A Toast to the Good Times

Chapter 11



I keep my mouth shut while Mila drives to my father’s bar for the second time tonight. I direct her to the employee parking lot out back, because the street has filled with cars now that everyone is home from work and school, ready to get a drink and kick back with some friends.

I think about the fact that my dad’s bar, one of the most popular places in town for all the young people to flock to when they want to run away from their family, was, and is the place where I can’t escape mine.

Mila flashes those big green eyes my way as she opens the car door. “Why do I have a feeling that this is going to be one of those incredibly uncomfortable situations where I watch you get pulled across the bar and kissed by old girlfriends all night?”

Her smile makes me smile. “Didn’t I just get all sappy about how much I like you? If you see any one of them trying to sneak a kiss, you have my permission to go all psycho girlfriend on them.”

At the word girlfriend Mila inhales a hissed breath, but all her upset is gone by the end of my sentence.

“I’m so not a psycho girl type, Landry. How about this? If you really like me, you’ll find a way to wiggle out of having to kiss anyone else all night. And if you do manage, maybe we can kiss more later?”

She doesn’t say it to be flirty or sexy, and that may be exactly why it’s pretty much the most exciting offer I’ve had in my life.

“So is this like a bet?” I ask as I come around to her side of the car and take her arm, leading her in.

Before she can answer, we step into a den of pure and utter chaos. Dad hooked up the karaoke machine, unfortunately. By the end of the night, my ears will bleed anytime Mariah Carey’s “All I Want For Christmas Is You” gets decimated by another half-drunk hottie planning on giving her boyfriend a lead up to some Christmas nookie.

The dartboard is the focus of another huge clump of young, roaring beer guzzlers, and I predict the wall behind the target collapses from millions of infinitesimal holes pierced into every square millimeter of drywall.

The pool table is a wide open humping ground. Pretty girls are boxed in by eager guys, who can’t wait until the next shot so they can lean over and press into their dates in the guise of mentoring new moves.

As crowded as all these outlying locations are, it’s the bar that’s the showpiece of pure and total lunacy. I grab her by the hand, and glare at one of the old-timer regulars who’s sipping the last watery drips of a Jack and Coke.

“Ronald, the lady needs a seat.”

Mila’s eyes pop wide, like she’s either embarrassed that I just told Ronald to get lost, or not used to being called a lady. Or both.

From down the bar, my father frowns at me as he refills glass after glass of beer. He’s told me a million times that our regulars are the bread and butter of this bar, but this is Christmas Eve...and Mila. I need this to go well, and I don’t give a shit what my dad thinks.

All Ronald really wanted to do was ogle the girls gyrating to some young guy with a soldier’s haircut butchering Elvis’s “Blue Christmas,” and he can actually do it better from a vantage point across from his current stool.

“Of course, m’lady.” He dips a drunken bow and starts to totter away, but I grab his glass and pour him a refresher.

“Merry Christmas, Ronald.” I give him a quick smile and he raises his glass at me and shakes the ice before taking a long, loving sip.

“You have a gift, Landry-boy. A true gift with booze.” He stumbles closer to the dancers, and I gesture for Mila to hop on his vacated seat.

“That’s a girl.” I whip up two Tom Collins, working so fast it repeatedly seems like I’m a second away from dropping a glass or a bottle and smashing it all over the floor. But that’s the best pace to work at, in my opinion. Breakneck or bust.

I pass one her way and lift my glass to her, ignoring my father’s irritated call to me from down the bar.

“So, we were talking about me avoiding kisses tonight. How 'bout that goes for you too, and if we make it to the end of the night with no kisses on either side, we make out hot and heavy in my parents’ basement later?”

I raise my eyebrows at her and her laugh draws looks and instant smiles from across the entire bar.

Her laugh is a sound that I want to record just to playback when I feel like shit and need a reason to smile.

“Well, if those are the kinds of offers you’ve been giving girls all this time, it’s no mystery why you have to beat them away.” She picks up her drink and bats her lashes at me slowly. “I accept your terms.”

She tries to sound like she’s still just playing along, but her voice sticks a little.

“To me proving that I only have lips for you and the promise of mad make outs,” I declare.

She lifts her glass and says, “Cheers” as she clinks.

