We both say hello, and as Ian immediately starts working Lainey, Archie turns to me and smiles.
“How’re you liking Capri?” he shouts over the music.
“So far, so good,” I shout back.
Archie points out the window. “Stunning views around here, aren’t there?”
“Yes,” I say, looking down at the sparkling lights of the town and harbor. “Everywhere you turn.”
Archie smiles, then says, “Hannah says you went to uni together?”
“Yeah. A long time ago,” I say. “How about you and Ian?”
“Known each other since birth,” Archie says. “Our mums went to uni together.”
“That’s real,” I say.
Archie smiles, then holds up his empty pint glass. “I’m getting another. What can I get everyone?” he asks, looking around at all of us.
“I’ll get this round,” I say, thinking there’s no way I’m going to let another guy buy our first drinks. “What do you girls want?” I ask Hannah and Lainey.
“A glass of prosecco, please,” Hannah says.
“Dirty martini,” Lainey says. “Extra cold, extra dirty.”
I look at Ian and Archie. Ian says he’s good, while Archie offers to come with me. We head toward the bar. It’s crowded, but we manage to find a sliver of real estate. As Archie rests his elbow on the counter, I notice that his wrist is adorned with several braided leather bracelets with gold hardware. They look expensive, as do his clothes.
“So where are you from, Tyson?” Archie asks me.
“Washington, D.C.,” I say.
He nods and asks if I work for the U.S. government.
“No. I’m just a regular lawyer,” I say, remembering that I’m currently an unemployed lawyer. “What about you?”
“I work in agriculture,” he says cryptically.
I nod, getting the distinct feeling that Archie isn’t out there farming the land himself. “Any particular crop?” I ask, wondering if it’s a stupid question.
It doesn’t seem to be, as Archie says, “Oh, gee. A bit of everything. Spring barley, winter wheat, strawberries, raspberries, black currants, turnips, and swedes.”
“What’s a swede?” I ask.
“It’s like a rutabaga.”
“Gotcha,” I say, although that doesn’t really clear things up for me.
“Barley is our main crop, though.”
“Is this a family business?” I ask, suddenly picturing Randolph and Mortimer Duke illegally trading on orange crop reports in the Eddie Murphy classic Trading Places.
Archie nods as it occurs to me that Hannah has only ever dated wealthy white guys. That might be part of her problem, I think. I remind myself there is nothing that precludes rich white men from being good guys—Archie could very well be one of them.
A second later, the bartender approaches us. I order the girls’ drinks, then motion toward Archie.
“I’ll take a pint of Birra Moretti,” he says.
“Make that two,” I say, sliding my credit card across the bar.
As we wait for our drinks and listen to the band, Archie and I continue to chat. At one point, I look over my shoulder, making eye contact with Lainey. I pause, expecting her to smile or wave or even flip me off, but she just stares back at me with an odd look on her face. I turn around as the bartender puts down our drinks and hands me the receipt to sign.
I sign my name while Archie grabs one of the pints along with Hannah’s prosecco. “Thanks, mate,” he says with a nod.
“No problem,” I say as Lainey suddenly appears beside me.
“What’s up?” I ask as she takes Archie’s place at the bar. “Did you change your mind?”
“About what?” she asks.
“About your drink?” I say, gesturing toward her martini.
She shakes her head, plucks it off the bar, and takes a big gulp.
“So why’d you come over?” I give her a suspicious look, then say, “You’re not about to order a shot, are you?”
“Oh my God, Tyson. I’m not getting a shot,” she says, as if that isn’t her very common M.O. upon arriving at a bar. “I just came over to thank you.” She holds up her martini, then takes another sip.
“It’s only a drink, Lainey.”
