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Derek wiped down the bar, looking out over the small scattering of people at tables. Tuesdays were never that busy, and Derek wondered if it was even worth being open. As it was, he’d already sent home one of the waitresses, and his sister, Laura, had spent most of the evening hanging out in her office trying to devise ways to drum up business. It didn’t help that it was only a couple of weeks into the new year and the evenings were chilly.
Once the bartop was clean enough to blind him with the overhead lights’ reflection, Derek put the rag away and pulled out a pad of paper and pen. He’d been jotting down ideas for new brews, hoping to expand the menu and draw some more people. He didn’t want to prove his uncle right by going out of business within the first year.
The door opened, and a guy fell through the door. Derek prepared himself to refuse service when he identified the person. “Stiles?” he called.
Stiles’ head jerked up, and he locked eyes with Derek, a broad smile spread across his face. He turned to the person who walked in behind him. “Scotty! It’s Derek!”
Derek’s eyes narrowed when they met Scott’s. The two of them had never gotten along, mainly because Scott had been jealous of the friendship that developed between Derek and Stiles after they’d been put together for a history project. Derek had been working up the nerve to ask Stiles out when he announced he’d be going across the country for college. He hadn’t seen either of them since left behind the town where they’d all grown up.
“Dude! I can’t believe you still live here,” Stiles said. “And you’re working at a bar? Didn’t you go to school for like business for something?”
Derek laughed. “I did. With a minor in craft beer studies and operations. Which, turns out, makes me the perfect candidate to take over a failing pub and bring it back to life.” They both looked around at the nearly empty bar. Stiles looked at him with raised eyebrows, lips pressed together to hold back a comment. “Shut up, Stiles.”
“I have missed you,” he said, smiling and slapping Derek on the shoulder. “I can’t believe you own this place. Do you brew your beer?” Derek nodded and started to pour Stiles a flight containing the five beers he’d created that were currently on tap.
“Scott, do you want to try a flight as well?” Derek asked when Scott finally came to the counter. “On the house, of course.”
“Sure,” Scott responded. He climbed onto the barstool closest to where Stiles was standing, tapping his fingers on the top while waiting for Derek to pass the flight to him and then Scott.
“This is a variety. I usually have at least one stout, one pilsner, and one IPA on tap. This week, I’m also trying a Brandywine beer and a gose,” Derek explained, pointing to each beer in turn.
“Awesome,” Stiles said, reaching for the first glass and sniffing before taking a sip. “Lemony.”
“That’s the gose. Originally brewed in Goslar, Germany and is made up of more than half of the grain bill being malted wheat.”
“I’m going to pretend I understood every word you just said,” Stiles said, smiling and nodding as he took another sip. “These all look great. Don’t you think…” He trailed off when he noticed Scott frowning at his phone.
“We gotta go,” Scott said. “Kira needs the car.”
“I knew we should’ve driven separately,” Stiles muttered, looking longingly at the beers.
“Well, you could always call an Uber,” Scott said. “Or get your Jeep fixed.”
“You’re still driving Roscoe?” Derek asked, remembering all the times he’d seen the Jeep with its hood open in the school parking lot with Stiles underneath wielding a roll of duct tape.
“Not a word,” Stiles said. “Yeah, go ahead, Scott. I’ll call my dad later if worst comes to worst.” Scott waved a hand as he put his phone to his ear and started talking.
“Kira?” Derek asked as Stiles turned around, playing with the now empty glass.
“Scott’s wife. She transferred to Beacon Hills high after you graduated,” Stiles told him, settling the empty glass back into its slot on the flight. Next, he picked up the stout and took a sip. “Oooh, this is good.”
“That’s one of my favorites,” Derek told him. “I like the blend of coffee and chocolate.”
“What do you call it?” Stiles asked, taking another sip.
“Hale and Hearty,” Derek said. He could feel the tips of his ears turning pink. “Laura comes up with the names.”
“It’s not bad,” Stiles said. “Derek’s Decaf would’ve been funnier, though. Hale and Hearty sounds more like a company name.”
