Page 4 of Just A Little Joy

“Shit, I’m really sorry. There was an accident getting off I-5, and I got rerouted. I should’ve given myself more time.”

I hated the self-recrimination in his voice. Yeah, he was fifteen minutes late for an interview, but it wasn’t his fault they had to reroute traffic. If it happened again, fine, I’d handle it. But this time, I wasn’t going to knock him.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault.”

“But it is my fault. I didn’t give myself extra time.”

I appreciated his willingness to take responsibility, but I hated how angry he sounded at himself.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. I laid my hand on his shoulder in a decidedly boss sort of way. “That’s enough of that. You’rehere now. It wasn’t your fault. Now you know to give yourself an extra five minutes.”

Casey nodded but stayed quiet. I gestured toward a table and invited him to sit.

“Want a drink before we get started?”

“No, I’m good. I’d rather just do the interview.”

“Well, it’s really not much of an interview. It’s just me asking if you want the job, you saying yes, and then me showing you around the bar.”

“So no questions about why I want the job, how long I’ll stay, or what my qualifications are?” Casey’s lopsided grin never left his face, and I couldn’t stop a matching one from spreading across mine.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What are your qualifications for the job? How long are you planning to stick around? Why do you want this job?”

“I’ve been in town for a few months, and I like it, so I’ll probably be here a while. I want the job because I need something to occupy my evenings that doesn’t involve hanging out at clubs. And I don’t remember the other question.”

“Yeah, I don’t either.” We both sat and looked at each other. The part of the job I wasn’t prepared for was how to be a boss to someone I was instantly attracted to. The last thing I needed or wanted was to come off as a creep who preyed on my employees. The reputation of this place had been lousy when I bought it, and we’d worked hard to bring back the friendly neighborhood vibe, not the kind of place where you had to watch your drink or your back.

“Just as well because I don’t either. But one of my questions should be to confirm you know what a barback does.”

“Keep the bar stocked, clean up, help the bartenders when they need it, and step in if the bouncers need it.”

“You okay with helping bus tables if needed?”

“Cleaning is cleaning.” He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me where the dirty dishes are.”

That was all I needed to hear. The guy who’d been here after I took over lasted less than one night before declaring that he wasn’t a busboy. Fuck that shit—pitch in when help is needed or get out. It was how my dad ran his bar, and it’s how I was going to run mine.

“Good answer.” The way he straightened under praise made something warm and protective unfurl in my chest. “Come on. I’ll show you around the bar.”

“Canyou go back to the kitchen and grab me that last tray of glasses?” I asked Casey as we finished resetting the bar. Everyone had gone home for the evening, and it was just the two of us left. The garden lights outside were off, as were the ones near the doors, so nobody tried to wander in. The bar lights still cast a soft glow across the wooden counters.

“Sure thing.” Casey disappeared into the back and returned a few moments later, arms straining under the weight of a full tray of glasses. Without a word, he set them neatly in place and slid the tray back into its spot beneath the bar.

I had never had an employee throw themselves so completely into a new job. He didn’t ask what needed to be done. He just looked around and did it. Growing up, my dad always complained that he spent half his day telling people what to do, and he never figured out the secret to teaching them to do it automatically. Casey seemed to have that knack built in. He knew exactly what to do and where to go. He kept the cases stocked, the glasses clear, and even found time to sneak food tothe other workers in a quiet moment so they weren’t starving by the end of the shift.

He threw himself in like he was afraid slowing down would make him lose his place, and I knew that feeling much too well. Tonight, the bartender told me that if I didn’t keep Casey on, they were going to quit.

“You’ve got a lot of hockey gear stuff around,” Casey said as he finished wiping off the tables.

I’d told him it wasn’t necessary, but he didn’t listen and did it anyway. It almost felt like he was avoiding going home, but that was ridiculous. He had to be exhausted after jumping feet first into his first shift. He said it casually, but there was a flicker in his expression like he already knew more about me than I expected.

“Yeah, I was into it back in the day.”

Casey snorted. “Is that what you’re gonna call it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know you from hockey, but I did figure out that you’re a hockey player.”