“Cheers.” My voice is soft and low, and I love the way her eyes focus on my mouth as I throw the drink back in a single seductively fire hot sip.

I don’t have to turn to know she’s watching as I stride down the bar to my dad, cuff my sleeves, and get to work mixing and pouring, refilling, closing out tabs, hopping the bar to fix the feedback on the karaoke machine, and making myself generally useful while avoiding my old man as much as humanly possible.

I have a little bit of a hard time keeping my promise to Mila. Not because I’m fishing for kisses or anything else. I’ve never been so keyed up by a girl that all other girl’s kind of fade to the background like this, but that’s how it feels with Mila.

But I may have a tiny bit of a reputation.

Dad hated it, but it made sense for me to play my angle. He liked to jaw with the guys, get elbow deep in misery and complaints. He was mostly respectful to the ladies.

I liked to hand the guys their drinks and share an assortment of winks, smiles, and thinly veiled romantic suggestions with the ladies.

It was an art, and there were rules.

No married shenanigans.

No flirting with a girl who was clearly with a guy.

But tons of single women—or women unattached enough that they were willing to show up in public on their own and on the prowl — came to the bar, and they tipped well. It was easy enough to lean over and oblige their rowdy demands with the occasional kiss.

I have no problem turning the pretty young things down. There was no point playing with their hearts anyway.

But the older ladies, the one who cooed and crowed about how happy my being back made them...not throwing them a little peck seems in opposition to the spirit of the season.

But Mila watched me like a hawk, and she was a stickler for games and rules; I know for a fact she had a Dungeons and Dragons Guide and a multi-sided die in her room in Boston.

I wanted to roll around with her in bed, and I knew I’d need to be on my best behavior to reach my goal.

I did double duty with winks, slow smiles, and extra potent drinks in an attempt to satisfy my pouting regulars. Maybe it was a little slutty of me, but this business requires me to be part actor, part drink-maker, and I tried to embrace both aspects of the job.

“You got the girls on the end with the sweetie drinks?” my dad asks over the roar.

I look at them by instinct and salute the one girl who’s definitely using her cherry garnish to communicate sexy things to me. My tips will take a hit for all this toned-down flirting, but Mila is so worth it.

The girl peeks her tongue out, and there’s the cherry stem, tied in a knot, and I chuckle under my breath and grit my teeth.

“They’re all doing great, Dad.”

“What about the guy who needed the brews for the pool players? He was here a minute ago...” He looks around distractedly.

“Done with him. I got his order together while he hit the john. They’re all squared away.”

“Shit!” Dad curses under his breath. “I forgot to give Bergin his holiday—”

I grin at him. “You’re going deaf and blind in your old age, aren’t you? He snuck in half an hour ago. I found his envelope in the lockbox, and it’s all good. Take a breather.” I hold up a sopping wet, bleached white rag. “Look, we’re so caught up, I have time to wipe down the bar.”

My dad reaches a hand out, slowly, and gives me a pat on the back. It’s kind of jerky and uncertain, but I don’t have given an a*shole thought or response to it.

It’s good.

And, since I’m not naturally a positive person filled with happy, nice thoughts, I wonder if all of this has anything to do with the fact that all night, between every drink I poured and mess I wiped clean, after every refill and trip to the cash register, I got to look down the bar and see Mila sipping her drink, smiling wide, singing along to some of the ridiculous Christmas carols, and chatting up anyone who came over to her.

I’m distractingly glad she’s here. I kind of wish I had enough money to employ her to sit at the end of my bar and keep me company on a regular basis, though it might make my bar ridiculously cheerful. Which has been the antithesis of my vibe thus far. I peddle in grumbling, strong old-fashioned drinks, and a misery-loves-company protocol.

But I think it’s been fairly well established that I’m an unbelievable wanker in every way.

I slide the rag down the bar and lean close to her, catching a whiff of her lavender-scented hair. “So, how goes it?”

“Alright. I was kind of secretly hoping the girl trying to seduce you with the cherry stem choked on it. Not like Heimlich maneuver choking. Just a little embarrassing gagging, you know? Maybe I am turning into one of those psycho girls.” She chews on a piece of ice consideringly.

