AveryPlease give me a job.
EthanI said no.
AveryIt doesn’t have to be a bartender gig.
AveryI could do dishes or bus tables.
EthanNo. You’re not the kind of worker I’m looking for.
Avery glances around the sparse office.
She spots a series of framed photos featuring bikini bartenders.
AveryOh, I get it.
EthanWhat?
Avery points at the photos.
AveryBikini models? Hooters girls?
AveryYou won’t hire me because I’m not your type.
Avery motions to her oversized T-shirt and baggy jeans.
Then she gives Ethan a pointed look.
Ethan leans back in his office chair and crosses his muscled arms.
EthanYou’re right.
EthanYou’re not my type because I’m hiring painters.
EthanAnd electricians. And a plumber.
EthanThis bar isn’t open.
EthanI bought it three weeks ago. I’m remodeling before I open.
AveryOh.
EthanAnd for the record, I won’t be employing topless waitresses.
AveryOh, give me SOME credit, I assume they’ll be wearing a top of some kind.
AverySomething the size of a handkerchief, maybe.
Ethan grits his teeth.
The light catches Avery’s auburn hair and he turns away from the sight.
EthanDo you mind leaving my office now?
EthanAs much fun as it is having you waltz in here and insult me, I have things to do.
AveryOh, come on. I see the kind of shape this bar is in.
AveryIt’s a mess.
EthanAnd?
AveryAnd I know my way around a tool box.
AveryI charge twenty bucks an hour.
AveryThat’s a fraction of what a handyman will charge you.
Ethan clenches his jaw, studying her.
EthanTwelve.
AveryFifteen.
The two stare at each for a long moment.
EthanFine. Painters arrive in a week, and the walls need to be prepped.
EthanSigns down. Holes puttied.
EthanSeven days. That’s it.
AveryDeal.
Avery closes the office door behind her.
She crosses the dimly lit bar with a new bounce in her step.
She picks up a hammer and starts removing some old beer signs near the entrance.
Twenty minutes later, Ethan joins her.
He’s wearing a pair of worn blue jeans and a T-shirt that clings to his taut chest.
AverySooo…why’d you buy this bar?
EthanSooo…why’d you walk into my bar and demand a job?
Avery pauses.
AveryGot tired of my road trip. Needed a job.
AveryHeard coastal Oregon was pretty.
Ethan rolls his eyes.
AveryWhat?
EthanYou probably should’ve picked a town with more than one bar.
EthanMaybe even one that’s open for business.
AveryThe joke’s on you. I’d rather work construction than bus tables.
EthanWhy the hell did you walk in here anyway?
Avery points to a sign taped to a dirt-streaked window.
AveryYou have a ‘Now Hiring’ sign taped next to the front door, genius.
Ethan grumbles and stalks across the room.
He rips down the sign.
AveryYou have such a delightful personality.
AveryI can see why you wanted to get into the hospitality industry.
Ethan glares at Avery.
EthanYou know, I can fire you just as quickly as I hired you.
AveryYeah, but I’d convince you to give me my job back.
AveryJust like I convinced you to give me one in the first place.
AveryI’m persuasive like that.
EthanThat’s a polite word for what you are.
Avery blushes and turns away.
AverySo you’ve had the bar for three weeks.
AveryHow long have you been in Oregon?
EthanLong enough.
Now it’s Avery’s turn to roll her eyes.
AveryYou’re not going to answer any of my questions, are you?
EthanFifteen bucks an hour. That’s all I owe you.
AveryWhatever.
A half-hour passes in silence.
Until Ethan nicks his finger on the jagged edge of an old tobacco sign.
He curses, wrapping the bottom of his T-shirt around the cut.
AveryAre you okay?
EthanIt’s nothing.
AveryDo you have a first aid kit?
EthanIt’s in the back of the kitchen. Across from the grill.
Avery runs toward the kitchen.
She scans the room.
When her eyes land on the food stored on big metal shelves, her stomach growls.
An industrial-sized can of olives. Pickles. Beans.
A big, unopened jar of peanut-butter.
She hasn’t eaten breakfast.
She’s still rationing her last half-sleeve of gas-station crackers.
She spots the first aid kit and rushes back out.
Avery grabs his hand in hers.
The bleeding has slowed — the cut is jagged but not deep.
He lets out a hiss between his teeth as she holds the antiseptic wipe against the wound.
AveryShit, sorry.
EthanHey, you cussed.
AveryAre you surprised?
EthanYou don’t look like the type.
AveryThere’s a lot you don’t know about me.
They stand there holding hands for longer than the medical situation requires.
Finally, Ethan pulls his hand away.
His voice is brusque when he speaks.
EthanThere’s a lot you don’t know about me either.