Isekai Hero Bartender

I could barely keep my eyes open by the time dawn broke. Pinkish orange rays lit up the inside of the inn, reflecting off the newly polished floor. My train of thought had long since jumped the track, and it was all I could do to keep it from traveling straight to dreamland. Or crashing completely.

I yawned, anticipating sleep at last.

No alarm had rung out the night before. Part of me was disappointed that I’d stayed up for nothing.

But that was a foolish, unreasonable part of me. The rest of me was just thankful that we didn't have to deal with the threat of pirates. I may have been Reborn here, but I didn't have what it took to fight pirates.

Turning an inn and tavern around? Sure.

Fighting off trained thieves and killers?

I was not that kind of isekai hero.

The captain emerged from the hallway door, carrying his duffel. A crisp navy peacoat and wool trousers gave him an imperial air, even at our early hour. He glanced at me.

“No alarms?”

“Not a one. Quiet night. Might hear some roosters soon, though.”

“That’s good news.”

He crossed the room and approached the window. With a gentle push, he opened the wooden panes to let more of the morning in. A cool breeze drafted across the room, causing the hearth to flicker.

A rooster crowed. Called it.

“Not a bad view, here.”

“Not as expansive as the other inn.” I made a conscious effort not to call it by its actual name. “Still, not bad at all.”

“I like that I can see the harbor from here. It’s always good to see my ship in one piece.”

I pushed myself up from my seat. The chair creaked beneath my weight. The cushion still held the imprint of my butt, worn in by hours of boredom.

“Will the rest of the crew be up soon?”

“Unlikely. They tend to sleep in if they can. I need to get back on board and prepare for departure.”

He left the window and came over to where I was standing. Even after a night of rest and a change of clothes, I could smell the sea salt on him. It must have been in the man’s bones.

“When he wakes, I’ll have the boatswain bring up a cask for the punch. About what I owe you…”

He reached into his coat pocket and produced a leather-bound ledger. His thick finger flipped through a few pages. Odd names with tally marks underneath covered the sheets.

We’d come to what I thought was a generous agreement the night before. The details still needed to be finalized.

“I could spare a few bottles of just about anything. Do you want to pick what you want, or captain’s choice?”

I shrugged. “Captain’s choice. Surprise me.”

I wouldn’t know what I was picking, anyway.

He grinned, then nodded approvingly. “You made the right decision.”

The night before, I’d learned that the captain was an official rum runner for the kingdom. Most of his trips up and down the Silver Coast were for domestic supply. Sometimes, he did rum diplomacy.

He was just about the most important ally a bartender could get. I just hoped he’d be back someday with more supplies.

“Two cases is a lot to trade for a cask of punch,” I said.

Not that I wanted to negotiate against myself, but I wanted to stay on his good side.

“It’ll be worth it to the crew. I can’t break into our supply for them, but for trade? That’s a justified expense to the crown.”

My brain was sluggish and exhausted, too tired to take mental notes. It sounded reasonable, though. Like a tax write-off. I gave him a stupid thumbs up and hoped it made sense in this world.

“Besides, we may be back here in the future. It wouldn’t hurt to have a proper establishment to return to. Especially not if the innkeeper feels he owes us.”

His dashing smile looked effortless, though I suspected it was practiced. The charisma of leaders and traders was always enhanced through experience.

“I’m not the innkeeper. Just the bartender. But we’ll keep the hearth warm and the cocktails cold,” I promised.

He glanced back toward the door that led to the rooms. A firm hand clapped me on the shoulder.

“You might not be the innkeeper yet, but I see the way you and the gal look at each other. She’s lucky to have you.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded dumbly.

“You take care of her,” he said.

Then he turned and left quietly. The door clacked shut behind him, not loud enough to wake anyone. It was still barely light enough to see without straining one’s eyes.

Take care of her.

That’s what I was doing, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just making the inn nicer, or coming up with better food and drinks to serve. We’d gotten closer while working alongside each other. We ate together, ran errands, shared snippets of our past.

We’d kept things professional. Friendly, too. Somewhere along the way, it had started to become something more. For real. When the rest of the crew left, I’d talk to her about it. This time, with the confidence of a man who knew what he wanted and trusted himself not to fuck it up.

I looked back at the chair by the hearth, which continued pumping out a steady, stable heat into the room. I’d kept it stoked with fresh wood, ensuring that the inn didn't get too frigid. In turn, it had kept me awake, mesmerized by the dancing flames and fluttering glowing coals.

It got a pair of appreciative finger guns as I left the room.

I paused outside ‌Wynnie's door. We hadn't discussed whether I should knock or come in and wake her when we switched watch shifts.

