Page 53 of Prime Time Romance

I’m so lost in my own thoughts on the ride back into town that I actually ride my bike with zero issues down the terrifyingly dark hill. I’m so in my own head, figuring out where exactly I went wrong tonight, that I have to swerve when Spencer stops unexpectedly at the edge of town.

“What is going on there?”

He points at the Bronze, which is all lit up. People are milling outside the door, and from what I can see, there are more inside as well.

Spencer rolls his bike up closer. I can hear the sound of classic rock every time someone opens the door.

“I thought that place was essentially shut down. I wonder what happened?” he asks, meeting my eyes for the first time since the kissing incident.

A funny feeling settles in my stomach.

I have a very good idea.

16

Josh

“Hey, buddy, can I get a…ummm…uhhhhh…”

A short guy with thick black glasses squints at the row of liquor bottles behind me.

“Need some help?” I offer, stepping aside to give him a better view.

He looks up and blinks at me twice. “Actually, yes. I don’t know what to order. I haven’t been in too many bars.”

“Well, then, we’re gonna start with your ID.”

I wait while the guy fishes his wallet from his back pocket and slides a Massachusetts license across the bar top. The picture matches his face. Danny Strong. Born in 1994.

“What is in a cement mixer?” he asks, staring at something on his phone. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

I grab a pint glass. “Why don’t we start you off with a beer, then? A nice, easy-drinking lager, and we’ll see how that goes?”

He nods, and I feel a swell of pride as I pull the tap.

The place is decently busy. Exceptionally busy if you compare it to what I estimate it pulls in on a regular night.

The string lights make a huge difference. There’s a cool, laid-back ambiance to the place now. Everybody who has walked in here tonight has been a little apprehensive at first. But once I get a drink in their hands, they become one of the many relaxed, happy faces.

That is, all but one.

Brynn plunks down onto a barstool in front of me just as I hand Danny his beer.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

She’s scowling, arms crossed over her chest. And although I fully interpret her meaning, I play dumb.

“Do? Not sure I get what you mean.”

She holds out her hands. “There are people in here. Drinking. Dancing.”

“It’s a bar.” I shrug. “You told me I needed to act like Fletch, so I am. I’m bartending.”

She scoffs. “I did not— I didn’t mean—” She lets out a defeated huff, leaning back in her seat. “How did you do it? I don’t think I remember it ever being this busy.”

The place is even fuller than it was the last time I looked around, with more pouring in through the front door.

I point to the guy on stage with a guitar singing acoustic versions of old pop songs. “I found him busking outside the hardware store. I chased him down, thinking it was Sheldon again. Things got awkward until he said he was a one-man band without a stage. I told him I was a guy with a stage that needed a one-man band. Things just escalated from there.” I pull a flyer from a stack on the bar. “Then I made a bunch of these and handed them out around town.”