Nine

GREG

Their first happy hour ends up being more like indifferent hour.

The crowds are slimmer than ever, and Greg knows next to nothing about wine. He's leaning on Julien's expertise to make it through the evening, even if there are barely any people to impress.

Julien stands at the glass front door, looking forlorn as passersby peer in and then carry on their way.

Greg stifles a small laugh.

"What's so funny?" Julien asks, growing even more sullen.

Greg shakes his head, not wanting to get into it, but his laughter won't subside. This whole endeavor is quite comical when he thinks too hard about it.

Over the past week, Greg has kept up an increasingly friendly text thread with Julien, which took some time to ease into. Most of it was about the happy hours—how they should arrange the tables, if streamers were too tacky, which discount appetizers they should pair—but once 9:00 p.m. rolled around, they'd usually move away from iMessage and onto a different app.

There's a surprising intimacy in long talks across platforms, to notifications rolling in from the same person but different usernames. Each ding of his phone signaled an increased heart rate and a serotonin boost.

Julien sent Greg an Instagram review of a Riesling, to which Greg replied with a recipe for a fruity mocktail. A few days later, Julien upped the ante by sending a video of a dapper-looking Stanley Tucci mixing a negroni. Greg was never much for admiring older men, yet the obvious thirst in Julien's message over the actor had him reconsidering. His confidence with the cocktail shaker and his bespoke, round glasses gave him an intellectual air not all that unlike Julien's own, which Greg really admired.

Sensing the shift, Greg sent back a meme about unlikely animal friends—he thought it appropriate given their drastically different natures.

Despite their near-constant communication, he wasn't ready to give up his special secret knowledge just yet. He had his TikTok linked to his phone contacts. Apparently, so did Julien. Only he assumed Julien didn't know that because jb2041xy7's profile was devoid of any characterizing features, which only makes it funnier when Greg receives yet another notification that Julien checked out his profile.

For now, he's sitting on that information and standing behind the bar with flight paddles laid out before him, each with different samplings of wine. Only a few people have shown up so far, and he has a sneaking suspicion that Julien's foreboding presence at the doorway is scaring people away more than it's luring them in.

"I think maybe if you weren't skulking right there and if you, I don't know, smiled, more people might come in?" Greg says.

Julien presses his hands to his waist. "Sorry I'm not a goldendoodle or whatever that dog breed is you're always sending me videos of."

Greg chuckles to himself because, through their texts, he's gleaned that Julien's more of a surly rescue cat that claws at you when you get close before trusting you enough to make biscuits and curl up in your lap. Damn, does Greg want Julien to curl up in his lap.

"I'm not saying wag your tail and drop a tennis ball at their feet. Just loosen up a bit. Again, the smile is a good place to start." This is selfish. He just wants to see Julien's smile. Even if tonight's happy hour is a loss, Julien's smile will be a win.

Julien forces his lips apart. Seriously, it's like the video he sent of an unwilling goldendoodle getting his teeth brushed. So much grimacing.

"If that's how you're going to smile, let's stick with the scowl."

Julien rolls his eyes, but there's a playful knowingness behind it. "It's not like people aren't going out tonight. I see them. They're passing us. It's infuriating!" Greg withholds his laugh once more because Julien's intense passion has waned into endearing territory. "I told my uncle and my aunt this wasn't a good idea. Here I am, being proven right."

It's impossible for Greg not to take slight offense, to bristle. While both of them are responsible for the poor reviews that brought about this new happy hour arrangement, Greg is, as he's always done, taking on the emotional brunt of it. Because at the end of the day Martin and Augustine won't fire their nephew, but Greg's neck could be on the chopping block at any point if this doesn't succeed.

But he decides not to stress about that in this moment. He's enjoying bantering with Julien too much. Their in-person connection is almost as whip-fast as their online chats.

"If you were being proven right, wouldn't you be a little more excited and a little less antsy?" Greg asks, poking. It's not like he's unaware that Julien wanted him ousted the moment he stepped foot in Martin's Place, and he feels vindicated that he's slid into Julien's trust.

He forecasts Julien's reaction to his words. Julien's scowl is going to turn into an ultra-scowl—an unnervingly adorable combination of forehead wrinkles and eye crinkles and sagging lips and droopy eyes. He likes this expression almost as much as he likes Julien's hard-earned smile.

