Page 47 of Finding Her (Lore of the Fields #1)

The lower of his two hands shoved into deep light-wash denim pockets, while the others reached out for my own.

I attempted to feign confidence, stretching my right arm to deliver my attempt at a firm handshake.

From wrist to fingertip, my hand wasn’t even the size of his palm.

He folded both of his calloused mitts over mine and smiled warmly.

“Thanks for giving me this opportunity.” I returned his friendly expression easily, although I had to crane my neck to do so.

Theo had a casual geniality that felt approachable and safe.

How many patrons had found themselves slumped over the counter spilling their guts and feeling like someone was truly listening to them for the first time?

I couldn’t imagine a better aura for bartending.

This approachability was in direct conflict with his brutish appearance.

He must have been nearly eight feet tall, the width of his muscular body only adding to his overall mass.

When I first met Theo, I noticed a long white scar raised through his buzzed brown hair.

Now, in a more… attentive mental state, I was able to take in the additional rough edges through scattered layers of tattoos.

Life had taken its pound of flesh from him, and more.

His body told a story of hardship, and it was a miracle that it hadn’t touched his demeanor.

His hardened hands were covered in micro scars, like they’d been cut more times than they could recover from.

Thick patches of red burns peeked through the watery ink on his forearms. Partially hidden under the neckline of his fitted tank top, I could faintly see a healed pit in his skin. Had he been stabbed? Shot?

“I appreciate the help.” He released my hand and made his way back to prepping tables.

I noted a significant limp that wasn’t there before.

“One of my team had their last day yesterday. I originally didn’t think I’d need the additional hands-on deck, but it looks like I’ll be away more than expected in the new year.

Figure I better hire a new bartender or two to cover for me so the team doesn’t mutiny while I’m gone. ”

I was relieved to hear confirmation that Theo did, in fact, go on random lengthy excursions like Graysen described. He hadn’t been stalling; their stories matched.

“I’m not very experienced, but I’m a fast learner.

” I summoned my most can-do grin. I wasn’t sure I was a fast learner per se, but hell, I had adjusted to an entirely new world somewhat successfully in a matter of weeks.

If I wasn’t smart, I was at the very least determined, resilient, and curious.

Those qualities could mimic intelligence in a pinch.

“If you can be friendly, set boundaries, and pour a drink, you’ll be fine.

” He said, his voice rumbled in his chest. I wondered if his enlarged ribcage was the reason for the way his voice reverberated.

His bone structure seemed built to accommodate the weight of his extra limbs, and the bass of his vocals matched that power.

“What can I help with now?” I started flipping chairs on the last remaining table.

“Just get familiar with where things are.” He pulled out a small leather-bound notebook from his pocket and held it out to me. “Take notes in here. I’ve tucked a guide with the recipes you’ll need to know under the cover.”

“Thank you.”

“It’ll be dead the next few hours, so I’m gonna catch up on finances in the office.

Damn energy company is making it real difficult to keep the lights on these days, I’m thinking of switching to candlelit dining,” he joked.

“If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to come back and ask. You good for now?”

“I think I’m good.” I nodded, anxiously thumbing the pages I was about to study like my life depended on it.

Theo gave me a quadruple thumbs up and disappeared behind the metal swinging door.

It was strange being within the three-sided square of wooden countertops. I would have laughed at the idea of working at this pub the last time I was here. Sure, let me just casually pick up other-worldly bartending to pass the time . But here I was, and it felt right.

The central work area was open, with spouted barrels resting on shelves below the countertops.

Graysen had explained that these would be labeled clearly and make for easy orders to fill.

Gazing at the words branding each keg, I found comfort knowing I could at least manage that.

The back wall of the space held the cocktail station, with various liquors, mixers, syrups, and garnishes lining shelves backed by a large mirror.

Glasses, mugs, and steins neatly occupied the platform just above the steel prep table.

At the station’s center was a deep sink, a low refrigerator, and a pit of ice.

I leaned onto the waist-high bartop and opened the notebook.

