Page 19 of Peripheral Vision

“I barely know you,” I fire back, regret immediately sinking into my bones. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s complicated, that’s all.” The regret sinks even further as I wish I wouldn’t have said that at all, because I know it’s going to pique his curiosity and confirm that somethingdidhappen in that alleyway. “I just have a lot on my mind. Needed to take a breather, that’s it.”

“Right. Sure,” Callum says, his voice laced with skepticism. “So definitelynotbetter than ever.”

I’m about to say something, anything, to brush it off but Audrey, who’s been working quietly at the other end of the bar, catches my eye. “Why don’t you two go take a break? Give her the verdict, Cal.”

Suddenly my nerves are more caused by the fact that I could really use this job. The pay is decent and so far, besides my stranger knowing where I work now, I’ve enjoyed it. Callum was able to coax my favorite drink out of me and promised to make me his version when we weren’t working the bar, which I guess would be now by the small grin that’s plastered over his face. I’m not sure if this will be a drink to ease the sting of being let down, or celebratory, but either way I could use one. While Callum works on making my vodka sour, I scan the bar, trying to sense the heavy weight of eyes on me, but come up short. I don’t know how to feel about that.

“Alright, come on.” Callum nudges my side with his elbow before offering me his hand. Taking it, my drink in his other hand, he leads us out from behind the bar and down a hallway with a series of closed doors. Releasing my hand, he fishes in his pocket before pulling out a key and unlocking the door at the end, pushing it open to reveal a small table in the center of the room surrounded by a few mismatched chairs.

“Clearly the budget didn’t extend to the… break room?” I ask.

Callum laughs as he sets down my drink, pulling out a chair before holding out his hand, signaling for me to take a seat. “It doesn’t get much use anyway, there’s typically only one to two of us scheduled each shift. During busy hours like this… forget it.” He takes a seat in the chair across from me. “So, do you want the good news or the bad news first?”

I hold my finger up, stopping him from speaking any further as I take a generous—and strong—gulp of my sour, making a face worthy of the name as I do so. “Hit me.”

He stares at me with his eyebrows raised. “Bad news first, I think, then the good news to lighten the mood. Bad news is I think we’re gonna have to find you a new favorite drink, because that” —he looks pointedly at my drink— “is horrible… good news is that you’ve got the job.”

The tension in my shoulders lightens a load at that news. “That is not what I was expecting the bad news to be, but I can’t say I’m disappointed that it was. And hey, don’t insult my vodka sour like that.” I give him a mock glare, taking another drink.

He laughs, not a chuckle, but an actual laugh and it’s a warm, rich sound that causes heat to build low in my stomach—a sensation that isn’t entirely foreign to me, but one I haven’t experienced in several years since my first serious relationship.

“Look, all I’m saying is that life is way too short to drink something that tastes like regret and citrus. But what do I know? It isn’t like I haven’t been bartending for several years. I’m just the guy who hired you.”

Rolling my eyes I say, “Says the guy who thinks craft beer is a personality trait.” He’d been talking my ear off all night about different kinds, and the process of making them after he took a tour of a brewhouse and fell in love with the process, while we were going through the ropes of different drinks to make. I’d been a little rusty with a lot left to learn, especially considering I hadn’t actually had a job bartending before, just the class. But we’re both confident that I’ll figure it out sooner than later. “So, what’s next? What is myschedule going to look like, or have you not planned that far ahead yet?”

“It depends on what you’re looking for as far as hours go, how it works around your class schedule. Do you have an idea of what that looks like?” he asks.

“I do, and I was hoping for weekends when I know the bar will be busier, and two days during the week in the afternoons and evenings. I have three classes Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays but my last one finishes at two-fifteen in the afternoon, and I have three on Tuesdays and Thursdays but finish by three-fifteen in the afternoon,” I relay.

“Okay, well you’ll be shadowing me until you’re ready to roll on your own, which I hope is never.” He winks. “How do Wednesday evenings to close, Thursday evenings, Friday evenings to close, and Saturday days work? Should amount to thirty hours a week or so. We can adjust it as needed.”

Going over my schedule in my head, I figure that should work. I’ll be busy, but I think that’s what I need right now. Escapism isn’t the healthiest form of therapy but it’s better than sitting at home drowning in my thoughts. Staying busy will keep my mind focused on anything but my grief and how utterly alone I am here. “I’m good with that. Hey, speaking of classes, do you attend?”

“I do, yeah, and I help my pops out with this place in my spare time.”

Realization burns through me. “That’s why it’s called Sins and Sons. Your dad is the owner. But do you have a brother?”

He nods. “Sure is, but no brother. No siblings at all. He just wanted to make it sound better.”

“Ah, you’re a part of the only child club then,” I jest.

“The one and only.” He gives me an easy smile. “I know it’s gonna be late, but my shift ends around midnight and since it was your introduction shift, you aren’t really scheduled for specific hours tonight. Do you maybe wanna grab a bite to eat after? I know a great twenty-four-hour diner close by.”

I hesitate, unsure if accepting would blur the professional boundaries I’ve just stepped into. I can’t deny that I’m already slightly attracted to him, so accepting could only make that more difficult… Deciding to test the waters to see what his motives are I say, “Are you sure this isn’t just an elaborate excuse to spend more time with me?”

He chuckles again, this time low and smooth, like one of his craft beers. “Busted. Can you blame me though? You’re new, interesting, and your sarcasm isn't half bad. Plus, you’re not bad to look at… at all. You can’t blame me for trying.” His eyes lower until they lock on my lips. They remain there for a few charged moments before rising back to my eyes.

“Oh, it’s not that I didn’t expect you to try, I just didn’t expect it to be so soon. I thought that’s why you wanted my number from the source.”

Without answering me, he pulls out his phone before typing something in and holding it up to his ears. Startling me, my own phone starts to ring, and I pull it out of my purse—a number I don’t recognize across the screen, but I have a good guess whose it is. Suppressing a light laugh, I answer. “Hello, this is Dylan.”

Without breaking character, Callum goes, “Hey Dylan, this is Callum from the bar. I was wondering if you would do me the honor of grabbing a bite to eat with me at this great diner I know?”

I make eye contact with him, barely holding in my smile. “I don’t know, it’s getting awfully late, and I really should make an effort to get some sleep before my busy schedule picks up next week. Maybe another time?”

His face falls temporarily. “What if I told you they have the best pancakes in the state of Virginia?”

I ponder his question. “Fine. But if you’re wrong, I’m requesting to work on a different shift.”

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