Page 3 of Where We Stay

The Breakwater.

A navy wooden sign hangs above the door, and through the wide front windows, I can see that nearly every table is occupied. Laughter carries outside whenever someone opens the door.

Then I notice the sign in the window.

HELP WANTED.

Well.

More money wouldn’t hurt, and a weekend job would give me something to do when I’m not teaching.

I step inside and immediately understand why it’s so busy. Dark hardwood floors and exposed oak beams make the space feel warm and inviting. The bar sits in the center of the room, with ships in bottles displayed among the liquor. High-top tables, booths and mismatched photographs of locals fill the rest of the space.

It feels lived-in.

Like everyone who walks through the door leaves a piece of themselves behind.

“Excuse me,” I say to one of the women behind the bar. “I saw the help-wanted sign out front. Could I speak to the manager?”

She turns toward me, soft black curls falling almost to her waist. Her deep-blue eyes stand out against her tanned skin.

“Hey, Billy!” she calls over her shoulder. “Someone’s here about the job.”

She looks back at me with a smile. “What’s your name, babe?”

“Blair. Blair Morgan.”

“I’m Georgie. Bill should be out in a minute.” She leans against the bar. “Are you new in town?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Georgie laughs. “Only because I know everyone else.”

“I moved in this morning,” I explain. “It’s a beautiful town.”

“It’s not a bad place to land.” She gestures toward the bottles behind her. “Can I get you anything while you wait?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

Georgie moves on to another customer just as a man emerges from the back. He has a round stomach, salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard, making him look a little like Hartwell’s version of Santa Claus.

“Are you the woman asking about the job?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m Blair Morgan. I’ve just moved to town to teach at the elementary school, but I’m looking for some weekend work.”

“That’s perfect, actually. We need someone to cover the odd shift from Friday through Sunday.” He rests his hands on the bar. “Do you have any experience?”

“Plenty. I worked in a bar throughout college.”

“Well, it’s Thursday now. How about we bring you in for a trial shift tomorrow night? Fridays get pretty busy. Does six work?”

“Absolutely. Thank you so much.”

Bill disappears into the back and returns with a black tank top bearing The Breakwater’s logo. After quickly explaining what else I need to wear, he sends me on my way.

I leave with a skip in my step, smiling all the way to the grocery store.

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