The “ guide ” he had referenced was an expanded version of the menus strewn about the establishment, annotated with notes that were so clear it was almost patronizing.

I was incredibly grateful, but couldn’t help thinking it was odd how everything was outlined so explicitly.

Even what Graysen had described as common knowledge on Trebianna was summarized in simple terms. At this level of explanation, he might as well have defined “ water ” for me.

Patrons started shuffling in a couple of minutes before we were technically open.

Theo came out to greet them and introduce me.

It seemed the early attendees would be regulars.

He knew their orders, asked about their family members by name, and followed up on pertinent life topics like moving and work.

His attentive small talk bought me plenty of time to stumble through preparing their beverages.

Only one order had been something novel to me, and Theo’s exhaustive guide fulfilled its role in getting me through without having to request assistance.

Each of the patrons expressed their thanks and began glugging away without breaking from conversation with Theo.

I took it as a sign that the quality of my work was decent enough, at the very least not worth commenting on.

This pattern continued into the next round of customers; Theo took the heat off me with his interpersonal ease while I grew more comfortable.

I would occasionally catch him glancing in my direction through the corner of his eye to check in on me, and I nodded back in response.

His method was doing wonders for establishing a comfortable pace.

Before I knew it, the bar was buzzing with a full crowd, and my confidence was growing.

“Things are slowing down.” Theo stood by me and stared out at the full room. “I wouldn’t expect many newcomers until the late-night wave in a few hours.”

“Thanks for all your help, Theo.” I let out a relieved exhale that relaxed my shoulders. How had it been this easy? Despite some reasonable fatigue, I felt unscathed.

“Why are you thanking me? You’re the one who made all the drinks.” The deflection was undeserved; he’d been working overtime running interference on customers so I could focus.

Despite being fluent in banter, I didn’t think Theo seemed to relish in the non-stop conversations.

Occasionally, I caught his expression falling weary before picking itself back up to face the next patron.

These moments were exclusively visible from the cocktail station when his back was to the rest of the room.

The smile would disappear, his eyes would tilt down at the edges, and his forehead would crease.

If I blinked, I would miss it, but it was hard to ignore once I did see it.

“What should I do when it's slow?” I figured now was when I would go up to bat on small talk, but I’d prefer to pick up some busy work if given the choice.

“I need to finish up in the office, lots to catch up on from my trip. Can you manage things until close? Keep the place clean and I’m happy.” He stepped towards the door. “Come on back if you need anything.”

And with that, I was alone. Now that I was responsible for managing myself and the many drunken guests of the pub, I felt like a total imposter. I could only clean glasses and ask people if they were “ doing okay ” so many times before it was weird.

In another attempt to stay busy, I took notes on the more atypical orders, mumbling to myself absent-mindedly about ingredients.

“A Kaleisco has Cabix liquor, shaken with ice, drizzle one ounce of Prisma, rim dipped in syrup and rolled in salt… no… bitter rock…no…” I chewed on the end of my pencil.

Two people had ordered this and, although not on the menu, Theo had assured them it was “ easy enough ” to make and provided verbal instructions to me.

In the rush, I had failed to commit those instructions to paper.

“It’s salt,” a voice said to my left.

I looked up from my list to a barstool in the far back corner.

A Mercurian with seafoam green veins running along the trenches of his skin was seated there, leaning his chin into his palm.

His light brown hair was cropped, and stubble to match covered a square jawbone.

I hadn’t seen him come in, much less make his way to the very back.

“I’m sorry?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking him to repeat himself or apologizing for the indeterminate amount of time I had been ignoring him.

“A Kaleisco has Cabix liquor and Prisma, shaken with ice and rimmed with syrup and salt,” he clarified.

“Oh.” I quickly scribbled the answer into my notes. “Thanks. What can I get you?”

“Are you new?” He ignored my question and tossed a nut from one of the bowls on the counter into his mouth with a distant “ crack” .

“Yeah.” I closed the notepad and tucked it in my pocket. “It’s my first day. Sorry if I didn’t catch you coming in.”