We decided to let the little league team be the guinea pigs for our new pizza menu. It was my idea to invite them in for a private party one Sunday morning in order to present them with a check for all the money we'd raised.

I'd already tested Horatio's various concoctions for myself days ago, and had given him the green light-and the job-immediately after. Portuguese pizza. Who knew?

The kids filled every stool of the long bar, bellying up like old pros.

My future customers, ladies and gentlemen.

They thought they were doing something forbidden, hanging out in a bar where grown-ups came to "drink beer."

"Not just beer," I shot back. When I caught the warning looks from a few parents, I pulled out the soda gun. "Stick 'em up," I advised Number 7, pointing the thing at his chest.

He put his hands up as I gave a quick squirt of club soda to his shirt anyway, which just had all the kids cracking up. My attack was followed by their enthusiastic, pleading requests to let them try it out, so I invited a handful of them behind the bar to teach them how to use it.

They thought it was pretty damn cool.

I served up some Roy Rogers and plain old sodas as Farrah brought out the pies, placing them on pedestals stationed along the entire bar. The kids dove in like they hadn't eaten in days, which just made me laugh. I remembered all too well what it was like to be a ravenous, rapidly-growing ten-year-old.

The parents feasted on some pizza, too, but a few of them opted to order off the menu. No problem. We aimed to please.

Number 12's mother polished off her Cobb, saying, "I can't believe we've never been here before. I didn't think it was this nice. And the food is fantastic!"

I thanked her, along with everyone else, for the numerous compliments that followed.

The coach was so taken with the place that he asked if I'd like to be their sponsor for next season, and of course, I agreed. And that was even before I presented him with the check! When I did, the dude's eyes went wide, but he hadn't seen every trick up my sleeve just yet.

I'd gone to the local sporting goods store to load up the team with some new equipment, and proudly handed over the large canvas bag stuffed to the gills. Finn helped me put together a good selection of bats and helmets, plus we'd thrown in a whole new set of catcher's pads. Norman Sports gave me a huge discount on everything, and made sure every kid got one, too. I passed out the 20% off coupons, then had everyone put their names into a hat to raffle off the fifty-dollar gift card.

The nearby Old Barn Milk Bar supplied us with tubs of ice cream for the occasion, and Give Me Candy insisted that I shouldn't pay for the five-pound bag of assorted treats. Both places were so excited to have been asked to be a part of things that they gave me some gift cards to use at our next event.

I guessed those business-owners already knew what it had taken me this long to figure out for myself: It felt good to give back every once in a while.

I mean, hell. I originally thought selling one-dollar beers during Norman Days was going to put me under. But as it turned out, people donated a whole lot more than they normally would because of all the money they weren't spending on booze. It may seem stupid that we'd gone through all that trouble to raise so much money only to give it all away, but doing so gained me the favor of not only the little leaguers and their families, but numerous other citizens of this town as well.

Those same citizens had turned into new customers. A lot of them had been coming in pretty regularly since that maiden night, either hanging out at my bar or eating at my restaurant. I guessed Felix's food had drawn them in, drug-dealer style. They'd gotten a taste, and now they were hooked.

My bottom line had improved with all those Normanites seeking their regular fix. I'd already broken even from that weekend. It had only been a couple weeks since Norman Days went down and the crowd was still going strong.

The customers weren't the only ones with generous wallets. It seemed every business Avery or I approached was more than happy to load us up with gift certificates to their establishments, and I accepted them gratefully, socking them away for future events. Sometimes, I gave them away just for the hell of it.

Like the time one happy hour that I saw Chuckie Fabulous sitting at the end of my bar. He was a trivia fanatic, our resident Cliff Clavin, constantly spouting his wisdom about the most inconsequential topics. He'd been driving around in the same beat-up old Monte Carlo forever. The crack across the windshield showed it wasn't because he was a classic car collector, although he'd be able to tell you everything you'd ever want to know about the subject.

A few weeks before, he'd chewed my ear off about Mythbusters. He was so enthusiastic about the damn show that I ended up watching an episode and got hooked myself.

Inspiration struck.

I gave a ring to the triangle hanging over the taps. People took notice when that thing was sounded, because normally, it meant someone was buying the house a round.

Everyone cheered, but I told them to calm down as I rifled through my donations envelope. "Don't get too excited, people! I'm not giving away any free drinks."

