Page 4 of The Bartender Special

He’d come right back to the scene to accidentally thicken his own plot.

Benny lifted his head slowly and peeked through a gap in his fingers. Maybe Jack didn't remember him. Maybe he didn't remember Benny's confession. Surely as a bartender at the only bar in town, Jack dealt with so many people that he'd just tuned Benny and his drunken yapping out. Not really heard what had been shared, just nodded and said things like “uh-huh” and “yeah, sure” so he'd get a nice tip.

Had Benny given him a nice tip?

Benny could have used one of the sighs or groans that he’d tabled earlier.

The gut-spilling had been a year ago. Right around Christmas. Surely there was much more exciting gossip than Benny getting a little too into his feelings. He'd also lamented about Janet Kepler running off with one of the waiters from the catering company he sometimes worked for, so maybe if Jack had been listening that was the gossip he’d heard instead?

Benny peeked up.

Neither bartender seemed that interested in him now.

Maybe he could finish his drink and escape. Never come back to the bar or Arbor Bay and go get some snow boots and a sled for the arctic and⁠—

“Well, if it isn't our own personal superstar, Benny De Carlo.”

The image of snow boots went poof.

Instead, the ice he’d been thinking about injected straight into his blood.

Every part of Benny tensed at the high-pitched voice that floated up to his ear from behind.

Objectively, he knew it wasn't Ethan's fault that Benny had come to Cassidy’s Place. That, in the small town of Arbor Bay, there were only so many places to go. Yet, as he swiveled around on his seat, he couldn’t stop the flash of anger at his best friend.

How dare he tell Benny to stop sulking!

How dare he tell Benny to go out where the people were!

How dare he tell Benny to confront his problems head on!

The anger was the next thing to poof as a new sense of urgency flared.

He needed to flee. He needed to escape. He needed the woman who was currently focused squarely on him to poof away as well.

Instead, Carol-the-Classic-Bitch Robertson stood firmly in her strappy-designer wedges. Her smile was sweet, but Benny knew her brother’s smile was sweeter.

There it was too, just over Carol’s shoulder, moving with a group of others to sit in a booth near the patio door.

Carol’s twin brother.

Marcus Robertson.

AKA Benny's very own former soul mate.

Crap on a spatula.

TWO

The problem with small towns wasn’t that they were small, but that they were awful.

At least, that was Benny's deep-seated belief as he tried to smile like he wasn't panicking inside as he faced Arbor Bay's queen bee. An unwelcome experience on its own. Never mind the fact that the guy who didn’t even know he was in the spotlight in Benny’s freak viral tour was across the room from them. And the only person in the entire world who knew Marcus was ‘Guy?’ The over-six-foot bartender standing one easy cup throw away from them.

Benny wished he was back on Ethan's kindergarten classroom floor, groaning like the responsible adult he was.

“Hey, Carol,” Benny exclaimed, mimicking her no-doubt fake enthusiasm. “It's been a while.”

Two years, give or take. A brief conversation at the drive-in fraught with passive aggressive remarks about how Benny hadn't changed a bit since they'd graduated.