“I like that side of you. Yeah, the girls can definitely get a little crazy, but my dad will get pretty scowly at anyone who pushes the boundaries too far, so don’t worry about that.”

I glance down at my father, yukking it up with Rusty, who gives me a hearty wave and goes back to nursing his romance-laced tropical drink.

“You and your father are the most adorable bartending duo I’ve ever seen in my life. Honestly. You really seem like you’re in your element here.”

She looks around, and her eyes are all shiny and appreciative, like maybe she can’t see the cobwebs and general decay.

“Yeah, well, I grew up with that old grouch in this old dump. I guess maybe I do have a soft spot for the whole scene.”

I lean closer, willing her to lean back and kiss me again.

“It’s not a dump.” She presses her eyebrows down over her eyes and looks around like she’s seeing something that makes her happy, something that’s not a totally sad example of the ultimate dive bar. “Maybe the carpet is a little old. And weird. And it needs a good handyman to give it a once-over. But it’s homey. It’s warm and full of good energy and happy people, and you can tell that’s its usual state. This place has that kind of Field of Dreams vibe going, right? Like, I bet your grandpa just built this and people came.”

Thinking about my grandpa usually fills me with guilt over the whole inheritance fiasco.

Right now, though, it fills me with a weird happy/sad cocktail — like a 4 Horsemen Shot, all the best and strongest things, all mixed up.





I’m happy because Mila is dead-on, and I know my grandpa would have loved her theory—and her. Not to mention, he always had a serious thing for brunettes. And he was always telling me that I didn’t have a shred of sense when it came to picking girls.

I got it, and just thought he was being old-fashioned.

But now?

Now I know he was trying to tell me to wait. To wait for her.

“C’mere and kiss me,” I demand, but Mila pulls back and her look is all teasing, gorgeous flirt. I don’t know how I never noticed the fact that she could flash that kind of hot-as-hell sexiness mixed in with her general sweetness, but now I can’t tear my eyes away.

“I don’t want to give up on the romance of our futon make-out session later on,” she says, her voice husky.

I refresh her drink and watch her take a slow sip, shocked at how much envy I can muster for a glass. “Look, I bet I can slide out now that the worst of the crowd filtered through and—”

But the door bursts opens and a slew of people crush in, snowflakes flecking their hair, the girls’ hips already swaying and the guys’ fists pumping to old regular Lucy’s crowing rendition of Brenda Lee’s “Rocking Around the Christmas Tree.”

“Looks like we’ve got a live bunch. But I’ll take care of them quick and, no fear, I’ll have you on my futon soon.”

I point a finger at her and waggle my eyebrows, and she giggles into her ice, flushed with good drinks and bar warmth.

I go back to my station ready to show off for Mila a little. My dad gets up from talking to one of the regulars, but I wave him back. I’m happy to and more than capable of taking care of the crew, a few of them familiar faces from high school I don’t mind seeing on this trip back home.

“Landry!” A familiar voice breaks through the gaggle and Toni is standing in front of me, her mouth twisted in a knowing grin, her long blonde hair glistening with melting flecks of ice and snow. She leans in, and I know Mila’s eyes are on me, so I dodge her kiss with a friendly hug instead. Toni doesn’t even attempt to press for more. “You look good. Can I ask if there’s a reason?”

I look down the bar and she follows my gaze.

“Oh, Landry.” She draws a quick breath in. “You took my advice?” She slides a hand across the bar and grabs mine for a minute, her shiny, manicured nails contrasting with mine, which are bitten down to nubs. “Get me a wine, please, anything white. I’m going to talk to her.”

I pop the cork on a fresh Riesling and scowl at Toni.

“No funny shit, Toni. I know I was sucking your face the other day and all crying to be in your arms, but you were right as hell. I was ignoring what was staring me in the face. And I don’t plan on continuing to f*ck up. So go easy. Please.”

She holds her delicate hand up to stop me from saying anything else.

“I’m completely happy for you. Honestly, I just want to talk to her a little bit. Just see if she’s as awesome as she looks. But I’m an excellent judge of character, and I get the feeling she’s amazing already.”

I pour her a bubbling glass and hand it to her with a twisted smile. “You’re an excellent judge of character? Really? ‘Cause you dated me, remember?”

