A Bartender in Charming

Chapter 1: Another Man's Guinness

Lily:
A bar at a mechanic's shop... Sounded like a string of DUI's in the making. At least, that's what I thought when I first found out Teller-Morrow was hiring bartenders. The Sons of Anarchy had their headquarters there, as everyone in Charming well knew, but I had only hesitated for a second before letting Gemma Teller know I was available. College wasn't cheap and if dealing with a few drunk bikers was all I had to fend off, I was willing to put up with it for a regular paycheck.
     Still, I was nervous on my first day on the job. I'd gotten up early that Saturday morning and messed around in my closet for a bit. It only took me  few moments to realize that I should treat this like any other bartending job I'd done. Thus, I put on the uniform of bartenders everywhere: black skinny jeans, black tank top, and hair swept out of the way into  a ponytail. No fuss, no muss– though should there be any muss, black hid splashes of booze pretty well.
Arriving twenty minutes early, I parked in Teller-Morrow's drive and walked up to the office next to the mechanic's shop. Everything was still shuttered and for a moment I freaked out. What if Gemma wasn't here? The thought of having to wander around the MC's clubhouse without her scared the shit out of me.
My fears were immediately dispelled when I saw the office door was propped open. Gemma lounged languidly in her office chair, a mess of papers spread out in front of her and a cigarette pinched between her lips. I knocked on the door to announce myself.
"Hey, Gemma," I greeted her, stepping into the office. She looked at me over her glasses.
"You're early."
"I thought you might wanna show me the ropes before I started," I explained. With a sigh, she stood from her chair and crossed over to the door, taking a drag from her cigarette.
"Alright, follow me," She said, exhaling as she passed and leaving me, literally, in a puff of smoke. I jogged after her across the driveway, past the row of black motorcycles parked like so many crow's perched on a power line. She breezed through the clubhouse's open doorway and through the main room to the bar that was set farther back.
Hm. So this was what the infamous Sons of Anarchy Clubhouse looked like from the inside. Just like I had suspected, this place was all wood paneling and distressed black leather. The wall off to the side was graced with a collage of photographs. Upon further inspection, they were all mugshots of SAMCRO members. After taking it in for a moment, I followed Gemma behind the bar.
"As you can see, there aren't a whole lot of ropes for me to show you," Gemma took another drag, putting her free hand on her hip as we both took in the unimpressive bar.
     "Hm," I said, non-comittally. Gemma chuckled, blowing an elegant stream of smoke into the air.
     "Anyway, there's the ice-maker," She pointed to a machine under the bar. "The glasses are in these cabinets back here..."
     "Shakers, too?" I asked. Gemma nodded.
     "Yep, got a couple of those. We've got a  few of the nicer bottles up here, too." I followed her gaze to a pretty bottle of Patron, a half-full Ciroc, and at least five stoppered champagne bottles all covered with dust.
     "Not big fans of bubbly around here?" I asked, smiling a little.
     "The boys like their beer, and if it's not beer, then it's harder shit than champagne," She confirmed. "The other thing they love is their coffee. The maker's on the counter here, coffee's in the cupboard. The rest of the booze is in the utility closet back before the hallway turns into the dorms... Do you think you can manage the rest by yourself?"
     "Absolutely," I responded to her rapid-fire instructions with more confidence than I actually had. She looked me over for a moment, leaning on the counter and puffing on her cigarette. I stood straight and tall, willing myself as well as her to believe that I could handle this.
     "I got this. I tended bar in three different places before this," I assured her with a smile.
     "Alright, then," She said, pushing off the counter and walking away from the bar.
     "I'd put on a pot of coffee if I were you," She added just before exiting the clubhouse.
I exhaled now that I was alone and looked around my new bar. They didn't exactly have all the fixings a bartender could dream of, but then again, this position was relatively new. They'd had what they called 'crow-eaters' fixing their drinks up 'til now. Obviously, they hadn't been very good at it if they'd felt the need to hire me.
     As I inspected the lackluster bar, however, I couldn't help but think that maybe it wasn't entirely the crow-eaters' fault the drinks were so shitty. I sighed and decided to take stock of what exactly I had to work with, maybe a grab a few kegs of beer to attach to the taps. I wandered down the dim hallway and found the utility closet Gemma had told me about. I flicked on the lights. Not bad. Fully stocked, if lacking in variety. I grabbed a few brand light brews– Heineken, Blue Moon, Budweiser– and brought them back to the bar. I ventured back to the stockroom. Now, where were the dark brews? There had to be something darker than a Corona light back here... I spotted the Guinness label in a back corner. I smiled to myself– and then frowned as I saw how large the keg was. It was frat-party big, the kind you were supposed to tap with a hose.
     "Someone sure loves their Guinness," I muttered under my breath as I tried to lift the keg. No dice. It was way too heavy. Maybe pushing it? I positioned myself behind it and pushed with all my might, sliding the heavy metal barrel across the floor. I had gotten it just to the door, but now the door jamb was in the way.
     "Oh, come on!" I exclaimed as I tried to push it over. Didn't work. With a groan I leaned on the barrel with all my weight. It finally pushed over the bump but also tipped over, sending me sprawling into the hallway.
     "Fuck!" I yelped.
"Shite, are ye alright, lass?" I heard a distinctly Scottish voice ask. I couldn't see the owner of the voice, since I'd fallen behind the tipped keg. Great, one of the bikers had seen me take a tumble.