Oh no. Maybe he likes Julien's...everything.

"I was hoping for the tips." Julien's crossed the room, passing the bored waiters and line cooks who have already set up for dinner, which starts in less than an hour, and shakes the tip jar on the counter.

"Saving for something?" Greg asks before remembering his own stalled savings. He hopes Julien doesn't turn the question around on him. He's not ready to unveil his mountain of debt, the treacherous slope he's only begun to scale. He shudders, but thankfully Julien doesn't notice.

"My advanced sommelier course." Julien's voice dips lower as he says it, eyes flicking toward Martin's office.

"How much does something like that set you back?" he asks, glad to have a topic that's not his crushing financial miscalculations.

"Including the pretest, airfare, and lodging? Two grand, maybe more."

Greg puffs out a shocked exhale. "Damn. That's a serious investment." He inspects the pin Julien always wears in the restaurant. It's impressive and shiny, a symbol of commitment. Does Julien take relationships as seriously as he takes his wine studies? If they were to explore something—which they definitely won't, since Greg is being protective with his heart and other parts—would Julien need that kind of firm promise, monogamy and all that?

"I think it'll be worth it in the long run. If I reach Master status, I could be making over six figures a year."

"Holy—wow."

"Right? But it's incredibly hard to get there. There are fewer than three hundred Master Sommeliers in the world." Julien walks around to the back of the bar, getting nearer. A newfound Julien sensor has turned on inside Greg; it beeps every time Julien is nearby like his car does whenever he's veering too close to the yellow line on a highway.

"It must be a difficult field," Greg says over the Julien-induced beeping only he can hear.

"We'll see if I have what it takes." Julien leans on the bar, fiddling with the wine sample.

Greg averts his eyes from the hint of underwear waistband that peeks out from between the hem of Julien's casual sweater and his work chinos.

"I just need the money first," Julien says with a sigh.

Greg sincerely wishes he could help. Back when his TikToks were raking in the views and the dough, he probably wouldn't have thought twice about floating his new friend—we are friends, aren't we?—a couple hundred toward his dream. But right now, with credit cards maxed out and debt collectors calling with increasing frequency, he's in no position to do more than he's about to which is: "Switch places with me."

Jovially, Greg steps outside and plants himself on the sidewalk like a carnival barker with a dishrag slung over his right shoulder. The first group that approaches him is tentative yet intrigued. They shrug to one another after hearing what's going on inside and enter. Greg follows them in, winking at Julien behind their backs like he's tricked them into a presentation for time-shares.

Greg can tell Julien pretends not to see, but the blush creeping up his neck gives him away. It lingers even as he begins somewhat shakily detailing the wine samplings and passing the complimentary flights across the bar to the two couples.

He's awed at how, the longer Julien speaks, the more confident and friendly he grows—from his posture to his clear tone. Grumpy isn't Julien's stagnant personality or resting state. It's a defense for when the world isn't willing to listen.

With renewed purpose, Greg steps back outside, determined to get some more stragglers. Now that he knows Julien needs the money, too, he's hell-bent on helping him get it.

By the time the event is winding down, Greg has successfully convinced (without flirting) at least five more people to wander in. Some stay and chat, ordering full glasses and bruschetta to share. Others sip and then exit promptly. Most, thankfully, leave tips.

As Julien and Greg clean up and prep for dinner service, Julien asks, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Turn on the charm."

Greg closes his locker and thinks on this before saying, "Practice." It's true. His sunshiny demeanor was less a conscious trait and more of a necessity born of the academy.

"High school golden boy?" Julien asks, slipping out of the maroon sweater he was wearing for the tasting and into his button-down. Greg makes a point of looking anywhere but at Julien, whose exposed smooth, slim frame is too much for him even in his fantasies, let alone in person.

"I went to military school for grades eight through twelve. It was a family tradition. I was not very popular there." Greg avoids trips down memory lane like this one, but with Julien he doesn't mind so much. Julien trusted him with the truth about his parents, after all.

When he's safe in the knowledge that Julien is clothed again and other employees have started filtering into the back, Greg catches Julien's stare. Those pale blue eyes are intense, eager to engage.

"I can't imagine you not being popular."

