Isekai Hero Bartender

Wynnie and I bustled about the kitchen together while Shivai cleaned up the dining room. I kept getting distracted, though. The elf proprietress's ample backside kept bumping into counters and cabinets as we worked, and I couldn't help but steal every glance I could.

She caught me staring once or twice, and instead of admonishing me, she just offered a shy smile. It seemed she still wasn't used to receiving such openly appreciative looks from people, let alone from a boyfriend.

"This is a lot easier with two people. Thanks for the help," she said, stacking another set of prep dishes next to the apron-front sink.

"Happy to lend a hand, of course. I bet it's easier without having to cook, too."

"Definitely a bit, at least. No more scouring pans or trying to wipe splattered grease off the hob. Who knew that serving more raw foods would be easier overall?"

Well, I knew, but this didn't feel like an I-told-you-so moment.

I grabbed a pot of boiling water off the stovetop and poured it into the water already in the sink. Then, grabbing a bar of soap and a scrubby, I bellied up to the sink. The stack of plates, bowls, cups and silverware next to me towered precariously. I started from the top down, dunking them one by one into the suds, and began doing the dishes.

Soapy water made my hands feel slippery. Extant dinner debris sloughed into the basin, turning it turbid and foul. Muscles in my jaw tensed by instinct, gritting with determination for the job ahead.

"Oh, you don't have to do that."

"Well, someone's got to."

"But doing the dishes is my job! I'm the one who made them dirty."

I shook my head. "Actually, the guests made them dirty. Besides, when I grew up, the rule was always that the person who cooks dinner doesn't have to clean. You cooked, so I'm on dish duty."

"But you haven't even eaten dinner yet!"

"We'll get around to it, I'm sure. The faster we get through this, the better." My hands scraped, scrubbed, and scoured as I spoke. "I'd hate to let any of this food get stuck on and make it harder to clean."

She looked like she wanted to protest more, but I was already deep in it. I never liked doing dishes by hand, even when I had access to rubber gloves. Yet I'd never felt so much ownership over an establishment before.

These were my dishes, dammit. There was no way I was going to let them sit around all dirty and gross. They represented my hard work and care, and I wanted to see my reflection in them—literally and figuratively.

"So what are we gonna do about Shivai?" she asked, situating herself next to me at the rinsing station. “The charm thing, I mean.”

"I'll have a talk with her."

"Do you think that'll do it?"

"It might. Or she might simply charm me to get her way and let her keep doing it."

"That's what I'm afraid of. That she'll charm you and have her way with you."

I paused my scrubbing, catching the potential double meaning. Wynnie stopped rinsing, noticing. Suds bubbled down my arm, feeling tingly as they popped against my skin.

"Oh! That's not how I meant it. Not exactly."

"But would you be worried about that?"

She paused thoughtfully before continuing. "As long as everything is consensual, it's not my place to say what the two of you get up to.”

Something about that didn't feel quite right to me. Why shouldn't Wynnie have some say in the matter?

"Actually, we are in a relationship." At least, that was my understanding. It wasn’t like we got a certificate or anything. I had to double-check. "I mean, we are, aren't we?"

"Yes, definitely." Her answer came fast and excited.

"Then, the way I see it, it's no longer just a me decision—it's a we decision. You're an equal part of this."

She chewed her lip for a second and stacked the first fully rinsed dish to her right. It slotted into a suddenly-too-small drying rack that wasn’t used to seeing so much action.

After a beat, Wynnie said, "I like that. And... I want you—I want us—to keep our hearts open. One step at a time, though. Let's maybe table this for a bit. We can come back to it if and when it seems prudent?"

"Sounds good to me. In the meantime, I promise to do my best not to let Shivai charm me and have her way with me."

“Good. Although, if you ask me, she needs a stern hand to guide her.” She licked her lips, staring off into nothingness. “And discipline.”

“What, like a spanking?”

“At least. And maybe a leash...” She blinked, suddenly coming back to. “What we were talking about? Nevermind. Here, hand me that.”

Wynnie accepted another clean dish, resuming her duties. We washed together quickly in companionable near-silence, sharing just the occasional word needed to keep things moving. Already, the water on my side of the sink had grown gray and cloudy, thick as a terrible soup. Unidentified food particles brushed against my hands. It gave me the same spooky feeling as feeling kelp against my legs while swimming in the ocean.

All I’d brought this world were cocktails. If I’d been a better Reborn, maybe I could’ve invented a dishwasher. Or at least a hose.

Wynnie wiped perspiration from her brow with the inside of her arm. She turned to me, showing off that 

"So, how are the patrons tonight? Meet anyone new? Hear any gossip?"

I smiled, loving the question. She'd asked it every single night since we hired Shivai. It had become part of our evening ritual. Since we’d been so busy, it was a chance for us to feel like we were still spending time together. Slaving away in the cool kitchen kept her from all the best rumors.

I tried to think through some of the more interesting happenings, hoping to cherry-pick actual gossip from the random conversations I'd had. A couple of times before, I'd brought up a juicy tidbit I thought Wynnie would like to hear, but all I’d gotten in return was a disinterested shrug.

Who knew that marital troubles were so common in Seaport?

Or that they were pretty much everybody's business?

"There's supposed to be a small trade caravan coming through in a couple of days. Odds and ends. Trinkets."

