitting me.
“Time for you to head on out?” he asks.
“Yeah, can I get the check?”
“Don’t worry about it, just come by again during your stay. Returning customers are the best payment.” He winks playfully, and it’s not cheesy or slimy. It’s cute and charming.