Page 17 of Barron's Second Chance
His bar manager, Ian, usually did this job, but he was off sick today. Barron didn't want to make Harriet, his day supervisor, work the arduous task of keg changing, so he was happy to take over.
Once done, he wiped his hands down the front of his jeans before stopping by his back office to run through the new inventory to be delivered next week.
The Homestead had been in business for the past three years and was a roaring success. After getting his business degree and coming into a small but profitable inheritance from his grandparents at twenty-one, Barron knew he wanted to return to New Haven to open a bar and restaurant. His dad was a silent partner, and together they bought an empty, derelict building and converted it into a trendy bar and restaurant.
Their gamble paid off, with many locals and seasonal tourists choosing The Homestead as their favorite watering hole.
It had the main restaurant section, which was a mix of small and long tables and seating at the bar. In the back corner was a separate room filled with cozy armchairs and couches. It had a hunting lodge/comfy library decor feel to it.
At the other end of the bar was a section mainly for families with a small play area for little kids. A private room could also be hired out for parties and functions. They had a small wedding elopement dinner booked two weeks ago and an upcoming fifth birthday party next Saturday. It was an inclusive spot, and he was proud to be a co-owner.
After emailing his meat supplier about a small discrepancy in his order for next week, he finished up a few menial tasks before shutting his computer down.
The perk of owning a successful establishment and hiring competent managers was that he only needed to do the bare minimum of check-ins before freeing his day up. He still liked to be heavily involved in the day-to-day tasks, but after realizing that Ian and Harriet were more than competent managers and supervisors - and his dad firmly telling him that he needed to stop micromanaging - he learned to let go of the reins a bit.
Barron snatched up his jacket and phone, noting that his Mom sent him a text thirty minutes ago.
Hi sweetie, can you stop by the house once you’re free. There’s something I need to run by you. Love you.
A prickle of awareness trickled down Barron’s spine at the ambiguous message. He gave a slight shiver and rubbed the back of his neck in reaction to the odd feeling.
After flicking back a message that he would be there in ten, he locked his door and waved goodbye to his bar staff. It was only 1 pm on a Sunday, and already the place was busy with the lunch crowd.
As he turned the ignition on in his car, the radio station he had tuned in blasted through the quiet of his vehicle, assaulting his senses with the familiar tune. Swearing, he reached down and violently jammed at the button on his stereo to change the station. His heart slowed back to a steady beat once he heard an old 80's rock ballad blaring through his speakers.
Funny, he used to be a fan of The Living English. Now, he just couldn't stand to listen to them anymore.
As he drove the short trip to his parent's, his hand tapping on the steering wheel to the crooning of Journey, Barron gave another shiver. The odd sensation he had at The Homestead was back, now feeling like cold fingers down his spine. There should be no reason for him to feel uneasy, as if someone had walked over his grave, so to speak. The ghosts of his past were no longer a stranglehold on his mental and physical health. He was at peace for the first time in a long time.
He groveled to many of his former friends and now had a good relationship with most of them. Unfortunately, his closest two - Sofia and Ryan - chose not to engage in his apology tour. He respected their decision, and as much as it pained him to lose them, he only had himself to blame.
His parents would never disown him or criticize him for mistakes of his youth, but his Mom had been sufficiently pissed with him for a long time, especially when her best friend barely spoke to him. He had come a long way with his parents and Susan, who had been like a second Mom to him. Things would never be how they were with her, but he would take what he could get.
As he turned into his parent's driveway, he banished the bleak thoughts and focused on the good in his life.
"Mom!" He called out as he closed the front door behind him. He removed his jacket and hung it by the door.
"In here!" He heard her call out.
As he approached the kitchen, he frowned at seeing his Mom and Dad sitting at the dining table. His Mom had a suspiciously bright smile on her face, and his dad was watching his approach wearily.
'What did I do?" He joked as he sat across from them.
His Mom gave a nervous laugh before glancing cautiously at his dad. His father only lifted a brow at his wife before flicking his hand toward his son. A gesture that read, ‘the floor is yours.’
"Son," his Mom started, clasping her hands on the table in front of her. "You know how I'm introducing that new program for young girls next summer?"
'Vaguely," he replied, running a hand down his face. "Refresh my memory?"
His Mom huffed in annoyance. Obviously, she had mentioned the program more than once. "We're doing classes for young girls, teens, and pre-teens. Self-defense classes, self-esteem, career talks, sexual health clinics, that type of thing."
"Oh, right. Yeah, that sounds like a conversation I was tuned into. Ouch!" He startled as his father leaned over to smack him over the head.
"Listen to your Mom," was all he said. His Dad was a man of few words, but when he spoke, you best believe we all listened.
"Sorry, it sounds great. What about it?"
"Susan and I were talking a few weeks back about how it would be lovely if Eden could come and do a talk with the class." She eyed her son over the rim of her coffee mug.
