Page 58 of Good as Gold
I’ve also got a few cases of bottles and cans of beer, an empty tip jar, and a hundred dollars in change.
And a tight T-shirt, because I’m here to make a profit. Although I’d better not be doing it alone, or Otto is going to get an earful.
Just when I’m starting to panic, I spot Lyle Giltmaker striding toward me. I haven’t seen him since I was eighteen, but he has the same formidable set to his shoulders and the same scowl.
Well, this is awkward. I’ve just spent the first ten or so hours of the day trying not to think about the text Leila sent me this morning.
Took an ovulation test this morning, and it showed me a smiley face. So unless you’ve changed your mind, tonight is the night.
After replying with a smiley face of my own, I’ve tried to put it out of my mind. But now I’m staring down her dad, who’s reaching out to shake my hand.
“Hello, sir,” I say as he approaches. “It’s been a while.”
We shake, and he squints up at me. “Did you swing by to ask me for a business loan?”
“What? No! I’m just helping out Otto.”
He laughs suddenly. “Joking, kid. Jesus. Heard you own a heli-skiing business in fucking Aspen. Nice work.”
“Thanks?” I’m so confused right now. “Do you happen to know who’s coming to serve with me?”
“That would be me,” he says grumpily. “The bartender we’d scheduled has a family emergency, and it was really too late to find anyone else.”
“Uh, okay. Cool. Wasn’t expecting it to be you.”
“Me neither,” he grumbles. “But you know how it is. These things happen when you run a business. Any other questions before this thing starts?”
“Well…” I try to pull my head back into the game. “Otto told me to price everything at ten bucks. But I think Goldenrod is going to sell out fast, so I’m going to raise the price.” I open the metal door and hop down to the grass. With the side of my fist, I erase the 10 next to Goldenrod and replace it with 12.
“Making change will be messier,” Lyle points out.
“I can count to eight,” I insist. “Bigger problem—we don’t even have enough cups to serve out these kegs.”
“Well,thatis a pain in the ass,” he grumbles. “This crowd looks thirsty. I’m on it.” He unlocks his phone and taps a number. “Leila. I’m up here in Tunbridge at the food fest, but Matteo says we don’t have enough cups. Bring us a couple hundred?”
Uh-oh.
“You’re trying to have a relaxing Saturday? Well, so was I. But we need cups, and you’re the only member of this family within a hundred-mile radius that’s speaking to me. So get in your car in ninety minutes and bring us some cups from the warehouse. You still want that summer job, right? Well, this is your first task.”
You asshole. I manage not to say it aloud, but it’s a close call. Lyle could have driven to the nearest country store and bought them out of cups.
But I don’t get the chance to suggest it. He’s already hung up, and now the festival gates are opening to the masses. A significant number of the ticket holders make a beeline toward our wagon.
Lyle and I climb inside the wagon and get to work.
Maybe he’s a dick, but at least he’s efficient. We pour beers. We pop the tops off bottles. We take cash and make change. We smile.
The beer flows out, and the money flows in. I have to empty the tip jar every twenty minutes. It’s not lost on me that handing people eight dollars in change is better for the tip jar than handing them a ten.
Note to self—get a bigger tip jar.
I’m too busy to think about Leila or sex… At least until she shows up at the halfway mark, wearing a sundress and carrying a giant cardboard box full of cups.
Am I really taking that dress off her in a few hours? Unfuckingbelievable.
“Hey,” she says, giving me a nervous smile as I hop out of the wagon to take the box. “I brought, uh…” She looks down at the box. “Cups.”
Aw, Leila is nervous? I bite back a smile as I take the box. “Thank you, queen.”
