“If you like a good IPA, Butcherknife Brewery has Amputator. Their Hefeweizen ale is a good late summer beer.”

“Surprise me,” I said, sitting on a stool near the center.

“Bottle? Draft?”

I stared at him, bored.

“You look like a bottle girl to me. I’m Jerry. Passing through or transplant?”

“The latter.”

“Welcome. I think. You don’t seem so happy to be here.”

“I am actually. This is me in a good mood.”

His blue eyes widened, pushing against his full, flushed cheeks as he popped the top off an Amputator and pushed it toward me. “Scary.”

“Yes.”

He chuckled. “What brings you to the Springs?”

“New job. What about you?”

“Born and raised.”

“You like it that much?” I asked. I didn’t know too many people who were still stalled in their hometown. Mine was Sasabe, Arizona, just north of the border, and I couldn’t wait to get out and see something else.

“Got my girlfriend pregnant senior year. Gave up a football scholarship to get married and raise a family.”

“Congratulations,” I said, raising my beer.

Jerry paused and squinted his eyes. “I can’t tell if you mean that.”

“Do you get your family by on this job?”

“I’m part owner of this place, believe it or not. Four years and still going strong. The locals like it even if it is run down. I know,” he said, probably in reaction to my expression. “I look like one of the employees. My wife tells me to wear a button-down shirt or something with a collar. She teases me all the time. She’s lucky she’s gorgeous.” He chuckled.

“How long have you been married?”

He looked across the room, seeming to scan through a hundred happy memories. “Eleven years.”

“What would you have done if you’d gone to college?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “I’m not sure. Played football, joined a frat, figured it out.”

“You saved yourself a few nights of blackouts, lying in your own vomit, STDs, MIPs, DUIs, loans for classes you don’t need for a degree you probably wouldn’t use—if you finished at all. You have a beautiful family, and you’re a successful entrepreneur. Congratulations.”

Jerry nodded, considering my answer. “Thanks … what’s your name?”

“Naomi.”

His smile was something I hadn’t come across often enough. I was happy for his wife, happy for his kid, and hoped he went home that night not feeling like a reject of life after all. No one should feel like a failure because their plans changed.

I sucked down the last of my beer, and Jerry already had another one ready to go. Just as I took the first cold sip, a group of men and one woman pushed through the doors. I turned to face forward, pissed at myself for getting to know the owner. Now any scuffles would need to be taken outside.