“You were the singular exception to my good-judge-of-character rule.” She slides off the barstool and approaches Mila, walking gracefully on her four inch stilettos.

I’m all about focusing on Mila from now on, but it doesn’t stop me from appreciating that Toni is one hell of a sexy band geek.

I’ve never in my life wished I could hunker down and eavesdrop on some good ole girl talk, but right now I would kill to be able to overhear what they’re talking about.

Especially if it’s about me.

My heart is pumping like crazy. I believe that Toni has my best interests at heart and would never sabotage me on purpose, but she was always a loose talker when she got a little in her, and she’s downing that glass at a fast and furious rate.

I’m planning to go stock some bottles closer to them, but Dad gives me an expectant look, I snap back into reality, and I realize with a start that I have a line of customers waiting.

I jump into the middle of the fray, and barely lift my head until another familiar voice jars my memory.

But this one isn’t appreciated like Toni’s.

“Hey man.” Tyler is in front of me, hands in the pockets of his fancy boy khakis.

If this was my bar, I’d beat him to the f*cking door and kick his ass into the snow. Since it’s my dad’s bar, and he doesn’t put up with any spectacles ever, I bite my tongue and snap, “What can I get for you?”

“Whatever’s good on tap,” he says absently.

I’m annoyed as I tip the glass and let the amber liquid fill in in a smooth river.

I look down the bar at my father, who takes a minute to scowl in Tyler’s direction before he notices my twin look of disgust, nods, and goes back to his conversation.

Back when I was full of piss and vinegar and all packed to storm out of town, Dad tried to warn me that Tyler didn’t have the work ethic or passion it would take to run a successful bar. I should have known when the only goddamn thing he ever ordered was ‘whatever’s good on tap’ whenever we went to any bar anywhere.

Not that you have to be a professional drinker to run a bar, but you should have some interest in drinks.

Or knowledge about drinks.

Or business.

Or work.

Or not screwing your partner’s girlfriend while he’s learning to mix new drinks at your shared business, which he’s working hard to keep afloat.

I slosh the beer Tyler’s way and hope there’s someone else who wants or needs anything, but, of course, he hung out at the back of the line. I’m about to turn on my heel and go check on Toni and Mila, when Tyler says, “Landry, c’mon man, let me explain things for a second.”

I lean in closer to Tyler, and let the words slide through my clenched teeth.

“Explain things for a second? Like what, Tyler? Like how you decided to f*ck my girlfriend behind my back while I was working my ass off to get things going on the bar that you and I were supposed to be opening? Remember that?”

I slap the dishrag on the counter with more force than I mean to, because I really don’t want to let Tyler know how much the whole thing f*cked me up.

“I regret what I did every single day.” Tyler runs a hand over his blond hair, cut like he’s doing a photo-shoot for a Dockers’s commercial. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to turn to. I’m back with my parents now. Heather and I broke up—”

“Wow. Yeah, you’re breaking my f*cking heart here, man. Listen, maybe next time you should not be such a total a*shole, and you wouldn’t be drowning in all this shit right now.”

I look for Mila, but she’s not down the bar, which means she’s part of the increasingly rowdy crowd.

Even though there’s no reason to feel it, a tiny jolt of panic runs through me.

“Look, you gotta hear me out, Landry. I really was an a*shole, and I deserve for you to be pissed as hell at me. I do. But I want to know if you can find it in your heart to patch shit up and maybe...maybe consider doing the partner thing again? I’ll swing all the original funds I promised back into the bar. I hear you’re doing okay, but if you have some backing from me, we can make okay great, you know? Landry?”

Tyler dodges and weaves to plant himself in front of me, but my attention is elsewhere.

I’m actually looking out onto the dance floor, where my girl has her arms locked around the neck of my little brother. The karaoke machine was mercifully flicked off an hour or two ago, and it’s been regular Christmas songs on since then.

The Boss is singing “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” and my idiot brother is using every ounce of his Jersey boy charm on Mila and making her dance with him to this undanceable song.

My first instinct is to march on the floor and shove my brother to the side, then throw Mila over my shoulder.

But, I have a suspicion that a girl with a feminist poetry tattoo isn’t going to be alright with that.

My next option is to break in on them more subtly, but then I’d have to dance, and it’s really not my thing.

