I decide to veer the topic away from my dating life, since it’s not very exciting these days. Besides, if I let him keep going he’ll eventually get on me about settling down before I’m too old.

It’s not that I don’t want a partner, but from what I’ve seen, you can’t be married to your job and married to another person unless you’re like my Gramps and Grams who worked together. Otherwise, the career or the partner ends up neglected.

And right now, my career is paramount. I have an obligation to Gramps, and the brewery is actually within my grasp. Besides, I haven’t been able to meet anyone since I’m always at The Knight Cap.

At least this is the justification I give anyone who asks about my relationship status. Honestly, losing my parents at twenty was rough, and that was a kind of pain I wanted to avoid. It didn’t help that I’d had a girlfriend when they passed away, and that relationship hit some major turbulence, eventually crashing and burning because I couldn’t handle the loss and she didn’t know how to help me grieve. It wasn’t her fault, we were college kids, but it sure did have an impact.

Relationships make a person vulnerable to pain, and losing my parents and the end of that relationship was more anguish than I could deal with. Watching Gramps degrade quickly after Grams passed was another reason to avoid getting serious with anyone.

“For now I’ll focus on the pub, which reminds me, I haven’t told you about the golden opportunity that might put us on the map and make it rain.”

His mouth turns down. “Is this some young person slang I don’t understand?”

“Uh yeah. ‘Make it rain’ means make lots of money. There’s this huge YouTuber—”

“YouTuber?” More frowning ensues.

“Yeah, it’s a woman who makes videos—”

“Videos?” Gramps’s eyes go wide, and he gives me a disapproving look. “Not the dirty kind. Ya won’t be using my Dottie’s bar to be makin’ those naughty films.”

I choke back a mouthful of coffee and cough into my elbow. “No, Gramps. Just videos, not of sex. Why in the world would you think I’d do something like that?”

His eyes shift away and he shrugs, then takes a big gulp of his beer. “I was looking something up on the computer this morning and you know how it likes to fill in words for you sometimes. Well, it took me to a site with all kinds of things no one should be looking at at nine in the morning. Felt like I needed to go to confession after that.”

“Not the best way to start the day, huh?”

He shakes his head. “Those images get stuck in the brain, they do. Anyway, you were saying something about this YouTuber?”

“Right, yes.” I smack the bar, happy to move the subject away from my grandfather accidentally stumbling on a porn site. “She has a channel.”

“Like a TV channel?”

“Yeah, kinda. I mean, they even have commercials that you have to watch—”

“Can’t you DVR and fast-forward through the junk?”

I introduced Gramps to DVR back when I lived with him and Grams after my parents passed and it’s probably his favorite thing in the world. Apart from this bar and the memory of Grams. “Not on YouTube. Anyway, this woman, Tori Taylor—”

“Sounds like one of those dirty film stars.”

“I promise she’s not a dirty film star. Anyway, she has a channel with over ten million subscribers.”

“Geez, that’s a lot of people. She do neat tricks or something? Is she a dancer?”

“No, Gramps. She’s not a dancer. Just let me finish.” I wait to see if he’s going to interrupt again, but he stays silent, for now. “Anyway, she runs a ‘Best of’ feature on her channel. Best products, best places to visit, that kind of thing. She’s running a Best Bar in the Pacific Northwest competition and The Knight Cap is entered.” I pull up the video on my phone and play it for Gramps, then show him The Knight Cap nominations before I shift to Instagram where he can check out all the other bars that have been nominated, too.

He pauses my scroll a few pictures down. “Isn’t that the place next door? Buttercream and Booze?”

“Yup. Sure is.” Of course she’s been nominated, likely by every single human being she knows. And despite her super prickly attitude, apparently she has a lot of friends because she’s clogging up the feed with all the damn nominations.

Gramps takes my phone and starts scrolling. Then he hits her profile link and keeps on flipping through pictures. He lets out a low whistle and holds the phone out two inches from my face. “Have you met her?”

“Sure have.”

“She’s quite the looker,” Gramps mutters.

“I guess, if you like the whole June Cleaver get-up.”

Gramps cocks a brow. “Does nae matter what she’s wearing. Could be a burlap sack and she’d still have the face of an angel.”

Gramps isn’t wrong. She’s stunning in a very classic, wholesome way. I have to admit, as unconventional as her clothing choices may be, they also make her alluring. She’s a mass of contradictions. Her entire look screams sweet and retro, but she’s a real take-no-prisoners spitfire. And I have to admit I kind of like how easy it is to get under her skin. It’s addicting, really.

The flyers were meant to be a joke and so was the fake poop. I’d watched her step in it the day before and thought the best way to clear the air would be to make light of it. Apparently Alice and I have very different ideas as to what is funny and what isn’t. She didn’t seem to appreciate the fake turd. Or the anger management flyer, or the lavender oil—who doesn’t love the smell of that? And I didn’t so much as get a thank you or a chuckle over the reconfigured unicorn martini glass. Which I put a lot of time and effort into for my own personal satisfaction.

I thought she’d laugh and soften up, but that isn’t at all what’s happened. Then again, what would I expect of someone who’d rather mix drinks with fourteen freaking ingredients instead of pouring a nice hoppy beer instead.

“Does she own the place next door, or just work there?” Gramps asks.

“I think it’s hers? She runs it, that much I know.”

“Well, it’s been empty a long time. Every single business that crops up there ends up going under within the year. Here’s hoping she’s got better luck than the rest. I’m guessing she got a deal on the rent with all the bad juju coming outta that place.”

I’m not a big believer in things like “bad juju” or luck. Places fail or succeed for a lot of reasons, not because the businesses that occupied the same location prior tanked. Regardless, the fact that she probably got a deal on rent tells me something about grumpy Alice in Wonderland. She’s clearly a fighter and savvy. I’ve got my work cut out for me if I’m going to beat her as The Best Bar in the Pacific Northwest.

Was it the smartest way to handle things by piggybacking on her Grand Opening? Probably not, and I hadn’t intentionally copied her, but it definitely ended up working in my favor. Good thing I like friendly competition.

“Live bands, they’re always popular.” Lars, my fulltime bartender, polishes a glass while checking out his reflection in the mirror. “I’d be happy to be the first live performance if you can get Lana to bartend.”