Page 9 of The Back Forty
He presses his lips together tightly like he's trying to fight back a smile. "I see."
“And for the record,” I say, nudging it a step further because I like this banter, like the rhythm we’ve slipped into, “this bar is in the perfect location. Walking distance from the little houses on the square, right by that city’s trailer park I passed but it’s totally unnoticeable unless you're really looking for a place to eat and drink. The exterior could use some love.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” I say. “They should lean into the small-town thing harder. Reclaimed wood, maybe some vintage neon signage. It’s borderline cliché but people eat that shit up, especially the tourists.”
“You think tourists are coming through here for neon signs and reclaimed wood?”
I shrug with a grin. “You’d be surprised what people will do for a social media post.”
He rubs his jaw again, thoughtful. “Huh.”
Then his eyes flick back to mine, steadier now and I can't seem to stop.
“And the menu boards behind the bar? They’re cute in a rustic kind of way, but they’re hard to read once the lights go down. A little spotlighting wouldn’t hurt. And maybe separate menus for the whiskey tastings versus the cocktails. They'd upsell more. My sister said that whiskey is the focus for this bar so I can't figure out why it's buried in with the other cocktails.”
He smirks.
"Oh my god, and don't get me started on the shelves behind the bar. It’s way too cramped. You should spread the product out, give it some air, build a display that tells a story. Why is this whiskey different? What makes it special? People want to feel connected to the brand, not just buy it because it’s local. They are telling their story all wrong."
"Sounds like you have a lot of ideas on how the bar can improve."
I nod. "Yeah, those are just my surface level observations, though. I’m sure I can come up with some more things if you give me some time."
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Well, it’s some good stuff. Do you still gotta pee?”
I groan. “So badly. And I need to do something about this phone situation. I have alarms that need set for my wakeup call tomorrow.” I lift my dead phone in demonstration like it’s personally betrayed me. "If you can give me a ride home, that'd be even better."
He studies me for a beat too long. Then his mouth tips up at the corners. “Tell you what,” he says, nodding toward the side of the bar's building, “I’ll do you one better.”
I blink. “Where are you taking me?” I stage whisper. “You’re not, like… gonna murder me, right?”
He laughs easily, the sound low and rumbling, like he’s used to cracking jokes and getting a good response. “Nah,” he says, “I got a different place for that out on my property.”
Charming. Comforting… Slightly concerning.
I glance at him sideways, and before I can decide whether I should be amused or mildly alarmed, he starts walking toward a dimly lit corner of the building, gesturing with his chin. My boots crunch softly against gravel as I follow him—half out of desperation, half out of curiosity—until we reach a heavy, metal exit door tucked into the side of the bar like a secret.
He pulls out a key.
A literal key.
Not a code, not a fob, an actual, old-fashioned, metal key. He unlocks the door, and with a soft creak, it opens to a dark, narrow hallway that’s a total contrast to the noisy warmth of the bar.
I hesitate on the threshold, eyebrows raised. “Um...?”
He gives a small, almost-smirk and points forward. That’s when I see it:EMPLOYEES ONLYin blocky, glowing white letters above a door at the end of the hallway. Underneath? The glorious, holy grail of the evening: a bathroom sign.
“You work here?” I ask, the words slipping out in shock because I just tore his place of employment apart. Maybe he's a bouncer and that's why he came to my rescue with Davey.
He nods. “Yeah. Something like that. Go ahead. I’ll guard the door.”
I have questions. So many. But my bladder screams louder than my curiosity.
“Okay,” I mutter, already moving, “but I’m holding you to that.”
I slip into the bathroom, grateful for the solitude, and practically rip open the button of my jeans. My thighs are already trembling from holding it in for so long. I tug down the denim and underwear and let out a long, relieved sigh as I finally get to pee.
