“Who are you waiting for tonight?” Jon, a bartender who has witnessed several of my dates over the years, asks. He tucks his shaggy hair behind his ear before handing a customer a cocktail, then situates himself in front of me and leans on the bar like an old friend, which, at this point, given I’m a regular at this brewery, he pretty much is.
Before I can answer him, my phone buzzes. I glance down and read the message quickly. “Just parked,” it says. I place it face down and look up to meet Jon’s curious gaze.
“Just some guy!” I shrug, taking a sip of my beer and drumming my fingers on the dark wood of the bar. “I don’t know. He seems cool. He’s a musician.”
Jon laughs. “Of course he is,” he says knowingly. He knows I have a soft spot for musicians. And younger men. “How old?” he grins.
I shake my head. “Mind your business.”
