“Helloooo,” Maisie called as she tapped on the window of Cap Browning’s side door. There was no response, though she had just heard a power saw running down, so she opened the door and poked her head in.
“Cap?” she called, then jumped when Cap came out of the side doors from his spare room that he used for storage and winter wood building.
“Ah, Maisie, I wondered when you might be up. Come to sample my new brew?”
“You did say to come up when I wanted some. I brought a bottle too since you mentioned you didn’t like this batch.”
Cap shook his head slowly. “Nah, this one is too sweet for my tastes and I have gotten tired of trying to finish it off. I’ve switched to drinking old-fashioneds.” He motioned for her to come in and he headed off down the hall, a board over his shoulder.
Maisie followed him, setting down her bottle on the kitchen island before hurrying after him. She noticed the open bottle of maraschino cherries and the bottle of whiskey sitting on the cutting board with a couple of orange slices. She wondered how many old-fashioneds Cap had already had.
“What are you up to?” Maisie asked as Cap stepped into his small, open-spaced, plant room. He set the board into the unfinished window sill and glanced back.
“Trying to finish trimming out this window. But it seems like I can’t get this board to fit.”
No doubt it was due to a few too many drinks, thought Maisie, but she just grinned at Cap. “Well, it’ll be lovely when it’s done,” she commented.
Oh my gosh, I thought I had posted this bit of flash fiction! I had written it almost 4 years ago when I stopped by a friend’s and he was literally working with a chop saw cutting trim for a window. He was on his second old-fashioned, I think, when I came up with a bottle for him to transfer one of his homemade beers into. He didn’t like it but my family did. I still think, man, should you have been cutting wood while drinking? That being said, ‘Cap’, makes incredible old-fashioneds. I need to ask him to make me one again, soon. (His mojitos are to die for, along with his Montana Mules. Can you tell I like his drinks?)