There was a collective groan as I snickered and continued, "But, I am giving away a one hundred dollar gift certificate to Lou's Auto Body."

I hopped up onto the bar and held it up to show the crowd, most of whom were appropriately intrigued.

"Alright. The first person who can tell me the correct answer takes home the prize." I stood there for a pause, trying to think of a question that would be skewed in Chuckie's favor. It had to be something obscure, but something I knew that he knew. The natives started to get restless.

"Okay. Got it. Alright, who can tell me what would happen if you dropped a penny on someone from the Empire State building?"

A few people yelled out, "It would kill them!" But when I didn't confirm it, everyone looked at each other in confusion, consulting one another about the possible answer.

C'mon, Chuck. Please know this.

Sure enough, he popped up from his stool and announced, "Nothing! Because of the air currents!"

Everyone looked to me for confirmation.

"You are correct, sir!" The place erupted in applause as I jumped down and handed over the gift certificate, saying, "Here's your prize. Thanks for playing."

The guys all gave Chuckie a pat on his back, and he was smiling ear to ear as he eyed the thing proudly. He continued his answer, excitedly explaining, "Maybe it would hurt, but the air currents wouldn't allow it to build up enough speed to even break the skin!"

It wasn't every day that Chuck got to steal the show, so I was as happy to put him in the spotlight as I was about helping to get his car fixed.

It felt good.

I felt good.

Chapter Twenty.

Avery came bounding into the bar early one night. I'd gotten pretty used to her hanging around with all the events she was always planning for the place.

We'd held a dart tournament for the town's softball league and Avery got Norman Sports to sponsor it. We raised a couple hundred bucks and a whole new crew of customers. She planned a poker night for them the following week, and though we could only let them gamble for prizes, the night was a smashing success.

We actually ran out of Budweiser that night, and I had to send Alice out to the local Bottle King to grab some more. Avery contacted Anheuser-Busch, and they were so impressed that we'd managed to sell out of their product that they offered to sponsor our pool tournament a few weeks later. They had one of their reps deliver a bunch of customized banners with the specifics, and Avery pasted them all over the bar and around town.

A few weeks later, she devised a contest to come up with a new drink for the menu board. The deal was, you had to drink it before nominating it. We sold a lot of liquor that night. I had to call for a few cabs for the handful of guys who were too drunk to drive home, so yeah. It was a good night.

We brought a ton of new business into the bar with that one, and Avery made some good business connections.

Even on days when we didn't have an event scheduled, it wasn't so out of the ordinary for her to come by just to hang out. Tonight, she was here to hang out.

The happy hour crew was going strong, and every stool at the long bar was filled. So, I mixed her a cocktail, cracked myself a beer, and set us up in one of the booths. She turned her body sideways, leaning her back against the wall and letting her feet hang over the edge of the seat. She flipped her sandals at the ends of her toes as she said, "Let me ask you Give me the pros and cons of being self-employed."

She'd been focusing so much attention on my bar that she hadn't spent too much time getting her own business off the ground. I guessed she was finally ready to dive in. Good for her.

"Well, you pretty much already know. Being self-employed just means that everything's on you, and I'll tell you, it's not for everybody. There are nights when I'm so dog-tired and I still have to close out the numbers from the day's take. There's no use in putting it off; it'll just be waiting for me tomorrow. I both love and hate a busy night. Love it, because I know the money's rolling in, but hate it because that always means more paperwork for me. More numbers to tally, more credit cards to approve, more booze to order for the following weekend. Juggling the cash in order to make sure everyone gets paid isn't any fun, either."

"Like, your employees?"

"My employees are the least of my concerns. They get paid first, so the money's always there. It's the vendors that I have to be a bit more creative with."

I couldn't hide the proud smile that was threatening to slip into a full-blown grin.

Avery saw my battle and shook my arm. "Like how? What do you do?"

"Well," I started in, still trying not to bust, "You know Ralph? My linen service guy?"

"Yeah?"

"Well, let's just say he's a bit of a sports fan."

Her forehead scrunched as she asked, "Yeah, so?"

"Ralph works for memorabilia, is what I'm trying to say."

"Oh my God! Really?"

"Yep. And the guy will take anything that's seen the inside of an arena: Used ticket stubs, signed programs, socks worn during the games"

"Zac, shut up!"

