Six

GREG

Atext comes in from Martin reading, Can you come in thirty minutes early tonight? I'd like to have a meeting with you. Greg doesn't know what to make of this, so the first thing he does is show it to Rufus.

"Cuz, you're probably getting a raise." They sit at the small square table in the kitchen passing Greg's phone back and forth.

"Really?" It's only been two and a half weeks. A raise wasn't his first thought when he read this text. His immediate association was boarding school, disciplinary action, and anxiety attacks over letting people down.

"Rufus says you've been killing it over there," Jessica, Rufus's girlfriend, says as she finishes off the last of her Chipotle bowl. She worked her shift over there earlier and brought over a late free lunch. Greg was incredibly thankful for the free part.

"Yeah," Rufus says reassuringly. "You come in every night with great stories and a wallet full of tips. You're making connections with the customers."

How much connection is too much connection, though? Pilot Jeff has texted him a few times since their initial meeting. At first it was about cocktail recipes, but eventually it trailed into more personal territory that made Greg a little uncomfortable with the secretive undertones and the sexual questions.

The middle-aged women from the night he met Pilot Jeff told their friends about Martin's and came in again with their entire book club, announcing to Braydon at the host stand, "That guy's got the best cocktails in all of Bethlehem!" It was clear they had just come from a paint-and-sip class at an art studio down the road and were looking to continue their night out. Greg rolled with the punches.

"That's true. It's just the tone... Isn't it a little harsh?" Greg asks, nervous. He's particularly sensitive to tone, a skill he picked up from a young age when his father's nightly mood could be deciphered by how clipped or how quiet his statements were when he walked through the front door. "If it were a raise, I feel like he would've put an emoji or something."

"Do you know any men in their forties who use emojis?" Jessica asks. "My dad just stopped using the ellipsis as punctuation for every statement."

"When we started dating and I first met her parents, I thought he was being super passive-aggressive with me," Rufus reminisces, and Jessica laughs. "I always felt like he had more to say, or I was missing something."

Rufus and Jessica are offering Greg a hand over the line to the bright side, so he takes it because, as his therapist would say, There's no use worrying over a situation you don't have all the information for yet. He takes a calming breath. "You're right. I'm overthinking it."

"How are you liking the work so far?" Jessica asks. She's younger than Rufus by a year. She has brown skin, a heart-shaped face, and silky black hair that goes all the way down to her hips.

"I'm liking it a lot."

"Except Julien," Rufus adds with a nudge of the elbow.

"I don't dislike Julien," Greg corrects, feeling his face go red. Because it's far more complicated than that, which is irksome.

"Come on, you talk about him after every single shift," Rufus says. "Julien did this or Julien messed up that or Julien always looks like he's got the world's worst migraine."

Greg had not consciously realized he'd made a habit of complaining about Julien aloud. He tries not to complain at all, but he's really comfortable with Rufus. And he's really perplexed by Julien.

When Julien spilled an entire tray of drinks for the second time, Greg was closest to the mop and couldn't watch Julien struggle with the broken glasses alone. When Greg got an order horribly wrong because he couldn't decode Julien's acronyms, which were hastily scribbled and then passed off to Braydon—somehow becoming the cherubic messenger from a Greek tale between them—Julien had to speak to Greg face-to-face about the blunder. Though, he wouldn't meet Greg's eyes.

There's a piercing need ticking inside his chest urging him to get to the bottom of this friction between them. Frustration hangs over every shift now. But he's worried he'll only make it worse if he attempts a peace treaty because he still can't stop thinking about the night with the shirt in his bed and how real his fantasy felt. No, not even a fantasy. More like a premonition.

Or so he thought at the time. Now it's more like a bad omen.

What wires are crossed in his brain that make him attracted to someone so scowly and brusque and so set on icing him out?

"Everybody has a work nemesis," Rufus continues. "Mine is an admin assistant for one of the firms I work for. His name is Kyle, and whenever he calls, he barks orders at me like I'm an AI set to appease his boss's every whim."

