Page 11 of The Havenport Collection

Cecelia

A fter two days of training, I had to take the lead on bar for my first Saturday night.

I was definitely not prepared for this. Without my usual work armor of suits and heels, I felt positively exposed.

I know it was just pouring beer but I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous.

I wore my new jeans for luck and knotted my Binnacle brewing T-shirt at the waist. Unlike my usual New York style, my hair was in a high pony, messy curls escaping everywhere.

Sneakers rounded out my work look with more than a little makeup to help hide my nerves.

Nora was pissed because I couldn’t go to the fundraiser for the shelter with her.

I told her to stay home and make a donation, but she insisted she had to “teach Lucas Kim a lesson,” whatever that means.

I swear, the only lesson she wants to teach him is with her vagina, but I know better than to say that out loud.

It was early, but things were going moderately well. I poured beers and answered a few questions and just generally smiled and kept busy.

At that very moment a guy about my age sat down at the bar and got my attention. I grabbed a glass and headed over.

“Hey. How are you tonight? What can I get you?”

“Hm…I’m not sure.” He gave me a blatant once-over and smiled.

He was clean-shaven and had dirty blond, neatly trimmed hair.

He was wearing a tight polo shirt and a large flashy watch.

He looked like he worked out a lot. While handsome and definitely my type, I could not be less interested. I clearly need a nice long man break.

He gave me a smile. “What’s good here?”

“Well, that depends on what you like. Our signature beer is the All Hops on Deck New England style IPA. It won the Golden Stein beer prize this year. If you don’t like things too hoppy, I am a big fan of our Leeward Lager. It’s smooth with some citrus notes.”

He nodded, his eyes locked on my chest. “Okay, cutie. What else do you have?”

I was starting to get flustered. This guy was clearly flirting with me—albeit in a slightly pervy way—and I just wanted to sell him a damn beer and move on to the dozen or so other customers who needed service.

The old Cecelia would just mumble something and get out of this situation as quickly as possible. But new Cecelia was a ballsy bitch so instead I leaned over and propped my elbows up on the bar and made eye contact with him, giving him a smirk that said “I know you were checking out my rack.”

“Well,” I said flirtatiously, “if you want something a little more out of ordinary, our sour is fantastic. My personal favorite.”

He gave me a slight head nod. “Okay.”

I interrupted him. “Actually, on second thought. I think you need to try our Helmsman Double IPA. It is really intense—will put some hair on your chest.” And I blatantly looked at his chest to see if he would get the memo.

“Okay, then. I guess I’ll have to drink it and prove I’m man enough.”

I poured his beer and handed it to him before giving him a wink and turning around, only to smack right into a wall of hot bearded man.

I felt a jolt of electricity shoot up my spine.

Liam put his hands on my hips to steady me, and I felt my entire body flush.

He leaned in close so I could hear him in the noisy bar, and I was hit by a wall of his masculine scent.

“Just came to bring you some clean glassware,” he mumbled into my hair.

I took a step back knowing my entire face and neck were flushed. “Okay, great.” I reached to grab the glass rack he had set on the counter, but he stopped me. “Here,” he said, grabbing the rack of glasses from my hands, “let me get this for you.”

He effortlessly picked it up and started filling the shelves under the bar while balancing the heavy rack in one hand.

He looked so confident and capable and way too good for an overworked brewery owner on a busy Saturday night.

He was wearing a Binnacle Brewing Company T-shirt that highlighted every toned muscle in his torso.

His jeans were low slung and hugged all the right places.

A hint of a tattoo peeked out of his left bicep and his ever present leather cuff bracelet hung on his wrist. I found myself mesmerized by his forearm muscles as he quickly packed the glasses.

Damn, girl, you are being way too obvious. Better look away.

A group of older ladies wandered up and ordered some tasting flights. I walked them through the different options from lightest to darkest and sent them on their way.

Liam was leaning against the back of the bar watching me. His arms were crossed over his chest making his forearms look extra veiny.

He gave me a sly smirk. “Look at you showing off your beer knowledge.”

I tried to hide my blush. “Thanks. I’m having fun.”

“I can see that. You’re doing a great job. Everyone’s glasses are full, and you are answering questions and chatting about beer. I’d say you are crushing your first Saturday night on the job.”

“Hey. It’s only nine thirty. The night is still young. I need to stay focused. Also, the keg on the raspberry sour is tapped. Can you ask Trent to change it for me?”

“No problem. I’ll do it right now. We have never sold this much of the sour.”

“Well, it’s my favorite and when people ask, I am pouring them samples.”

“Attagirl. Okay, go back to selling beer and I’ll make sure you have fresh kegs.”

I went back to pouring beers, filling pretzel bowls, and chatting with customers.

I snagged empties and put them in the bus bucket that Trent collected every half hour.

Someone had put some eighties hits on the jukebox, and I found myself swaying to the music while I rushed around.

It was the strangest feeling. I was busy—like, really busy—but I felt great.

I was chatting and laughing and smiling and everyone was pretty polite and positive because, hey—I was the lady with the beer—and the night just sort of flew by.

Before I knew it, it was eleven and we were loading the dishwasher and wiping down the bar.

“Who was that guy?” Liam asked as we worked.

“What guy?”

“That blond pretty boy who was flirting with you all night. Do you know him?”

“I don’t know.” I was starting to get sassy. “A customer who wanted my thoughts on the double IPA?” Why was he interrogating me?

“Okay. I thought maybe he was a friend of yours.”

“Nope. Total stranger. But if he was—am I not allowed to serve drinks to my friends?”

“Of course you are, as long as they’re paying. I just wanted to check.”

I was instantly annoyed by his cranky attitude. “Did I do something wrong? Did I not pour the beer fast enough? Was I rude or unhelpful?”

“No. Not at all. You were great. You are a natural. Friendly and approachable and knowledgeable. You are probably the best bartender we’ve had.

I am always too busy worrying about other stuff to really pay attention to the customers, and Trent lacks your social finesse.

” He paused, wiping down the already clean counter.

“It also doesn’t hurt to have a cute girl working the bar. ”

And my hackles were up. He does not get to call me cute after telling me he would never dream of dating me. “Cute girl?”

“Sorry. A lovely and accomplished grown woman.” He shot me a cocky grin, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to smack him or kiss him.

I needed to get home and get my shit together.

I was on a high of a fun night and great tips.

So what if he thought I was cute? I supposed that being cute wasn’t the worst thing in the world.

Sensing that I needed to get out of there, I got his attention. “Liam, what else do I have to do to close down the bar?”

“We’re pretty much done. Do you need to be somewhere?”

“No. Just want to go home, put my feet up, and relax.”

“Can I tempt you with a beer? I want to talk to you about Oktoberfest and get your thoughts.”

“Okay, fine. But only if I can sit in the comfy chairs,” I say, gesturing to the large leather club chairs clustered in the corner of the taproom by the fireplace.

“Of course. Those are my favorite. Take a load off. You’ve earned it. We had a great night.” And just like that he was back to being sweet, friendly Liam, not broody, weird Liam. This guy was going to give me whiplash.