The Book Bar

The place was more crowded than usual for a Friday night. Perhaps it was the holiday weekend that brought the crowd in tonight. Maybe people were getting an early start celebrating MLK Day. I liked to think that diversity and inclusion were becoming more socially acceptable – that would certainly draw people to this place. 

I noticed someone gathering their belongings at the bar. I worked my way over to snag the stool as soon as she left. I nodded to the bartender – he nodded back. A few minutes later, he made his way over to where I sat. 

“Hey, Jen, what’ll it be?” Dave asked as he wiped some dust off the bar. 

“What do you have on tap?” 

He glanced over his shoulder. “Well, we got this new one, goes by the name of Paulsen.” 

“Any good?” 

“Well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “His work is a bit dry, but he does have an interesting voice.” 

“I’ll pass. It’s been a rough week. I don’t want to work that hard.” 

“Gotcha. The usual, then?” 

“No, I think I’m in the mood for something a little different.” 

“I’ve got just the thing.” He reached down and pulled out a worn, dog-eared paperback. 

I took it from him, glanced at the cover, and then turned it over to check out the blurb on the back. It was a collection of tales about a woman who bar-hopped across the world. I flipped through the pages, glancing at the titles and a few phrases here and there. 

“Well, this could be interesting,” I said. “Where’d you get it?” 

“Well, believe it or not, the author herself.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah. Strangest thing. She stopped in last week, wanted to know what I had from the modernist period.” 

“You don’t do modernist.” 

“That’s what I told her. So, she asked what I had.” 

I laughed. “I don’t think she knows what she was getting herself into.” 

“That’s what I was thinking. But then, she pulls out this book and hands it to me.” 

I flipped through the pages again. “Yeah, okay, I can see where this might fit in.” 

“I started to tell her she’s not allowed to bring books in here, but she stopped me cold and said, ‘Take the book. You just never know.’ Then she got up and left.” 

“Strange,” I said. 

“I stashed it under the counter and completely forgot about it until just now.” 

 “I’ll give it a shot.” 

Dave nodded and moved on to another customer. 

I opened the book and skimmed through the introduction. I never really care for those, anyway. I like to get right to the stories. 

I had gotten a few paragraphs in when the person next to me left and was immediately replaced by a man who inched the stool slightly closer to me. I glanced sideways at him, hoping he would leave me alone. 

“What’re you reading?” he asked in a Southern drawl. 

I sighed inwardly. Such a typical, uninspired, and obvious pick-up line. I showed him the cover. 

“Ah,” he said. “Any good?” 

“I just started reading it. I need to get through the first scene before I really know.” 

“Ah,” he said. “The name’s Greg. What’s yours?” 

He clearly didn’t get the hint. Unfortunately, I was going to have to be a bit more direct. 

“Actually, I’m just here to read.” 

“I get it,” he said. He pretended to take a closer look at the book cover. 

I couldn’t help but notice his eyes wandering a bit. I self-consciously checked my blouse buttons, hoping I wasn’t sending an inadvertent signal. You just never really know with a lot of the guys you meet at bars. The only reason I even came to this one was because Dave was a genuinely sweet guy and I loved his taste in books.  

“I kinda fancy Tessa Bailey myself,” Greg said. 

I rolled my eyes. I read It Happened One Summer last year. A friend recommended it. It was well-written and had a strong chemistry between the characters, but it was not my cup of tea. I’m not into sexy, steamy, rom-coms. But the fact that he mentioned that particular author told me a lot about what he was probably after. 

“I’m more of a Juliette Blackwell sort of girl,” I said. 

“Never heard of her.” 

“You should check out her Haunted Home Renovation mysteries.” I loved Mel Turner. A strong female character running a construction company and who could talk to ghosts. It has been a while since a new book was out in that series. I was really hoping her publisher would want more. 

I noticed Dave eyeballing me from the other end of the bar. I nodded my head slightly, gratefully. 

“I got a copy of Tessa’s latest,” Greg said, pulling a brand-new paperback out of his jacket pocket. The binding didn’t have a single crack in it – I doubt he’d ever even opened the book. 

“Hey,” Dave said, stopping in front of me. “How’s the book?” 

“I haven’t gotten very far,” said, glancing sideways at Greg. 

Dave turned to Greg and looked pointedly at the book in Greg’s hand. “Did you bring that in?” 

“Yeah. Really good author.” 

“Well,” Dave said, “you do know we don’t allow customers to bring in their own books, since that’s a service we provide. It competes with our business. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

“I’m just being friendly with this pretty lady here.” 

Dave signalled with one hand, and two burly men sauntered over. 

Greg stood up, looking like he was ready for a fight. The bouncers just watched him, nonchalantly waiting him out. 

Greg’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly. He pocketed the book. 

“Fine,” Greg said, and headed for the door. 

“Thanks, guys,” Dave said. The two men nodded grimly and returned to their posts. 

“You are a total dear,” I said. 

“All in a days’ work,” Dave said, blushing slightly. 

We both laughed. 

“I’ll let you get back to your book,” Dave said, and made a hasty retreat.