"Anything useful?"

"I asked, but that's all I heard: odds and ends, and trinkets. I have no idea what all that means. Marbles? Cufflinks? Pasties?"

"What are pasties?"

I held back a laugh. One of these days, I'd have to tell Wynnie all about some of the things you could buy in those boarded-up truck-stop adult stores. Cock pumps. Double-sided dildos. Cheap blowup dolls. Scented, flavored lube. Their shelves were blursed loot tables.

How would she react to the cursed knowledge of sex shop existences? Did I really need to tell her that pocket pussies, Hitachis, and vibrating cock rings existed? 

Then again, who knew what kinds of toys people enjoyed here? All I could think of were wooden versions of everything. I shuddered.

Time to resume whatever we were talking about.

“Pasties are, um,” I struggled to come up with an explanation. Nothing came. “Wait, you can’t distract me. I wanted to know about the caravan coming through. What are trinkets?”

"Usually it's just clothing and snacks. Maybe some kitchenware," she said.

"Okay, so not that interesting.” I hurried to think of more gossip so I wouldn’t have to discuss the finer points of swinging nipple tassels. “The bakery's trying a new cake recipe. Something with a lot of spice, apparently."

"Iced?"

"No, warm. I think they're gonna bake it, not freeze it."

She splashed a bit of rinsing water at me and giggled. "You goof. Of course they're going to ice it. Who would make an unfrosted cake?"

I would, actually. Coffee cake had always been a favorite of mine. It usually had a crumble of some sort on top, which typically enhanced the spice. Maybe I needed to visit the bakery and give them a few ideas from back on Earth. I certainly wouldn't mind getting a taste of home once in a while.

Wynnie leaned her hip against the apron front sink. A growing stain of water darkened a line across her tummy where she’d pressed against the edge.

“So, a throuple, a caravan, and a new cake. Riveting. Got any other gossip so hot it’ll come out like a fireball from your mouth?”

I winced. If only she knew how dangerous a metaphorical fireball could be.

"Sure, but it’s not much better. Supposedly, some sailors in port were complaining about weird weather patterns."

“Huh.” The teasing tone disappeared, replaced by genuine curiosity. She cocked her head. "What kind of weird weather patterns?"

"They weren't too specific. Something about a coming heatwave."

Slowly, she resumed rinsing the dishes as I handed them to her. "Heatwave, you say? That's gonna make it hard for us to keep things cool. Will we still be able to serve raw fish if the ice melts super fast?"

"Not if we sell it super fast." It was a weak joke. "But that's a good question. How hard is it for you to make a whole ton of ice?"

"Depends. I could talk you through the whole magic process sometime, if you'd like."

I nodded vigorously. I'd played a wizard in the campaign that ultimately killed me, and before that, a sorcerer, a warlock, a cleric, and a whole bevy of half-casters. The idea of magic had always ignited my imagination. Hearing more about how it actually worked, from a real spellcaster no less, was like a promise I'd always wanted someone to keep.

I tried to play it cool.

"Eh. Whatever. Why not? Sure.” It was itching at me to come out. “Yes. Absolutely yes. Please. Please. You could tell me about it right now, even. I'm all ears."

She giggled again. "Actually, that might be a longer conversation. The best way to understand magic is to feel it. Maybe tomorrow night, after service?"

I nodded vigorously enough to shake my fillings loose. "It's a date."

"Yay! A date! In my own restaurant. How romantic." She clasped her hands over her bosom, playing it up.

I flung some suds at her, leaving a few soapy splotches on her frock. She giggled and wiped them off without a thought.

"So, this heatwave. They can get pretty severe here, I’m told. We’ll need a plan. Got any ideas?”

“Ice cream.”

“That sounds like something you just made up, but I’d like to try it.”

“I didn’t just make it up, and you definitely have to try it.” I searched my brain for ice cream recipes, but came up mostly blank. “Imagine cream, but… cold. And sweet.”

“What’s in it? Ice?”

“Um. Cream, actually.”

“That’s it?”

“Sugar, too. Egg yolks, I think. Maybe some milk. Salt? And vanilla would be nice.”

“You think we could make something like that?”

“Yes?” I shrugged. It’d take a lot of recipe tweaking, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. "More importantly, if you can keep the place cool, I think we'll do better than okay. I think we'll be the hottest place in town.” She frowned. “Dammit, I mean the coolest place in town. Which will make us hot."

Her frown turned to pure confusion. I threw up my hands.

"Earth slang. It means we'll be very popular. We're gonna have a tough time keeping up with demand. I hope you're ready to make a ton of money."

"I just hope I have enough mana to make it all happen," she said, sounding worried.

"It's just cooling the place and making a bit of extra ice, right?"

“And this ice cream stuff.” She chewed her lip nervously. "It’s just that we might get busier than you’d think”

I already expected to be slammed. "How so?"

"Sailors coming to port. Nobody wants to be stuck on the seas with dead winds and high temperatures. We're gonna have a lot of guests."

"That's great," I said, unfazed. I'd bartended the Fourth of July, New Year's Eve, and random evenings when bachelor and bachelorette parties decided to drop in right before closing after a rush. "I'll make sure we have something new and easy on the menu."

I just had to figure out what that was.

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