Page 36 of One Room Vacancy
She raises an eyebrow, skeptical. “Since when do you fix fryers?”
“I don’t,” I admit, taking a sip. “But I’m willing to try.”
It’s not a smile she gives me, not really. But the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s considering it.
And for now, I’ll take that too.
Quiet settles between us, the kind that hums, low and steady, as though waiting for someone to break it, forusto break.
Sage drags her thumb along the rim of the can, then starts flicking the tab back and forth—click, click, click.
“That chain called again, the one I said was sniffing around Harry’s,” she says finally. “Clover & Oak. They upped their offer.”
She doesn’t look at me, just keeps flicking the tab like the motion might hold her together.
“Sounds like Harry’s gonna take it.”
She lifts the can and takes a long gulp—like she’s trying to wash the words back down before they settle bitter against her tongue.
I watch her throat work as she swallows, the way her jaw tenses like the beer tastes worse now that it’s paired with reality.
“That what you want?” I ask, voice low.
She shrugs, still not looking at me. “Doesn’t matter what I want.”
“Sage.”
She exhales through her nose, sharp and tired, then finally meets my gaze. “I don’t know, Gabe. Okay? I don’t know what I want. I’ve worked there longer than I’ve ever stayed anywhere, which I know isn’t much compared to some of you guys, but I’ve never wanted to stay in one place like that before. Harry’s is not just a job, it’s…” Her fingers tighten around the can. “It’s been the closest thing I’ve had to a constant. It’s the only thing I didn’t fuck up.”
“You didn’t fuck this up either,” I say, the words escaping before I can stop them.
Her eyes shutter a little. “I didn’t claim to fuck it up,” she mutters, dragging the back of her hand across her forehead. “I just…wish he was up for keeping things the same. Not selling, not yet.”
I lean forward, elbows braced on my knees. “Sage, he’s getting old.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Her voice spikes as she jolts upright, arms flinging out. “Of course I know that, Gabe! I know! I just—God, I know it’s selfish, okay? I’m a deeply selfish person. I want the bar to stay the same, I want Harry to stay the same, I want to walk in and not feel like everything’s slipping through my fucking fingers.”
She flails again, like the motion will shake the truth loose from her chest.
I don’t let her spiral.
“You’re not selfish,” I say calmly. “And even if you were—this? Wanting something that matters to you to stay? That’s not selfish. It’s just…impossible.”
Her shoulders drop a little, but the fire in her eyes stays lit.
Honestly? I’d rather see that than the numbness.
She sits back down, slower this time, the fight still in her but losing steam. The can sweats between her fingers as she takes another sip, then sets it down on the coffee table with a soft thud.
I watch her for a second longer before I say it—again.
“You know you could buy it.”
She exhales hard through her nose. “You already said that.”
“I meant it then, and I still do.”
“Well, don’t.” Her voice is flat now, more defense than heat. “Even if Harry would sell it to me—which, again, feels like a long shot—I’m not exactly known for my follow-through. Ask Wes. He’s practically got a slideshow presentation on it. Every time I try something new, or change my mind, he’s there to remind me. ‘That’s Sage. Free spirit, never sticks to one thing.’”
