“Urgh, Dad. So, when are you meeting her, and where are you taking her?”
“Out to a bar.”
“A bar?! Really, Dad, you can do better than that. You should be taking her to dinner, or bingo, or, hell, I don’t know what people your age do for dates.” I didn’t even know what people my age did for dates. I could barely remember the last time I went on one.
“People as old as me go to bars, kiddo. And if I want to go out, I’m sure as hell not going to just stay at my own bar. No, we’re going somewhere fancy. One of those other cocktail bars where they overcharge for everything.”
“Checking out the competition, then. Mixing work and pleasure. I like it,” I teased. “Somewhere fancy and shiny, and where you’d stick your pinky out.” I understood Dad wanted to take his lady friend somewhere different from where he worked or any bar he owned to make them both feel pampered.
Most people would consider the Duck a little fancy. In the daytime, we had a large clientele of ladies who lunch on pricy, organic artisan fare. Cocktails, mocktails, and glasses of bubbly prosecco were the mainstay for the evening drinkers. The Duck also attracted a younger crowd, which was why on special nights, we turned the place over to high-fat bar snacks instead of our usual healthy lunchtime menu.
When Dad pumped money into the Ugly Duckling before it opened, he employed designers who created a destination venue rather than a place to stop off on the way.
“Well, I hope your date is as fun and awesome as you hope and deserve.”
“Oh, it will be.” He winked. “I’ve been looking forward to this for a week.”
“So that show, huh?”
He froze, then nodded. “It was a show. Not my sort of show, but a show.”
“Please don’t blame Gill for that, Dad.”
He put his pen down, finished with whatever work he was doing. “I don’t blame Gill for much. I appreciate her trying. And I wouldn’t say it was bad. The place was packed down there, and as far as I could see, they were all enjoying themselves, drinking, and didn’t rush out the door when the show ended. And you know, that’s why people came here, for entertainment. That’s the measure of success. Money going behind the bar and full glasses on every table.”
He crossed his arms, and his shoulders sunk.
“What’s up?”
“I don’t know what Cathy would think. The woman I’m dating. She has a son, and he’s a famous big star she has to keep a secret.”
“And? Why does that matter?”
He was silent for a time. “You know how it is. What if this thing with Cathy gets more serious? I don’t want my son-in-law to dwarf me in every way.”
Son-in-law?
Did I hear that right?
Marriage is on the cards?
“And that’s a problem why?” The thought of letting something so absurd get in the way of love like that. The fear of your potential son-in-law making more than you seemed silly.
He shrugged. More silence. Great, macho machismo-man stuff from Dad, not what I needed to deal with.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine, Dad.”
“You’re right, Kay. I know you are.” He looked unconvinced.
“It’s not a big deal. I assure you. Really.”
He remained silent. It would take time, he was an old dog, and learning stuff like this was akin to learning a new trick.
“Take it easy, enjoy your date. I should go and help Becky with the incoming orders.”
“Love you, Kayla. You’re the best daughter a man could ever ask for.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
ETHAN PAULSON
It is technically a date, but neither of us expect magic.
Jenny and I enjoyed a complimentary meal on behalf of The Ugly Duckling. It was great food, a proper dinner, not fried, fast bar food. And it gave us something to talk about. We found all sorts of topics for mundane chit chat; apart from that, the conversation was stilted, even when I asked her what her answers would have been to the questions. Nothing gelled, and there was no spark of magic.
When dinner with Jenny was all said and done and eaten, The Ugly Duck was somewhat quieter than earlier, and the rest of the boys from the team had cleared out, but there were still plenty of people sipping cocktails.
I saw my blind date into a taxi outside and said farewell with a kiss on her cheek. Neither of us suggested meeting up again or exchanging numbers.
Then, I returned inside with a purpose.
I’d noticed the woman from the kitchen sitting at the bar, a crumpled apron on the seat next to her while she nursed a small bottle of light beer.
Making my way to the seat beyond the old apron, I approached. “Mind if I join you for a drink? Maybe buy you one? Or two? Or twelve?”
She smiled sweetly. “You aren’t planning on getting me stupidly drunk so you can take advantage?”