Jessica nods while rubbing Rufus's shoulder. "He's right. My work nemesis is a shift manager named Nadine. She's like fifty-two, has purple hair, is constantly breathing down my neck, and tells me I'm slicing the chicken wrong or not leaving the tortilla in the press long enough for a burrito when I'm doing it exactly as I was trained."

"Julien is yours," Rufus says plainly.

Greg ponders this on his drive to Martin's Place, not liking the idea of having a nemesis—work or otherwise. Moving to the Lehigh Valley was about leaving negativity in New York. He doesn't want to be sullen or reserved or resentful like he was as a student at the academy where he was forced into uniforms and routines that both chafed.

At least, as he parks his car and walks into Martin's Place, he's here early to have a nice conversation with Martin about a juicy raise before he must face the grumpy guy he's keeping his distance from.

Only when he steps through the ajar office door, a second head snaps in his direction. Messy hair. Long face. Dark eyes. Hoop earrings. The grumpy guy of his R-rated fantasies is sitting in a chair facing Martin's desk.

The vibe in the room is...less than stellar.

"Greg, thanks for coming in early," Martin says flatly. He's wearing a black polo, a pair of round glasses, and a rankled expression. "Take a seat."

JULIEN

What's he doing here?

Julien shifts uncomfortably in his chair, angling his body away from the chiseled mixologist who has intruded on his meeting. Well, maybe intruded isn't entirely true because it seems like Uncle Martin was expecting Greg when he thanks him and tells him to take a seat.

Julien had to admit when he saw the text from his uncle asking him to come in early, he audibly groaned...but then reconsidered. The last time they had a one-on-one meeting, Uncle Martin dropped the bomb that he was hiring Greg. Maybe this time he's going to drop a second bomb about letting Greg go.

It makes a certain sense. Greg has been messing up orders, monopolizing the tips at the bar, and as far as Julien can tell, his TikToks are lagging when it comes to view counts and comments. Not that he's still regularly checking them from his burner account: jb2041xy7.

Okay, maybe he is. But not nearly as much because every small peek through the filtered window of Greg Harlow's life leads him to throw more and more pity parties. Greg has access, money, designer clothes, hot exes, charisma, and to top it all off, he's well traveled. He has had the life Julien dreams about, and being reminded of that during every shift has worn him down to disgruntled dust. He would very much like to go back to his safety zone—to studying wine, Stanley Tucci, calming runs, and App Guys, but that seems highly unlikely unless this meeting is about Greg's imminent departure.

Uncle Martin hands each of them a packet of printed papers stapled in the top right corner. It takes Julien a moment to realize what he's looking at. They're online reviews. Recent ones. All from the last few weeks.

"Let me know when you're finished reading them," Uncle Martin says with an exhausted, displeased air.

Julien starts at the top. An anonymous poster has written:

Came here on a first date. Our server blanked out while taking our order, made us repeat ourselves, and then ghosted us for the rest of the meal. The calamari was cold by the time he brought it to us. He forgot to take our entrée order. Only good thing: the cocktails.

2/5 stars.

Recalling the couple from more than a week ago, Julien bites his lip nervously, heart thudding. He reads the next.

Outrageous! Greg the bartender here has no sense of decorum or morals. My husband stopped here on a work trip to decompress and when I found a bar napkin that read MARTIN'S PLACE with Greg's number on it in his pants pocket while doing wash, I knew I needed to write a review because my husband is too polite to. He says the bartender was overly flirtatious and nearly demanded my husband take his number!!! Not only is this wildly unprofessional, but did the bartender not notice the wedding band he was wearing?! BEWARE THIS PLACE!

0/5 Stars.

The reviews go on like that for pages. People complaining about Julien's tableside manner and spacey serving. Others detailing Greg's overly flirty nature, which seems to be causing rifts in more than one relationship. Julien swallows a thick wad of spit lodged in his throat as he skims and then reads the final review.