“The company’s called Hales’ Home Brew,” Derek explained. “Laura is my biggest investor. She insisted on being included in the name.”
Stiles nodded. “I like it. Do you really brew at home, though?”
Derek laughed. “For the time being. My dad and I built a barn behind the house. I work out of there.”
Stiles let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m glad I’m not the only person still living with his dad. I’m looking for a place, but until then, it’s back in my childhood bedroom.” He placed the empty stout glass back and picked up the next, taking a sip and nodding.
“Hate to break your heart, but technically I don’t live with my dad. My parents moved to New York last year. I’m in the process of buying the house from them,” Derek said, The door opened, and Derek looked up at a couple of his regulars who took two stools at the end of the bar. He pulled their usual and heard over to them, leaving Stiles to his beers.
The regulars pulled him into a debate about the likelihood of the high school lacrosse team making it to the playoffs. Derek was convinced that the retirement of Coach Finstock the previous year spelled the end of the winning streak they’d been celebrating since Derek had been in high school. When he finally extricated himself from the discussion that devolved into a less-than-friendly argument, he found Stiles staring sadly at five empty glasses.
“Verdict?” Derek asked, laughing when Stiles’ head shot up, eye wide. “Did you pass out on my bar?”
“Course not,” Stiles said, yawning as Laura came out from a door behind the bar. “Missed dinner and drank these pretty fast.”
“Feed the boy,” Laura said, leaning over the bar to ruffle Stiles’ hair. “How’re you doing, kid?”
Stiles slapped at her hand, laughing as he tried to fix his hair. “You guys have food?”
“Typical bar snack food,” Derek said, remembering when he’d fought Laura to include curly fries on the menu. They’d always been Stiles’ favorite at the diner when they’d go to eat. He hadn’t thought Stiles would ever come back to Beacon Hills or set foot in the bar, but every time he served an order, it brought a smile to his face.
Laura rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think you should take him somewhere better?”
“Are you saying there’s somewhere better than our own bar?” Derek asked. “Look, you keep an eye on him while I go fix up something for him.”
“Too late,” Isaac said as he pushed through the door, both hands loaded down with paper-lined plastic baskets. “Hey, Stiles.”
“Hey, Isaac,” he said, sitting up straight, his eyes zeroed in on the baskets. Derek told himself he wasn’t jealous of that look. “What you got for me?”
“Double cheeseburger with extra pickles and curly fries,” he said, setting the baskets down on the bar. “Welcome back to town,” he said before heading back into the kitchen.
“Enjoy,” Laura said, heading down the bar to take care of the regulars who were waving. “Derek, keep an eye on him.”
Derek shook his head at his sister. When he turned around, Stiles had a mouthful of curly fries and his hands wrapped around the burger, a rapturous look on his face. “Good?”
“Only thing that would make it better would be another glass of Derek’s Decaf,” Stiles said.
“You mean Hale and Hearty,” Derek said, reaching for a glass and filling it with cola before setting it on the counter.
“You say po-tay-toe, I say po-tah-toe,” Stiles said. “Except one of us is right, and that’s me. That’s not stout?”
“It’s dark,” Derek countered. “And you should probably sober up as much as possible. I don’t want to answer to your father when I get you home.”
“You’re taking me home?” Stiles asked. “Now?”
If Derek didn’t know any better, he would swear that Stiles looked disappointed. “Well, you should finish your food first. Plus, I can’t take you home until after closing time, which isn’t for another couple of hours.”
Stiles’ gaze turned calculating. “So, I could have another beer now and be sober before you take me home.”
Derek narrowed his eyes, an idea forming in his head. “Or, you could drink the soda and we can share a beer over dinner tomorrow night.”
Stiles’ eyebrows shot up, and he nearly dropped the burger. “What? Like a date?”
“Exactly like a date,” Derek said, trying to fight down the hope rising in his stomach in case Stiles laughed in his face.
Instead of laughing, Stiles grabbed his glass, some of the liquid spilling over the side as he held it up. “I’ll drink to that!” Derek dropped his head to hide his grin as he took Stiles’ empty glass and refilled it with soda, making plans for what to make Stiles for dinner on their date.