“Isn’t that Mila Eby?” Tyler asks, following my line of sight.

“How the hell do you know Mila?” This douche ex-business partner of mine is seriously a step and a half away from getting his ass kicked out into the cold.

“Remember Reggie, the guy who DJ’d at all those underground clubs? He had a thing for her, big time. I don’t know if he ever got around to asking her on a date or whatever. Yet. He said she intimidated the shit out of him.”

Tyler’s looking her up and down appreciatively, and I’m two seconds away from bashing his teeth in.

“Reggie? Wasn’t he the guy who did the music for the party for that French socialite, then MTV Euro picked his one song up and played it all over?” I ask.

“That’s Reg,” Tyler confirms.

What Tyler said finally clicks. “Wait, yet?”

“Yeah, if he hasn’t asked her out already, I know he was going to ask Mila to some big comic book thing because he did some soundtrack work for some video game and they invited him. I don’t have all the details, some nerd fest.”

I’m all ears, and Tyler’s taking advantage of my willingness to hear him out. I guess he thinks he can worm himself back into my good graces if he gets on my good side.

Of course, he had no clue I want to break his nose over the information he’s giving me.

“So, was Reggie going to do this all soon?” I ask. I’m competitive by nature, and I never actually had to compete for girls before.

But there was never a girl like Mila.

And I was never up against some a*shole DJ with connections to the comic book get together that makes her all swoony.

The info about Reggie coupled with watching Mila and Henry sway to “Baby It’s Cold Outside” while she tilts her head back and laughs is making my temper shake Incredible Hulk style.

How could I have been so dense to not see any of this coming?

How, only a few days ago, was Mila just my roommate?

“Yeah, the nerd-fest is this January, maybe, or something? Reggie is going to do this whole big production when he asks her. He’s got big plans, I guess.” Tyler is eager to move on to topics that have more to do with him, and he thinks he’s being suave by meshing conversation about Mila into them. “So, Mila came out here with you? Are you guys together? Or is she tending bar for you? I thought she worked in a bookstore or something.”

“She works in a library,” I mutter, starting to walk away from him and over to her, determined to get my romance on before some semi-famous DJ with the keys to the nerd romance that will make her dreams come true swoops in and steals my thunder. Two can play at this game. I can Google and order nerd-fest tickets as well as the next guy can.

Tyler grabs my arm. “Hey, man, so, can we get together? Maybe talk about the bar? That money is just sitting in my bank account. I know we went through some shit, and that was stupid as hell on my end. Bros before hoes is definitely the moral of the story for me, man. So, what are you thinking?”

All kinds of things come to mind. Things that have to do with split lips and black eyes and revenge so sweet, I can smell the open wounds.

But I don’t go there.

I’m not at the point where the Grinch’s heart grew two sizes and he carved roast beast or anything. But I am probably at the point where he turned the damn sled around and decided to leave Mount Crumpit.

But I’m still a goddamn grinch.

I grab Tyler by the freshly ironed collar and pull him close enough that my dad can’t overhear me threatening customers on his premises.

“I wouldn’t piss to put your money out if it was on fire, Tyler. As far as I’m concerned you’re a lying sack of shit who’s not worth wasting my damn breath on. And, to be honest, I don’t give a shit that you slept with Heather. You helped me dodge a huge bullet. But I’m about to change things. I’m about to make everything right with the right girl. And the last thing I’d goddamn want is some waste of space like you making things difficult for me. F*ck off and don’t come bothering me again.”

I let go of his shirt, and Tyler presses the hair out of his eyes and calls to me. “C’mon, Landry! You didn’t even hear me out.”

But I’m not in the mood to hear him or anyone else out.

The thing is, Reggie is a pretty good guy. So is Henry, much as it kills me to say it. They both knew Mila was amazing, was worth going after, when I was still slowly pulling my head of out my ass.

It took seeing her in that red dress to see her in a new light, to make all of my feelings click into place. And that makes me feel shallow as hell.

But it doesn’t change the solid fact that what I feel right now is real, and it doesn’t make me want to be with her any less.

When I saw her outside the bar just a few hours back, it felt like the Christmas miracle she kept joking that I should watch out for. She is, no doubt, the girl Toni told me to keep my eyes open for. She’s that one person I might be able to have a real connection to, the kind Rusty and Karen kind of glowed with when they were together.

