Free The Mortal One (The Mortal One Series) by Shannon Bell Page A

four buttons or so.
    He extended his hand. “Giancarlo. You must be Dylan. Matt’s been talking about you and some of the new drinks you’re going to show us how to make.”
    I shook his hand and was shocked with the warmth in it. “Oh yeah? I look forward to it. Nice to meet you.” His accent was thick but still spoke better English than I expected.
    Matt passed by. “I see you two have met.”
    I nodded.
    He tossed me a lighter. “Have fun.”
    Giancarlo reached into the bottles in the well and pulled out a bottle of Sambuca. He grabbed two shot glasses and filled each to the rim. One was slid in my direction and he made a gesture with his hand.
    I gave it a sniff. Very strong anise, which meant I wasn’t going to like it. I don’t like any of those, but then again I didn’t like black licorice, either. I shook my head.
    “Suit yourself,” he said, quickly downing the shot and then reaching for mine, he asked me for my lighter. I reached over and handed it to him. “Matt says you’re into drinks that light up.”
    I agreed. “Yes, but…Sambuca?”
    “Just watch,” he said, grabbing an empty glass beside it. “This is called a flaming Sambuca. I had those years ago, but I never made them at the bar. Our usual bartenders can’t usually handle this sort of thing, so just remember you started it.”
    He held the lighter above the glass and the Sambuca caught on fire with a bright blue flame. He quickly poured the flaming liquid into the other glass, then placed the first glass upside down over the liquid. He carried the two glasses on top of each other to directly in front of me, moving the top glass to sit upside down on the bar.
    “Now do the shot,” he said handing me the glass. I noticed Matt standing in the corner and watching both of us. I looked at him quickly for approval and after I saw him nod, I downed the shot. Giancarlo handed me a straw. “Now put the straw under this glass and suck the fumes.”
    Whoa. This was something totally different. “Do what?” I asked, holding the straw awkwardly.
    He quickly demonstrated and I did as told. I held the straw just under the glass as he showed me. I came up coughing and feeling like I just did something illegal. “The kids will love it, trust me.”
    A few guys at the end of the bar gave a chuckle and I quickly shot them a look.
    At one point during the night, there were two rows of people waiting to get drinks. Money was waving in all directions to get everything from a bottle of beer to a special concoction of my or Giancarlo’s desires. I poured shots of various liquors and shook martini shakers all night long. My shoulders were sore from reaching for bottles off the bar all night, but as I watched the tip jar fill up, the pain dulled and eventually faded altogether.
    We stayed busy all the way until we closed the doors, just as Matt had promised. Closing the doors was quite literal tonight as we had to force the last of the drinkers off their bar stools and out the door. It was refreshing from my days as a restaurant manager where stragglers could stay and hold up our closing for hours. Here, closing time meant leaving time. I liked it. I reveled in the freedom of bartending and forgot how much I enjoyed working and being in the moment. I had gotten stuck in management back home and hated the stress. At the bar tonight, it was just fun, especially when I got the hang of serving flaming Sambucas and teaching Giancarlo how to do a few drinks that were popular in the States.
    I walked out of the back door of the bar with a promise to be back in a few days for my next shift. I found comfort with the wad of cash I had in my pocket. Extra cash was an understatement, I thought to myself, having counted over a hundred euros from my share of the tip jar. A couple nights a week at this rate and I could get my wardrobe back up to standards in no time.
    I cringed, remembering my closet back home.
     
    ***
     
    The next morning, after sleeping in entirely