Page 4 of That Kind of Guy

Within a few minutes, the place was illuminated in soft candlelight.

“We need a generator,” Max told me.

“Find me the money,” I responded pointedly. “We’re making do with what we have.” I tilted my chin to him. “I’ll take care of the bar, you know what to do.”

He grinned and slipped out from behind the bar, tossing me his apron. I glanced over the list of receipts from the servers and began making a whiskey sour. Servers dropped off more drink receipts and delivered the last of the dishes from the kitchen to their respective tables. In the corner of the restaurant, Max took a seat and balanced his guitar on his knee. He began playing, and diners watched and listened with little smiles on their faces. I pulled out my phone, took a sneaky pic of him playing, and posted it to our social media.

“The power’s out but nothing will stop us from having a great night at The Arbutus.”I typed out the caption and hitpostbefore slipping my phone back into my pocket and getting to work on the drinks.

In the summer, the power went out maybe once a month, but in the winter, outages occurred at least once a week. We couldn’t close up shop every time we lost power or we’d be in the red, so over the last couple years, I figured out ways to stay open. No music? Max was a musician, and a damn good one. No lighting? Candlelight in the restaurant and propane lanterns in the kitchens. Thankfully, our kitchen had gas stoves so we could still finish the last of dinner service. Because we didn’t know how long the outages would last and didn’t want a week’s worth of food going bad, we kept our fridge and freezer stocks low. The Arbutus was all about fresh, local food anyways, so this wasn’t an issue.

We made it work. Whatever happened, we always made it work.

Hours later, after the last customer had left, the servers counted up their tips, Max packed up his guitar, and I flipped chairs onto the tables as the staff left. Candles still illuminated the space in their lanterns, and I moved around the empty restaurant, tidying and sweeping and closing up. Some people wouldn’t want to be here alone so late, but I wouldn’t be anywhere else. Late at night, when everything was quiet and still, this was when I felt most at home. The charming place really felt like mine during these moments.

One day, when I had enough money and Keiko was ready to sell, The Arbutus would be my restaurant. My legacy. The success story my mom never had.

A light knock on the door shook me out of my thoughts. It was after midnight, and we were clearly closed, but maybe someone had forgotten their phone or wallet under a table.

Keiko’s smiling face peered through the glass door. She was wearing her bright yellow raincoat and gave me a cheery wave.

“Hi, what are you doing here so late?” I asked and opened the door. “You have a key, you don’t need to knock.”

She followed me in and locked the door behind her. “I didn’t want to startle you. I knew you’d be here still.”

“Want something to drink? I can put the kettle on.”

“That would be nice.” She threw me a soft smile as she pulled a bar stool down.

In the kitchen, I filled the kettle and put it on the stove in the dim light from the lanterns. Keiko didn’t often pay me visits, but I savored the moments I had with her, just the two of us. Previous bosses didn’t have the time or interest to teach me the industry, but Keiko had taken me under her wing and taught me everything she knew. When I took over as manager and she saw I had things under control, she began to step back from the business. Her daughter had just had a baby, so Keiko spent several weeks at a time in Vancouver, visiting her. I still sent her monthly reports of the restaurant’s financials, although I doubted she looked at them anymore.

I returned with our mugs of tea. “So, what brings you to our beautiful establishment tonight?”

“Thank you,” she said, accepting the mug and blowing the wafting steam off it. “I want to chat with you about something.”

“Is everything okay?” I frowned and slid onto the stool beside her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry, everything is fine, no one is dead, and I’m healthy as a teenager.”

“It’s all that yoga you do.”

“Every day. I’m thinking about doing my teacher training.”

“Oh, really? You’re going to be a yoga teacher?” I asked, a big smile spreading across my face. Keiko would be a perfect yoga teacher, with her calm, grounding presence.

She shook her head. “No, it’s just fun to keep busy and keep learning. Something new.” She took a breath and patted my hand. “Speaking of something new.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Mhm?”

She looked like she didn’t know which words to use. “I think it’s time for me to move to Vancouver to be with Layla and the baby.”

I blinked, taking a moment to digest this. “Moving. Wow.” Queen’s Cove was a three-hour drive to Victoria, the biggest city on Vancouver Island, and then another three hours to Layla’s place via ferry and highway. “I guess that makes sense. I’m sure it’s a pain, going back and forth on the ferry all the time.” I sagged a bit, bummed that I would be seeing even less of Keiko. “We’re going to miss you around here. Are you going to move into Layla’s place?”

She took a sip of tea and shook her head. “No, actually, a townhouse in her complex just went up for sale, and I would like to buy it.”

“Wow, that’s lucky,” I told her. “Layla’s place is pretty small, right?”

She nodded. “Two-bedroom. Too small for me to move into.” She gave me another soft smile and pressed her lips together, watching me. Something in Keiko’s expression told me she wasn’t finished.

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