But she wasn’t sure about us. She backed away before we even started, and now Henry’s got her in his arms and Reggie’s got some big plans to sweep her off her feet.

What did Toni tell her? The only stories that girl has are shitty ones where I’m concerned.

I watch her for a little bit longer, but I don’t go any closer. I feel someone next to me, and prepare to tell Tyler to f*ck off again, but it’s Dad.

“That the girl your mother called me to rave about before?”

The action at the bar has slowed to a crawl, but I’m still shocked he’s standing here next to me. My father never, ever leaves his station behind the bar.

Ever.

As if he wants to give me a full coronary, he hands me a mug.

“Hot toddy?” I inhale the scent of cloves.

This was my grandfather’s go-to winter night drink. He and my father drank them all the time, and Granddad used to give me a sip of his every once in a while, even though Dad frowned about it.

“I miss the old man most around the holidays. Sometimes this bar feels lonely as hell without him back here telling me every damn thing I’m doing wrong.”

There are so many snide remarks right on the tip of my tongue. So many ironies ripe for exposure.

But it’s Christmas Eve and my father just handed me a hot toddy, the drink he shared with his father only, and he’s breaking his own ‘never drink in your own pub’ rule. It’s a wacky ass day, and I’m willing to just roll with it and not be an a*shole.

“I miss him, too. I think he would have liked Mila, you know?” The dance floor is getting rowdier, and she’s dancing to an upbeat version of “Jingle Bells” with a group of other sweaty, giddy revelers.

“He would have. He had a thing for brunettes. She one of your bartenders?” Dad asks, sipping his drink piping hot, even though it’s got to be making welts on his tongue.

“No. Mila’s a librarian. And my roommate,” I say, and instantly realize that that one word carries an implication that’s not right. Not yet anyway. “Platonic roommate. Until last night.”

Dad’s bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows go up to his hairline. He hates TMI in any capacity, and especially when it comes to sex, so I clam up and veer in another direction.

“I don’t think she’s gonna stick around with me, though.” I sip my toddy, letting the combined temperature and the alcohol burn singe my mouth and throat.

“What do you mean?” Dad’s voice is testy, like he has no patience for this train of thought.

“I mean, I think she’s realized that coming out here to see me was more about fantasy than reality, I guess. And there’s a guy back in Boston who I just found out has a thing for her—”

“You have a thing for her,” my father interrupts. “Am I right?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “I do. But you know I’ve had a thing for girls before.”

“Dumb ones. Except Antonia. She was a nice one, but you burned her, and I was never so proud of any girl as I was of that one for dumping you.” As if she knows Dad’s singing her praises yet again, Toni looks over, and Dad raises his glass with a big, stupid grin. “A toast to good women we don’t deserve.” He holds his mug up to mine.

I look right at Mila, twirling in a circle around my brother, her dark hair curling from the sweat, her laugh ringing out and catapulting other laughs out of other peoples’ throats.

Our mugs clink in solidarity, and I mumble a half-hearted, “Cheers.”

“You’re a decent guy, Landry. Girls don’t drive hours on Christmas Eve for guys who don’t mean anything to them. Don’t sell yourself short all the time.” Dad takes a long sip and sucks air through his teeth. “I haven’t been fair to you all the time, son,” he starts. I’m about to interrupt him, but I hold back. My dad isn’t one for big speeches, and I want to know what he’s got to say.

“I let Paisley get away with murder, but she’s my little pumpkin. I know it seems like I go easy on Henry, but that’s because I know that boy needs a long leash. He won’t be happy staying put, staying close. He’s gonna have circumnavigated the Earth twenty times over by the time he’s my age. It’s not that I’m harder on any one of you than I am on the others. It’s that I know my kids. Like I know this bar. And you,” he turns and pokes me in the chest hard, “are the one most like me. I guess that’s why we butt heads so often.”

I think about what Rusty told me and about this whole business, and a new swell of shame threatens to choke me.

“Dad I just want to tell you that I’m so sorry I—”

“Nevermind,” my dad cuts me off. “Let me tell you, I was chomping at the bit to get out of this hole-in-the-wall when your grandfather was talking about passing it on.”

