Page 3 of Reckless Chances
Chapter 2 – Charlie
“Hey, Chuck.” Only oneperson called him that. Charlie paused mid-polish and looked up from the already glimmering bar top and tossed the towel at his best friend. Freddie knew that Charlie hated the shortened form of his name –and he used it all the time.
“What’s up, Fred.” Charlie laughed, lobbing the equally bad short form back at his friend. Even though he hated Chuck, it was still a million times better than Fred.
Freddie sat down at the bar and handed the towel back to Charlie.
“It’s a little early, even for you,” Charlie checked his watch, it was three-thirty in the afternoon.
“I wanted to talk to you about the electrical work for your brewpub,” Freddie said.
“Okay.” Charlie grabbed his notebook from under the bar and pulled the pen out from behind his ear.
“And maybe have a beer...” Freddie smiled.
“Of course.” Charlie poured two of his latest creations into frosty beer steins and came around the bar to take a seat beside Freddie.
“Cheers.” Freddie held up his mug and met Charlie’s with a dull clunk.
“Cheers,” Charlie echoed. He took a small sip and waited in anticipation as his friend took a bigger one. “What do you think?” Charlie asked, expecting a lukewarm response. Freddie wasn’t exactly the target audience for his latest creation, a hoppy ale with a secret ingredient.
“It’s really good.” Freddie smiled and took another sip. “I could drink this all night long.”
Charlie smiled and breathed out a sigh of relief. “It’s my flagship summer beer. I put a secret ingredient in there. Can you guess what it is?”
Freddie tilted his head, smelled the beer, and then took another sip. “You know, I do recognize something in here. It reminds me of Serena when she comes home from her yoga classes.”
Serena was Freddie’s sexy as hell Instagram model, turned Chance Rapids local. Charlie couldn’t believe that the girl who showed up to town in six-inch heels, now lived with a local electrician and wore hiking boots. “Sweaty?” Charlie raised his eyebrows.
“No,” Freddie laughed. “Not the hot yoga.” He took another sip. “It’s lavender!” he shouted.
“I’m impressed.” Charlie laughed. If Freddie liked his lavender brew, that meant it was going to be a hit. “I still haven’t figured out a name for it.”
Freddie drummed his fingertips on the bar. “Just like you haven’t named your brewery yet.”
“I’ve narrowed it down,” Charlie replied. Naming the brewpub seemed like such a big, permanent step. Once he chose the name it would be almost impossible to change it. The idea of picking one of the names scrawled on the whiteboard in the back office made his palms sweaty just thinking about it.
Freddie sipped the beer and then tapped his cheek with his rough finger. “Hmmm. How about Charlie’s Girly Brew?”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “I shouldn’t have told you about the lavender.”
“Nah, man. It’s really good stuff.” He turned Charlie’s notebook around and sketched a quick outline of the brewpub. “I was thinking about this setup for the pot lights.” He scratched x’s across the paper.
“You’re the expert.” Charlie glanced at the drawing. “I trust you.”
“Right answer,” Freddie finished his drink.
“Another?” Charlie asked. To his surprise, Freddie pushed the glass away. “I’ve got to get to a job.”
“On a Friday night? What’s really going on?” Charlie put the mug into the glasswasher.
“I took on an extra job. The new flower shop.” Freddie pushed back from the bar and pulled on his well worn ‘Get Electrified’ hat.
“Hold on a minute there. That will be eight bucks.” Charlie held out his hand for payment.
“Really?” Freddie raised his eyebrows, then pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and flattened it out on the bar.
Charlie made a show of snatching it up. He usually let Freddie have one or two freebies, but not today. “You can’t show up to my construction site on the weekend, but you’re working on a Friday night – for a pretty blond. You can damn well pay for your beer,” he laughed, but there was a hint of frustration. The project had taken twice as long as he anticipated, and it wasn’t anywhere near completion.