Greg has to laugh. It's not what he was expecting. Not the usual reaction he gets when he talks about his experience in the academy, which he does so rarely anyway, so this isn't that much of an outlier. But still. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you're overly friendly."

"Overly friendly?"

"Intensely gregarious?"

"Is that supposed to be better?"

"No." Julien doesn't even crack a smile. "I just thought you didn't understand me."

"Oh no. I was being playful."

"Sorry, I didn't catch that. Sometimes my mind sticks on something." Julien shakes his head, settles his features on more intense contemplation. "Again, I just can't picture a scenario where you're not in..." Greg lifts his shirt up over his head "...everyone's business."

"Julien!" Greg cries.

"That was a slipup!"

"I figured." Greg is too amused by how flustered and flushed Julien is. Admittedly, he did hope to get a rise out of Julien. The same way he did on that first day when he opened the bathroom door shirtless. While he doesn't always appreciate being ogled, he's been desperate for another go at Julien's eyes wandering over him. That admiration without expectation is still refreshing in so many inexplicable ways.

But it's treacherous. This toeing of the line. One step forward, three back. Play it cool. He doesn't want to scare Julien off when they've just begun to gel.

"I meant in with everyone." Julien turns back to his locker and mutters what he must think is inaudible, "Though everyone's business works, too."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Greg refuses to put his shirt on until he gets an answer, aware he's pushing the boundaries between the professional and the playful.

Julien flails. "Only...only that I saw—the other day—that you knew I was going to the paint-and-sip class. You pretended not to, which is fine, I don't care, but you stalked my Facebook..."

Stalked.Greg shouldn't have listened to Rufus and Jessica. "Oh shit, I didn't mean to cause a thing by it. I'm sorry."

"No, it's not deep like that. We all do it."

Greg teasingly shows his well-hidden hand. "I know you certainly do."

Julien bracingly folds his arms across his chest. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Maybe." Greg uses an ultra-flirty tone. "jb2041xy7."

Julien goes pale. Well, paler than he usually is. "I..."

"I guess you didn't realize you'd linked your contacts to your TikTok when you set up your account. Since I'm a sponsored content creator, I have the business features on which allow me to see who views my profile at any time." The moment full realization washes over Julien's face is scrumptious. "It's not that deep. We all do it."

A big, beaming smile overtakes Julien's face. It lights up the relatively dim room and warms Greg's heart. Then Julien lets out a giggle. Greg didn't think Mr. Lanky Scowl would be capable of such a sound, but in this moment, it's all too fitting and adorable.

"Never mind," Julien says, swallowing the childish sound.

"Never mind, what?" Greg asks after he's stored a sound bite of Julien's giggle into a memory folder somewhere in the recesses of his mind for him to access later. When he needs a good anxiety depressor.

"I can imagine you not being popular."

They both burst out laughing. Greg doesn't think he's laughed this hard since he left New York City. It feels good.

"Hey, yo," Augustine singsongs into the back. "You two going to gab all night, or are you going to do the jobs we pay you for?"

"Be right there," Julien calls over his shoulder.

"You're brutal, Julien Boire." Greg's eyes haven't left Julien's face.

"You're pretty brutal yourself, Greg Harlow."

Oof.His full name hits him in the chest with a tingle that overwhelms him in the best possible way.

The sound of footfalls echoes behind them. They're almost certainly Augustine's black heeled boots. "We'll be right—"

"I know. I know. Right there." She's shoving a pittance of cash at him. "Emptied the tip jar, so we can start fresh now that the full staff is here. Split it among yourselves." She's gone before they can say anything else.

It's nearly next to nothing, so Greg doesn't feel weird at all saying, "Here. You take it."

"Come on, you got half the people in the door. I just spouted useless wine facts at them."

"They're not useless if you care about them," Greg says firmly, recalling the poised Julien behind the bar—Greg's bar—from twenty-minutes ago. Would Julien be poised, too, in Greg's room? Greg's bed? "Put it toward your course. What am I going to do with this anyway?" Every little bit helps when it comes to expunging debt, but Julien's need is more pressing. The course is coming up. Greg's credit score isn't going to drastically improve if he pays four extra dollars on top of his minimum payment.

Julien smiles at him. "Okay. Thanks. We'll do better tomorrow."

Greg latches on to that hope.