I take a long, honey-soaked sip of the whiskey-laced drink and shake my head. “You wanted to leave this bar? That’s ironic. Since, you know, you never leave this bar. Ever.”

Dad laughs, a deep, scratchy sound that comes from low in his throat. “I didn’t just want to leave. I left. I left to take a job selling cars.”

“Selling cars?”

I almost spit my drink on my shirt. My dad can talk to a drunk guy until the dude’s weeping on the bar. He’s got a gift like that. But trying to bamboozle someone into driving off in some lemon? It’s so not my dad’s bag. At all.

“I just wanted something different, I guess. I couldn’t come to terms with the fact that the bar was in my blood.”

He shrugs his massive shoulders. The shoulders I expected to be weighted down with worry.

“What changed your mind?” I ask, curious to know more about this secret side of my father I never even realized existed.

“Your mother.” He looks over at Mila, one hip balanced on the pool table, my brother racking up the balls. “She was so passionate about you kids and keeping a home. It made me realize that you don’t have to run away, you know, to find what’s good for you. Not always. So I came back to my home and started our life, here, together.”

I close my eyes for a long second and try to imagine this bar the way Mila and my father see it; as a place exploding with energy and happiness and goodness. Not some falling down shack that needs major repairs to every single, solitary corner.

“And you’re happy?” I make sure.

He claps a big hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, I am. And I know I acted like an ass about your grandfather’s money. When I thought you and that Tyler idiot were really pulling through together, I wanted to rip your head off your shoulders. But you got rid of that dead weight, and the bar is doing well. Money is just money, we all have to make our own choices about what to do with ours, and the rest...” Dad pauses. Getting all sappy isn’t his thing. “Well, I noticed your place got a write up in the Herald.”

“You saw that article?”

It was a write up in Boston’s paper that proclaimed us the “best place for an old-fashioned drink mixed properly with good atmosphere that will improve as a stable base crowd finds its niche within the simple walls.” My favorite write-up of the seven that chose to feature us. It made me proud to know Dad read it.

“Of course. And I’m glad. I really am, son. Putting your love and heart into a bar is a commitment that’s gonna last a lifetime. Gonna satisfy you for a lifetime.” He nods to Mila, who’s turned the tables on Henry and is showing him how to shoot properly.

I can practically see my brother’s blush from here.

“You like that girl.” It’s not a question the way my dad says it. “Here’s my advice, son. Stop worrying about other guys who are better and f*ckups from your past. Because there are better guys and you have been a huge f*ckup. But you deserve that girl more than anyone else, because you understand a true vintage. You know how rare it is, among all there is to choose from, to find something so delicate and sweet, but also fulfilling and robust. She’s the champagne son, and you’ll be able to celebrate with her for the rest of your life. You need that. You really do.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I say, holding my glass to his.

“Cheers.” He clinks and we swallow the last sweet, hot rush of a memory-bonded drink. He grabs my mug and says, “Tell Henry he’s on glass stocking duty. That little shit think he’s fooling anyone showing up twenty minutes after you actually need him every single time? Plus that, he’s trying hard to reel in your woman, and that’s one fish too big for that boy’s line.” He shakes his head, laughing appreciatively. “Man oh man, it’s nice to watch the boy try his heart out.”

My dad and I take a moment to enjoy the sight of Mila mercilessly schooling Henry, and then I stride off to her, my dad’s words solidifying my resolve.

“Dickhead, Dad needs you to do some actual work, so get back there and help. Not that your karaoke didn’t gladden all our hearts while we were busting our asses while we were in the weeds tonight.”

I smile at his scowl, then scowl myself when he kisses Mila way too close to the mouth. He goes back to the bar with a grin I’m sorely tempted to beat off his face.

“You both need to stop it,” Mila sighs. “I’ve decided that New Jersey, as gorgeous and welcoming as it is, is no place for romance. It’s too complicated here. Why is that?”

“Are you trying to say it’s less complicated in other states?” I ask, ringing my arms around her waist.

“Yeah.” Her voice is soft and her eyes, wide and green, are on me, shining then extinguishing, half-nervous, half-excited. “Why?”

“We are the most densely populated state in the nation. You know what that means. We’re used to being close to other people. That’s the key to romance.” I edge closer, she dodges back.

