Page 63 of Another Last Call
That summer, I fucked Maggie for the last time on a weekly basis, if not more. We never did it in the bar or the office, but at least once a week we ended up giving in to the tension between us. Each time, we swore it was the last, that we’d stick to it this time and stop sleeping together. Each time, we failed, and I was feeling less and less guilty about it.
I had a feeling that we were finding things to argue about on purpose.
The Sea Glass was doing well, business-wise. We were busy almost every night and made sure we took care of our local regulars, but were just as welcoming to the tourists who, honestly, dropped way more money with us than I’d expected. Big Tim’s burgers were classic, but it was the new Indian fusion dishes he and Tammy came up with that kept people coming back. If someone told me that the butter chicken burger would start outselling the bacon burger, I wouldn’t have believed it, but it did. The locals loved their coupons. The staff seemed happy with how things were going and if there was something they didn’t like, they weren’t afraid to tell me, which I respected.
Despite trying to help Maggie as much as I could, she still worked harder than anyone else. We were busy enough that we started opening Tuesdays, previously Maggie’s only day off because the bar was closed. She was there before opening every day, often staying until after the dinner rush and sometimes even until close if it was busy. All the while, she insisted she was fine.
She also insisted that I take days off, even though she steadfastly refused to. Her excuse was that I needed the time to work on my renovations, which was fair, but looking back, I think it was a control tactic. But it was an argument I let her win.
That fight did end with a particularly memorable blow job where I came all over her tits, watched her wipe it away and lick it off her fingers, and got so hard from the view that I ended up bending her over the couch again. But she would have won the argument with or without sucking me off. Maggie was protective over everyone’s work-life balance, except her own.
It was about a month before the end of summer when I walked into the bar one evening to start my shift. It was comparatively quiet when I went in, and the evening staff had all arrived. Tammy was on the bar, Big Tim was in the kitchen, and we had two servers working the floor.
I expected that meant Maggie was catching up on things in the office, and that I’d be more helpful with that. Tammy could easily handle the bar herself already. I opened the door and was about to greet her, but stopped when I saw no one was sitting behind the desk.
Frowning, I was about to go back to the kitchen and ask if anyone knew where Maggie was when I heard that sweet little snoring noise I’d heard once before. Looking around the open door, I saw her lying on the old green couch, arm thrown across her face and fast asleep.
Quietly, I entered the office and closed the door behind me. As she slept, I sat down at the computer and began working, typing as softly as I could so the sound didn’t wake her.
There was a decent amount of stuff to do, but I got through quite a bit of it. By the time Maggie woke up, I had posted the next schedule, prepped our liquor order, and done payroll. I was just starting on a tax report when I heard her gasp and bolt upright on the couch.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“I don’t know,” I said, still typing. “Couple hours, at least.”
She stood up, patting her hair down frantically. “Shit. Caleb, why didn’t you wake me up? It’s dinner and… fuck, I need to—”
“It’s okay, Mags. Everything’s under control.”
She didn’t listen and bolted out of the office as though the kitchen was on fire. I glanced at the cameras and watched as she stopped short, surveying the restaurant. Customers were taken care of, the bar was stocked, and Big Tim was happily flipping burgers while Tammy chatted with Fred and Wanda at the bar. Slowly, she walked back to the office, shutting the door behind her.
“They had no idea, did they?”
I shook my head. “I came in here when I arrived and haven’t been back out.”
She sat back down on the couch. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
I stopped typing. “What time did you get here this morning?”
She didn’t respond, just blushed.
“And what time did you leave last night?” I pressed.
“A couple hours after close. One-thirty, maybe?”
“I looked at the cameras. You turned the lights out at twenty after three.”
Again, she didn’t respond.
“Mags, you’re here a minimum of twelve hours a day, every day. You’re exhausted.”
“What am I supposed to do, Caleb?” Her face twisted, and for a moment I thought she was going to cry. “There aren’t enough hours in the day to get everything done.”
“We can hire someone to help.” She started to protest, but I interrupted. “We can absolutely afford it. I’ve looked back on the sales reports from the last five years. Even with us closing to renovate, we made more money during the off season than any previous year. We’ve already doubled last year’s profit this season, and there’s still at least a month to go. Six weeks if the weather holds up.”
“And what about paying you back for the renos?” she asked. “How can you consider this all profit when we haven’t paid you back yet?”
“I knew what I was getting into,” I said. “Besides, what good does it do to pay me back at the cost of you burning out? Long term, that’ll cost us more. We can’t run this place without you, period.”
