She should draw up a list for him of all the things that could go wrong.
“I can’t ask you to do that,” she said.
“You didn’t ask me. I offered. C’mon. It sounds like fun. I’ll get to watch a group of women drink too much while they gamble away their life’s savings.”
“What wouldn’t be fun about that?” she said, scrambling for a way out. “Have you ever tended bar, before?”
“No, but I’ve poured plenty of beer. Plus, I worked as a stripper to pay for college, so I’m used to fending off drunken women. Didn’t Alayna ever tell you why she calls me Doctor Dancy Pants?”
A stripper. That was it. That was exactly what people who didn’t know him would see at first glance, especially when he was wearing half-undone, casual office attire—the way he was now. But Hannah couldn’t figure out if he was serious or not.
“Did you really pay for college by stripping?”
“I really did. Would you like me to demonstrate for you?”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She could already picture it quite fine in her head.
“It’s settled, then.” Dallas rubbed his hands briskly, chin up, eyes scanning the room to see what work was yet to be done. “Let me help you with those posters.”
Trying to stop him once he made up his mind was like spitting on a fully engaged house fire, so she didn’t try.
Once they finished with the posters, Dallas helped her rearrange the tables so they could seat six groups of four. The winners of each game would move on to the next table. The person with the most poker chips at the end of the evening won a growler of their choice of whatever beer Hannah had on tap.
She’d painted a pair of old sheets to look like bookcases—part of the speakeasy disguise—and they hung those with thumbtacks so they concealed the front window. She hung aClosed due to National Prohibitionsign on the outside of the main door.
“I downloaded jazz and swing to go with the theme. You’re in charge of the sound system,” she said, showing him the speakers she’d mounted on either side of the bar and how to control them.
After that, she gave him a quick rundown of the taps.
“The drinks are paid for, so you don’t have to worry about handling money or cards, and I’m only serving one brew—it’s got a bit of a kick to it, so the servings are smaller than usual. Glasses go in the dishwasher, over here.” She showed him where it was located under the bar. She plunked a tin on top of the counter. “This is for tips.”
He poked at the can. “It’s going to feel weird not collecting five-dollar bills in my G-string.”
“Five-dollar bills?” she echoed, wide-eyed and only partly kidding. “Exactly how good were you at stripping?”
“I offered you a demonstration. If you really want to know, all you have to do is say yes.”
Now that he’d planted the image of him in a G-string, she couldn’t unsee it. She’d watched him strut his stuff like Mick Jagger along with a hundred or so guests at the wedding. She’d been naked with him, too—well, partially naked—but it had been dark and for the most part, she’d kept her eyes shut. Even so, she’d participated enthusiastically enough that her entire body flushed in remembrance.
But a G-string…
“Have you eaten yet?” she asked, figuring a shift in subject was in order.
“No worries. I can go grab something and be back in half an hour.”
The least she could do was feed him. She’d ordered vegetable trays for the evening, but that wasn’t much of a meal. “How about if you come upstairs with me and I make sandwiches for us?”
Hannah led him to the door to her upstairs apartment in the small alcove between the taproom and the brewery. Her kitchen space was a bit of a mess. She hadn’t cleaned up from breakfast and lunch—she’d been busy and it hadn’t seemed too bad until she’d brought a guest into it.
“This is nice,” Dallas said, looking around. He wandered over to examine the bicycle chain cowboy in the corner between the bedroom and the window. “Is this one of your brother’s pieces?”
“It is,” she confirmed. “So is the one hanging from the ceiling downstairs in the taproom.”
“It’s amazing. Damon is talented.”
Hannah agreed. She was proud of her older brother. He’d inspired her to follow her dream, even though she was now on her own, and helped get her started.
She opened the refrigerator and pulled out sliced corned beef, sauerkraut, swiss cheese, butter, and Thousand Island dressing. She found a jar of garlic dill pickles buried behind the milk. She stacked the sandwich fixings on the butcherblock island and got rye bread and a cutting board from one of the cupboards. She set the frying pan on the stove and began to butter the bread. “I hope you like Reuben sandwiches.”