“Proximity?” She shakes her head. “No wonder you’re an opportunistic dater.”

She means for it to be funny. But neither one of us laughs.

“Hey. Stop saying that, okay?” I lean down and brush my lips over hers, softly.

I think about what Toni probably said to her.

I think about Reggie and Henry.

I think about my own f*ck-up-and-run personal dating philosophy.

Then I just think about her. Having her in my arms, having the chance to maybe, possibly, make things right. Finally make things right.

I kiss her a little more, and she opens her lips to me.

“You stop,” she says, but her voice is dreamy.

“You mean I should stop kissing you here and get you on my futon?” I whisper. “And right now would be the best time, of course. Because I’d really like to get it on before we sleep. Santa skips the houses where kids are awake.”

She laughs, but it’s jangly. “Landry, I can’t just crash your parents’ house and stay over on Christmas. And I’m definitely not staying in your bed.”

I cup her face and rub my thumb over her bottom lip, loving the way she shivers in response. “You came out here, drove all those hours, on this night of all nights, and you’re not even gonna get the goods?”

She blushes and backs up, almost bumping into another slowly swaying couple. “Landry, I didn’t come here to sleep with you.”

“You did too,” I insist. The smile that tug-of-wars on her lips is equal parts embarrassed and excited. “You did because what we have is chemistry. Undeniable chemistry like I’ve never had with anyone else. If you have had it before, just don’t tell me, okay? So let’s see if it means anything, if it works out to be more than we think. If not, we know and we can move on, okay? But if we don’t do this, we’re never gonna know. It will make daily life together hellish.”

“And if we have sex and regret it?” she presses, her hands rubbing slowly up and down my back.

“Then it won’t be uncomfortable at all. It just won’t be. I know this seems like it came out of nowhere to you, but I had an epiphany. You’re the one, Mila. And if I can’t use my limited charm and sexy prowess and incredible work ethic to convince you that we should be together, I’m going to hole myself up in my bar, grow a long, scary beard, and grumble along with all my unsatisfied, miserable customers. But, before I throw out all my razors, be with me. Do this with me.”

She shakes her head a little, and I grab her hands.

“Listen, imagine we were on Serenity, okay? You’re like the hot cheerful fixer girl—”

“Kaylee.” Mila is trying hard not to smile, but just the mention of that show lights her up.

“Right! Okay, and I’m the doctor with the stick up his ass sometimes—”

“Simon.” She grins and grabs me by the shirt, tugging me closer.

“Right. Could you imagine the end of Serenity without the Simon and Kaylee romance having some resolution?” I’m reaching here. I’m pulling from deep down to find something, anything to sway her.

She stands on her toes and pulls my head down, until her mouth is level with my ear. “Will you talk nerdy to me if I sleep on the futon with you?”

“All night long. It’ll be like that episode where Mal tricks Simon into thinking Kaylee’s dead, and Simon goes nuts on him. But, you know, not that morbid. Was that too morbid?”

She’s so alive, her eyes bright, her hands running in a hot, frantic pace over me, her lips parted, and before I can blabber on about her favorite show or whatever she thinks is sexy, she pulls my lips down and kisses me, fierce and fast at first, then slower, with more tongue and moaning and rubbing against me.

I know everyone can see us. I know my dad is probably completely uncomfortable and Henry is most likely contemplating jumping the bar and beating the crap out of me, but I don’t care. I couldn’t care less.

She’s in my arms, she’s kissing me back, we have this night, this one night she was so sure would be filled with so much crazy magic.

And, just as quickly as I screwed it all up for her, I have the chance to make it all right again, to make the two of us take the leap from awkward roommate- friends to lovers and everything else we should be.

“Come home with me,” I suggest, pulling back from her lips and kissing each one of her eyebrows, on the side of each eye, down along to her ears. I kiss her and I know, for sure, no questions, that as long as she’s with me, I’ll be home.

“Let’s go,” she says, and tugs my hand.

We leave without a second glance, into the blustery snow, away from the warmth of the bar, towards a new beginning that might link us together or unravel us permanently.

I’m ready to gamble on this. I’m ready to take my shot at being with her, no matter what happens in the end.

I’m ready to make my home.