Her reaction made me laugh. "Very convenient when I don't have the cash."

She was appropriately impressed, but then her brows furrowed as she gnawed at her bottom lip. "But where do you get all that stuff? You're not giving away all your private stash, are you?"

"Ah. Very astute, young Grasshopper. I'm still in touch with the infamous Johnny."

"Johnny's Johnny?"

"Yep. Aside from the Devils who are always hanging around, he throws private parties for lots of other guys in the NHL. Some NFL players, too. I don't know about you, but most party guests like there to be food and booze."

Her eyes widened as she got where I was going. "Which you provide."

"Correct."

"At cost to you."

"And them. My only out-of-pocket expense is my kitchen staff's wages, and I'd be paying that anyway because they're already here. The way I figure it, I'm getting my bar towels and tablecloths essentially for free, Ralph's getting some collectibles to clog up his man-cave, Johnny's throwing his party on the cheap everybody wins."

She was mulling over the new information as I added, "You should hear what I do for my liquor suppliers!"

I'd always made a point to make my credit card payment on time so that I could charge my bill from the liquor distributor, who was brothers with the guy who supplied our paper products, and who would discount his price if we supplemented it with booze. A crazier full-circle there never was.

Damn. That was as recently as a month ago. It was nice to have some steady money coming in these days.

I'd already given all my employees a raise, and was well on my way to paying off the few debts this place still had hanging over it.

It had been years, but it sure as hell felt good to breathe again.

Until I looked at Avery too hard. Because then I'd forget to.

I shook my head straight and asked, "What's with the curiosity? You finally ready to get your business going?"

"Yeah. I had cards made up and started putting the word out. Too bad no one's hired me yet." She shot me a sly smile and added, "Except you, of course. But you pay shit."

We both shared a chuckle over that one. I'd tried a few times to toss a couple bucks her way, but she wouldn't accept it. She said she hadn't done anything worth being paid for yet, and considering all the money I'd been dumping into various charities, felt too guilty taking any piece away for herself. Whenever I tried to explain that I wouldn't have been able to give anything if it weren't for the business she drummed up in this place, she always dismissed my claims and changed the subject.

"What about Travis and Alice?" I asked.

"What about them?"

"Well, they're trying to plan a wedding for January, and neither one of them has any clue what they're doing. I mean, case in point, they're having it here, for godsakes."

After only three months, Travis and Alice were getting married, and God help them, they wanted to have the wedding at the place where they'd met. Of course I was going to do everything I could to help, but arranging a wedding was a little out of my wheelhouse. With all the new business, it would be easier for me to delegate the planning to Avery. I finally had some extra money coming in and could actually pay her to plan the thing. It could be my wedding present to them, and a great new event for Avery to showcase her talents.

"Ooh! A wedding! I haven't planned one of those in over a year." Her brain was already buzzing; I could see the ideas taking shape before her eyes. "I'll have to talk to the happy couple first, but I'm already thinking we'll need lights. And maybe some potted trees. And lots and lots of tulle."

"I have tools. You can just use mine."

"Tulle, not 'tools,' you tool." She giggled to herself before asking, "Is it okay if I stockpile some stuff here?"

"Yeah, of course." I pulled my keychain out of my pocket, wiggled off one of the spares, and handed it over. "Here. It's to the front door. This way, you can haul your own damn boxes," I teased.

She busted me right back. "I don't know, Zac. A key to your place? This is pretty serious."

I shot her a sham dirty look. "I trust you. Just don't steal anything. I know people. They'll find you."

I locked up over thirty minutes ago, but the party was still going strong.

The party of two, that is.

Avery and I had been going drink-for drink all night, and now she was insistent that she help me close up shop. We were presently in the process of flipping the stools onto the bar so Hank could do the floors in the morning. We both had one hell of a buzz going, and she almost wiped out more than once during our task.

"You," I finally admonished, putting my hands at her shoulders and directing her to stand against the long bar. "You stay right here before you hurt yourself."

She snapped her teeth at my hand and slurred, "I only hurt the ones I love, baby."

She giggled at her own joke, and I just shook my head as I flipped the last of the stools. Then I headed over to her. "I'm afraid to ask this, but do you want a drink?"

To tell you the truth, I would have much rather spent the end of our evening in my nice, comfy bed instead of hanging around my abandoned pub.

Barring that, there was always booze.