Gently, I rapped against the heavy wood with my knuckles. The low thunk-thunk-thunk echoed through the still building. After I didn't hear anything, I knocked again, louder.

Still nothing.

My hand tried the latch, and it opened immediately.

Heavy curtains blocked out most of the sunlight in Wynnie's room. All that remained of the windows was a soft dawn glow around the outline.

As my eyes adjusted, I took the place in. It was the first time I’d seen it in more than a quick passing manner—except for the furtive trip I’d taken to stash the dress I’d bought her. Her room was just as sparse as the other rooms in the inn, but it felt a little more lived in.

There were two dressers, one on each wall in a corner. Both were adorned with small mementos—a shabby stuffed animal missing a button eye, a bouquet of dried flowers, and a few books stacked on their sides, one atop the other.

She also had multiple rugs, each with its own simple pattern.

I crossed the room and stood awkwardly beside her bed. She was curled up in a shapeless wad of blankets. The soft, almost imperceptible sound of her snores came from within. I didn't want to wake her.

But I needed to sleep, and we had an arrangement to fulfill. Plus, it would be creepy for me to stand there any longer.

"Wynnie?" I laid a hand on where I thought her shoulder was. "Wynnie. It's time to wake up."

Nothing. Unless you count another quiet snore. It was barely even that—more of an inhale with texture.

I tried again, rubbing the mound lightly. "Wynnie! Come on. Morning's here. Time to switch."

Her breathing stopped for a second. She shifted, tugging the covers around her tighter. Another snore erupted from the tangle of linens, this time loud and aggressive. The lizard part of my brain was miffed that her snoring would take such a tone with me.

"Wynderriel Calathena Riversong! You wake up right now!"

I scolded her with a whisper almost as loud as her last snort. Again, I rubbed her shoulder, harder this time. The blankets made her feel incredibly supple and forgiving. She stirred.

"Blerg. Nyah."

"Wynnie. It's time to get up," I repeated, still tracing small circles through the comforter.

She looked up at me, blinking sleepily without her glasses on. Something between a grunt and a moan died in her throat.

"Why are you rubbing my boob?"

I stopped. Dammit. I knew that was too soft and giving to be her shoulder! Even with all those blankets on top of her.

"Oops."

"Your hand is still there."

I looked down. "So it is."

"You’re really playing fast and loose with the boundaries of just friends, aren’t you?"

I yanked it away. Heat rushed to my face.

"Shit. Sorry. I'm just gonna wait for you outside."

Immediately, I turned to leave. Her hand shot out from under the covers and caught mine.

"No, wait. Stay."

My feet stopped, suddenly glued to the spot. My heart stopped, skipping beat after beat. Moments passed, our hands clasped together in the quiet early dawn.

Neither of us had been drinking. It had been weeks since we'd kissed. Whatever we said or did next, it was real.

"Are you sure?"

"Just a quick cuddle. I promise. Nothing weird. You don't have to worry about a little elf girl getting all handsy with you."

"What if I want her to?"

Her hand flinched, squeezing mine. I could feel her pulse run hot through her fingertips. Then she relaxed.

"Don’t tease. It’s not nice to make jokes like that."

There were a lot of things I could have done right then. Laughed it off. Dove into a lengthy conversation about our feelings. Helped her out of bed to take over my alarm service duty.

But no. Somewhere over the last few weeks, something changed. After enabling each other while QA testing cocktails, accidentally huffing paint fumes, and laughing while missing dance beats, I belatedly realized what everyone else had seen immediately.

I was falling in love with Wynnie. And somehow, patiently, excruciatingly, she’d waited, understanding. She was exactly the kind of person I’d always wanted, but never trusted myself not to hurt.

Now, finally, I trusted myself.

And I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I wasn’t making a joke or teasing her now.

Pulling the comforter back slightly, I climbed into the bed next to Wynnie. She squirmed next to me, adjusting and readjusting herself against my body. I could practically see her brain trying to calculate in real time if this was just a cuddle or if I was serious about getting handsy.

This wasn't the first time I'd found myself under the sheets with a beautiful woman and unclear expectations. In situations like these, you have two options: have an honest and frank conversation, or read the signs.

The gentlemanly part of me wanted to pause and check in to make sure we were on the same page. The other part of me was reading the signs as though they were in all caps.

She was facing me. Her lips were inches from mine, and her half-lidded eyes gazed longingly into my own. Her body pressed tight against mine, moving ever so slightly, just to feel the friction between us.

I let myself caress her shoulder. It slid to the back of her slim neck, and then up. My fingers tangled in the silken tresses of her hair.

And then there was her hand, which caressed my inner thigh, steadily working its way toward my swelling manhood.

I pulled her to me and kissed her.

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