“Goldenpour, if you can swing it. But if you can’t, that’s okay, too.”

“I’ll ask. If they say no, I’ll bring something good.”

“I know you will.”

The door of the bar swings open, and I glance up out of habit. I make seventy percent of my receipts Thursday through Sunday. If I served food, too, that would even things out a bit.

If only.

The new arrival isn’t a customer, though. It’s Chelsea from NorthCorp, my beer distributor. “Happy Thursday, hot stuff,” she says. “I brought you a new IPL.”

“Yeah? Awesome.” I lean over the bar, grab Chelsea into a one-armed hug, and plant a kiss right on her jaw. Chelsea is a great girl. Not only does she keep the Gin Mill stocked with trophy beers, but she also really likes to fuck me. She’s my BDWB. Beer distributor with benefits.

Am I living the dream or what?

“Chelsea—Hamish and I have an invitation for you.” I pluck a card off the stack on the bar.

“Do you, now?” She gives me a hot glance.

Hamish bursts out laughing.

“To a party. Here.” I hand her the card.

“Oh, cool.” She gives Hamish a smile. “You’re the woodworker, right?”

“Indeed,” he says. “I’m retiring. Well, sort of. Can’t imagine quitting altogether. But I’m cutting back so I can travel. Alec is helping me throw a showing and a party.”

“Sounds fun,” she says, pocketing the card.

“I need an extra keg that week,” I tell her. “Hamish asked for Goldenpour. Would you check if we can score an extra?”

“Sure!” she says in her very bubbly way. Chelsea and I are a lot alike. Always looking for the next party. “You free later?” she asks, shaking her butt to Ed Sheeran’s “Shape of You,” which is the next tune on Becky’s playlist.

“Of course.” I’m always free for Chelsea. “I have to close tonight, though.” That means I won’t be done here until about one, and sometimes she doesn’t like to wait up for me.

“Hey—I can close for you,” Smitty volunteers as he pours another pint of Goldenpour at the tap.

“Awesome!” Chelsea beams. “Thanks, Smitty!” She bounds off to open the rear door for her delivery guy.

Hamish watches her go. “You just got shaken down by your bartender,” he points out.

“I noticed that, too.” I shouldn’t be paying Smitty the overtime just so I can get horizontal with my beer distributor. But Smitty knows I don’t like to say no to Chelsea.

Smitty is a decent bartender. Mostly. But he’s sometimes pushy and kind of a flake. Lucky for him, I have a lot of empathy for the flakes of the world. And, hey, it’s already decided. So I’ll roll with it. “I guess I’d better make the most of the night, then.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will.” Hamish drains his beer. “I’m gonna roll. What’s the tab?”

“There isn’t one,” I tell him. “Tonight’s your free night.” Hamish is literally the only person who gets regular freebies from me. But when I bought this place, he was a huge help. He just showed up one day when I was inspecting the heap of a building I’d bought and feeling panicky. I’m not the best business person. But Hamish offered me tons of information and helped me get contractors at good prices during my renovation.