Funny all the things you can worry about while you’re pouring drinks.

That woman attached to Daniela’s face—I wonder who she is? And how stupid is Daniela, anyway?

“You’re staring again.” Smitty chuckles. “But that is pretty hot.”

“It’s not that,” I growl. “Not sure what to do.” This just pushes all my buttons. I hate cheaters more than I dislike the Shipleys.

Besides, May is the sweetest one of the bunch. A good girl. Quiet. Not as smug as her older brother.

“Nothing much you can do, anyway. And cheaters always get caught.”

Wiping down the bar, I think that over. He’s right, and he’s also wrong. Sometimes a person can live in willful denial for a good long time. My mom, for instance. She probably always knew my dad was sleeping around. But she put up with him even when he didn’t deserve it.

“This is gonna bug you, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I mumble.

“Gimme your phone.”

“Why? Last time you had my phone you posted a picture of your ass on my Instagram.”

“It’s a nice ass. But that’s not what I’m doing, okay? Just unlock it and give it here.”

Against my better judgement, I comply.

Smitty takes a rag and wanders slowly through the big room. Candles flicker in crevices in the brick walls. People talk and laugh while music pulses in the background. The place looks great. Opening a bar isn’t exactly curing cancer. But I’m proud of this place anyway.

When Smitty reaches the back part of the room, he wipes a table with his left hand and subtly takes a photo of Daniela and her lover with his right hand.

“That was pretty slick,” I say when he brings my phone back.

He shrugs. “Slick would be if I could’ve also got a photo of my ass without you noticing.”

I jam my phone in my pocket as a group of four guys approaches the bar. “What’ll it be, gentlemen?”

And just like that, the weekend pace kicks back into high gear. First every barstool is taken, and then every table. Smitty fills drink orders as fast as our cocktail waitress can bring them over. And I do whatever needs doing. When you own your business, that’s just how the day goes.

I forget about Daniela for a while. I pour beers and swap out kegs and upsell my customers into good Vermont craft brews instead of the shlock they’d drink if it weren’t for my brilliance. The Ed Sheeran tunes have given way to an old Santana album and I’m loving life again.

Until I watch the bar door open, revealing May Shipley.

My first thought is: Oh for fuck’s sake. I can think of only one other time May came to the bar—on opening night. But there she is, her cheeks pink from the cool autumn night.

My second thought is: When did May Shipley get so hot? She’s wearing a soft sweater and black pants over legs that go on for days. Tall girls really turn my crank. Then again, many women do.