Our server dropped an entire tray of our drinks next to our table. Accidents happen. We can forgive that. What we really can't forgive is that when the drinks finally got to us, they were the completely wrong drinks. Then they were corrected, and they were DISGUSTING! Too sweet. Not enough alcohol. I will not be returning.

1/5 stars.

"I think you both know what I'm about to say, so I'll spare you the lecture." Martin's tone is unnervingly serious, and his eyes a new level of tired. "Martin's Place is vying for a spot on the Best of Lehigh Valley list. If we miss it again this year like we have the last few... I don't even know what's going to happen to this place, but it probably won't be good, so I've come up with a plan to turn this around." Uncle Martin slides off his glasses and steeples his hands on the desk. "I'll need your complete cooperation."

Greg nods before Julien even fully registers what his uncle is saying, which leads him to contemplate for the first time that maybe Greg needs this job. It was easiest to assume that Greg was an opportunist who saw a chance to score a decent gig and some cash before moving on to his next place, some sort of sexy modern-day drifter. But on closer examination, why would a guy with a gorgeous New York City apartment and legions of followers on TikTok move to modest Pennsylvania without cause?

Perhaps it wasn't a move. It was an escape.

Maybe, too, the designer clothes he wears aren't signals of wealth, but vestiges of a life he no longer has.

Julien is turning this over when he realizes that Uncle Martin has been staring at him, expectation etched across his face. "Well?"

"Can you, uh..." Julien's face heats up "...repeat what you just said?"

Martin slouches back in his chair. "We're revamping our approach to happy hour. On Wednesdays and Thursdays between five and seven, we'll host Wine Down Wednesdays and Thirsty Thursdays. Mixers for young professionals. On top of the drink specials and small plates, there will be music, demonstrations, the works. We're going for something a little more European than our competitors to help us stand out."

"Okay," Julien says, still processing. "What does this have to do with us?"

Uncle Martin never fully clicked with Julien's neurodivergence, which is why he shows his frustration by rubbing a hand down his face exaggeratedly. "You two are to host them, working together, making them happen."

Julien looks at Greg with panic swarming in his sternum. Him, team up with the playboy new guy for mixers? He does not mix. He does not mingle. He does not want to. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Uncle Martin purses his lips before saying, "It's not a good idea to let both of you go, either, so this is the compromise Augustine and I have come up with. Wednesdays and Thursdays are notoriously our slowest nights, so if this fails, we won't crash and burn right away. Julien, you get upset when your wine expertise is overshadowed, and Greg, you are new at the bartending game around here and are having difficulty navigating the boundaries. This way, we play to each of your skill sets and offer something different that will hopefully appeal to a new demographic."

Julien sighs audibly.

Finally, Greg shows up in the conversation, sitting forward and pleading his own case. "All due respect, Julien may know about wine, but he doesn't know about cocktails."

Julien's fingers twitch. If he set his mind to it, he could master hard liquor, but the overflowing recycling bin of empties from childhood reminds him why he doesn't go near the stuff.

"That's why you'll be working together and teaching each other." Uncle Martin's arms are folded across his chest. Julien knows this means there is no swaying him on the matter. It's happening.

But that doesn't stop Julien's tongue from slipping one last time. "There aren't enough hours in the day for me to get him up to speed with all I know about wine."

Uncle Martin's brow creases deeper. "Julien, enough. The two of you have too much potential, and currently it's being squandered by your inexperience and your lack of attention. I'm hoping the two of you can help balance each other out and not make a bigger mess of things than you already have. This meeting is a warning. This project is your probation. If you refuse or fail, we'll have to take other appropriate action."

Uncle Martin's boss-voice signals he means business, and it makes Julien's stomach free-fall.

If he doesn't shape up, he could lose his job. Uncle Martin has never played the nepotism card, and he already suggested Julien take time off before Greg arrived. The last thing he needs is a forced break. His bank account would riot.

"I won't hear any more about this. The two of you will report to Augustine regarding supplies you'll need—special orders, decorations, theme-appropriate items."

"There have to be themes?" Julien asks with barely hidden disdain.