     "Just fucking peachy," I muttered, struggling to sit up.  A scarred but handsome face framed by long salt and pepper hair appeared in my line of sight, his tall frame looming over me as he offered me a hand. I stared up at him for a moment– and then took his hand. He hauled me up easily.
     "What were ye trying to do?" He asked, inspecting the keg.
     "Trying to get this Guinness to the taps, but it didn't want to cooperate. I had to resort to violence," I said, putting my hands on my hips.
     "I can see that," The Scotsman laughed. "And I appreciate your commitment to the cause of getting Guinness on tap, but would ye mind if I helped a bit?"
     "Not at all, knock yourself out," I laughed and stepped back.
     He straightened the keg and picked it up with embarrassing ease.
     "I've gotta start working out," I muttered under my breath. The Scotsman chuckled, walking the keg to the bar and setting it under the taps.
     "That alright?" He asked, pushing it close.
     "Perfect, thank you." I smiled. He crossed over to the other side of the bar and sat down as I attached the keg to the tap.
     "So... would you like some Guinness?" I offered. "It's been thoroughly shaken, I promise."
     He laughed again. "You're offering me beer at 9 in the morning, lass?"
    "Didn't you know that Guinness is a breakfast beer?" I teased. "I thought Scots liked to pour it over their cereal."
    "Oh, aye. It's what I drank instead of milk when I was a wee lad, don't you know." He said with equal seriousness. "But no, some coffee's what I need, if ye don't mind."
     "Comin' right up... What's your name?" I asked, eyeing the dark-haired Scot who now sat at the bar.
     "Filip Telford, but everyone calls me Chibs. How about you, lass?"
     "Lily," I answered, turning to flip on the coffee maker.
     "You're the girl they hired to fix drinks, aren't you?" He asked. I could feel him studying me, even with my back turned. I smiled to myself.
     "What gave it away?" I asked with a hint of sarcasm as I reached for a mug. I inspected it closely before turning to the sink to give it a good wash.
     "Well, either you're the new bartender or I actually caught you trying to steal my Guinness." Chibs shrugged. "I'm choosing to believe you would never steal another man's beer."
     I cracked a smile. It was good to know someone shared my sense of humor, even if he was a biker.
     "So, you're the one who bought this monstrosity of a keg?"I asked, raising an eyebrow.
      "Guilty," He grinned, dimples appearing that bisected his scars. I wondered idly how he got those.
     "Then, I ought to tell you..." I began, reaching for a washcloth to dry off the mug, "Fuck you very much."
     "Och, those are fightin' words, girlie." He said, raising an eyebrow.
    "Yes, well, that keg is the heaviest thing I've ever tried to lift." I looked up from the now clean and dried mug over at the biker.  He was wearing a torn up, blue mechanic's shirt over a black t-shirt instead of the usual SAMCRO leather vest. "Maybe I shouldn't ask this... But are you allowed to walk around without your... what's it called..."
     "The kutte?" Chibs chuckled. "Ye needn't be afraid, lassie. We're only a club with a keen interest in Harley's."
      "Right... just innocent mechanics..." I played along.
     He grinned at me wickedly. "Aye, now ye've got it. And should the police ever ask ye what we do, that's exactly what you'll say."
     I couldn't help it– I laughed. Jokes about criminal activity? Apparently hilarious coming out of the mouth of an attractive Scotsman who subsequently winked at me. The coffee maker had just begun spewing whatever passed as coffee in this clubhouse in the glass pot. It was an unappetizing liquid; I would have to see if the filter was clogged later–
     "Hey there, sweet cheeks." Another voice greeted me flirtatiously while I had my back to the bar. I turned to see a pirate of a man leaning on the counter, giving me the once-over with his blue eyes. I raised an eyebrow.
     "Well, good morning, darling," I responded dryly. This was the kind of treatment I had been expecting.
     "That coffee about done?" He asked, smiling with snakelike charm.
    "Just about, give it a few more minutes."
    "Give me a holler when it's ready," He winked at me before leaving again.
    "Who's he?" I asked Chibs.
    "Oh, don't mind him, lass. He's just Tig." Chibs said with a dismissive wave. "What bring you to Teller-Morrow, anyway?"
      "My wallet was getting mighty thin," I shrugged, "And I had some experience bartending, so I thought this gig would be perfect."
      "You've never worked at a place like this, have ye?" He observed.
     "What makes you think that? Don't I look like a Harley kind of girl?" I asked, holding back a smile.
     His brown eyes crinkled up, "Sorry to break it to you, lassie, but ya don't. Not even a bit."
     "I couldn't even be one of those... what are they called? Crow-eaters?" I asked, checking the coffee. Just a bit more and it would be ready.
     Chibs coughed. "Absolutely not. You're too... clean."
     I turned, wielding the coffee pot. I raised an eyebrow as I poured him a cup.
     "I'll take that as a compliment?"
     "Ye should. Thanks, lassie. I'll see you later," Chibs winked, before walking off with his mug. I smiled for what must have been the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes and watched him walk off. I liked him a lot already. Tig broke into my reverie.
     "Could I get my caffeine fix?" He asked puppyishly.
     "Coming right up, Tig darling." I said, pouring him a cup of coffee.
    He raised an eyebrow. "You're gonna fit right in here, sweet cheeks, you just wait."
    Funnily enough, in that moment as Tig left with his mug, I actually kind of believed him.