The Bartender

“Are you writing your memoirs?” a voice said over the live jazz music.

I looked up from my notebook to see the bartender polishing a glass in front of me. “Kind of, but not really," I replied. "I'm making notes for the scene I'm writing tomorrow. I’m an author.”

“Really?” He perked up. “What do you write?”

“Romance novels.” I always start off that way, just for the shock factor. Then I added, “Superhero-y, kung fu, action/adventure romance novels.”

“Cool. What’s your name?” he asked, pulling out his phone. I told him, and two seconds later he held out the screen for me to see. “You’re famous! Look at this. You have five stars for TEMPTED BY FATE.”

I looked. “I hadn’t seen that. That’s cool.”

He leaned across the counter, looking me in the eye. “I think you should write about an Irish bartender who has superpowers.”

Tapping my pen against my notebook, I studied him. “What sort of superpowers does this bartender have?”

“All the usual stuff.” He waved an expansive hand. “He can fly and walk through walls and heal with his hands.”

“I bet he’s cute and smart too.”

“Of course he is.”

“Spiffy,” I said.

He poured me another shot of whiskey. “But I’ll expect royalties for having inspired a hero.”

I grinned. “Have your agent contact mine."