Page 8 of A Guy Walks Into My Bar
I snort. If only Dad knew about last night.
Dad grins. “Oh? Perhaps you’ve already found someone?”
I shake my head. “Definitely not.”
“Liar.”
I huff. “How do you do that? See right through me?”
“I wonder. Maybe because I raised you? Also, did you forget I was a reporter for thirty-five years? I know how to read people.”
“You know how to read financials and CEOs. You were a business reporter.”
“And I know how to read my son. Who is the lucky fella?”
I laugh at his persistence. “No one. Just this absolutely frustrating American who walked into my bar last night and had the nerve to flirt with me.”
Dad feigns shock. “Flirting with a handsome, quick-witted, sarcastic bartender. The goddamn nerve of the Yankees.”
“Can you believe it? Some nights I have to beat them off with a stick.”
He strokes his jaw. “It’s the family curse, son. We have no choice but to live with it. I’ve had to spend my entire life fending off the ladies.”
“Yeah, seems like Penny wants to work her magic on you. She was trying to get me to buy you a scone.”
“I knew I liked her for a good reason. But you’re not distracting me.” Dad wags his oat-covered spoon in my direction. “Will you see this absolutely frustrating American again?”
I shrug. “I don’t think so. It’s all for the best. Too much going on at work. I don’t have time for frustrating Americans. Especially ones who are too cocky for their own good.”
“All I’m saying is, don’t let all the opportunities pass you by. I’ve always admired your work ethic, but it’s okay to get out there a little sometimes, meet that special someone.”
I roll my eyes. I go out when I want to. I don’t go out when I don’t want to, and I’m perfectly content with that. “And it’s okay to skip the scone. We’re both full of sage advice today. Now, I should nip off, or I’ll be late.”
“Thanks for the breakfast. I think,” he says as he puts down his bowl of oats. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to end up either covered in brown sugar or tossed in the rubbish bin right after I leave.
“You’re welcome. I think.”
He waves me off with one last comment about “keeping my eyes open.”
The man’s stubborn, I’ll give him that.
Maybe, possibly, I take after him in that regard.
But better him than the other person responsible for half my genes.
I leave and make the quick walk to the Tube. During the ride, I turn over his advice, weighing the pros and cons of it. I love the man, but it’s a little ironic for him to be trying to encourage me to find a special someone, especially since he didn’t date for years until I finally convinced him to get on the apps recently. Part of it is probably an old habit for him, thinking he still needs to be looking out for me and only me. Ever since Mum took off for Australia after a whirlwind affair with a man from Sydney when I was thirteen—one that went tits up a few years later—it’s been Dad and me against the world. He did whatever it took to support us, whether it meant taking on extra freelance assignments or avoiding romantic entanglements, something he claims he didn’t do, but I know him—his focus was singular in those years, and I suppose it worked out as he’d hoped. He raised a good kid, and without him, I know the path off the rails would have been too easy.
More proof that sometimes you just need to stay the course and focus on what’s important.
Business.
Friendships.
Family.
But love?
Seems to me that following your heart is foolish and leads to stupid decisions like abandoning your family to go halfway around the world.
Mum’s on her fourth marriage now.
Every time, she says that guy is the one.
As if there’s a one.
That’s why I won’t be the one to lose in my game with Maeve. And that’s what I ought to be focusing on. Getting her in our game, since I suspect she was trying to trip me up last night.
It’s like she hears my thoughts because the second I’m off the Tube and back outside, my phone buzzes with a message.
Maeve: Sure you don’t need to pick up supplies for some chores later? You and that American seemed pretty chummy.
Dean: Further proof that you will be the one to lose this battle. If I can withstand that man, I can withstand anything.
Maeve: How can you be so sure that’s the last you’ve seen of him?
Dean: Because I’m all business today. Now, about the bar expo. What am I looking for?
Maeve: You’re all work and no play, Dean. What have I told you about that?
Dean: That it means I’ll win our game?
Maeve: You nearly lost last night. But no worries. I understand why. He’s quite foxy. Hard not to notice. Harder still to look away from. I’m curious though. Did you learn if his ink went all the way up to his shoulders? Down his back? To the V of his abs?
