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May 9

┆ ⤿ 🪽 ⌗ WHISKEY IN THE JAR — MATT REMPE

summary… you’re a bumbling waitress at a bar in a small town, all sunshine and smiles. the grumpy bartender seems to have taken quite a liking to you — 4.7k words

contains… bartender!matt rempe and waitress!reader, drinking/alcohol references

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱ came to me in a vision one day and is now my longest fic to date so i hope you enjoy angels!!

FOR THE PAST FEW YEARS, life for matt has been monotonous. not quite boring, no, but not exactly eventful, either. matt merely likes the simple life, that’s all. living in such a small town, it’s hard to imagine leading a life that’s extraordinary anyways.

he likes having a routine to stick to, as basic as it may be. he wakes up, works out every other day, shows up for his shifts at the bar, and tends not to accept invitations for work gatherings after hours, regardless of how much shit his coworkers give him for it. matt couldn’t care less; enjoying your own company isn’t illegal, after all. what others may call lonely, matt calls peaceful.

late spring slips through his fingers like smoke, the heat steadily becoming thicker and more imposing as summer, and matt’s twenty-fourth birthday, looms heavily in the not-so-distant future. it’s a seemingly random milestone, not quite sweet sixteen or freshly twenty one. but this year feels like it carries a little more weight, some sort of marker that he really is getting older.

it’s odd, how out of nowhere, he’s hit with the reality of just how mundane his life really is.

his mom and sister are always grilling him, jabbing their elbows into his sides and ruffling his hair whilst constantly badgering him about when he’s going to settle down, find himself a pretty little wife and have a family. unfortunately, his grumbling and eyerolls never seem to be a successful deterrent, and so matt has resigned himself to a lifetime of interrogation over his life choices, career included.

being a bartender isn’t a shameful job by any means, and if his arm were twisted enough, he would admit that he doesn’t exactly hate the whole thing. it had initially started as a summer job a few years back, something to keep him busy and make him a little bit of cash at the same time. a win-win situation in his eyes. months soon rolled into years, and still he can’t find it in himself to quit.

at the very least, it’s something he’s good at, and that knowledge gives him a little bit of peace. for a man who has a tendency to get stuck in his head a lot, to overthink the little things until he spirals, it’s comforting to have a profession that he knows like the back of his hand.

each shift differs slightly, obviously. it would be insane to expect each night to play out exactly the same as the last, but his job remains the same: read the tickets, make the drinks, engage in the occasional small talk with a few regulars who make a point of coming up to the bar themselves. piece of cake.

so yes, matt’s life is largely lacklustre, and that’s exactly how he likes it to be. then, late one thursday afternoon, as the sun just begins to dip below the horizon, you stumble, quite literally, into matt’s life for the first time.

rusty’s is slower tonight, the weekend not having officially begun and thus explaining the absence of most of the usual crowd. it gives matt little else to focus on other than the ball of energy bounding over to the bar, smile wide and genuine.

cade, another bartender with sandy blonde hair and an annoyingly charming personality, whistles lowly in amusement at the sight. matt scoffs at the sound and swats the brim of his coworker’s hat down over his eyes. unaffected, cade merely grins.

“hi.”

your voice is bright and sweet, matching the lopsided smile tugging at your lips, and though the little wave you give the two men should be awkward, it only serves to be endearing. matt hasn’t seen you around here before, he’s sure of it. he’d remember someone like you.

to his surprise, you don’t begin ordering, or making some sort of pass at either of them like a few girls your age tend to do. instead, you settle against the bar, introduce yourself, and ask if the manager is in. their expressions must shift in confusion, as you’re quick to elaborate.

“oh, he hired me a few days ago,” you explain, soft but not unsure of yourself. “i’m supposed to pick up my apron and stuff? he said to swing by.”

“of course he did,” matt grumbles, rubbing a hand down his face.

it’s not that he’s frustrated at you, no. quite the opposite. he’s pissed at his boss, who made no move to tell anyone he was hiring new staff, nor any effort to actually show up to greet the poor girl on the day he said he would.

before his gruff attitude can make you falter, his coworker chimes in quickly.

“don’t worry about him,” cade quips, pointedly shooting matt a shit-eating grin as he jabs his elbow into his ribs. “rempe here’s had a stick wedged up his ass since he started. ain’t nothing personal.”

figuring that he should at least try to make a good impression, matt gives you a small smile, only feeling a little awkward. he cracks his neck, scratches where his hair begins to curl at the nape — he must get it cut soon — and speaks up.

“boss isn’t in tonight,” he begins. “but i can probably hunt down a spare apron out back. i’ll try to get you one with the least amount of stains.”

by all means, it’s an awful joke, barely even scratching the surface of comedy. but you let out a small laugh, grin genuine and thankful, and for a moment, matt tunes into the sound of your laughter and your laughter alone.

“thanks. it’s awful kind of you.” you almost sound surprised by the small act of decency.

matt must be exhausted, eyes growing tired and bleary, because he swears you start to glow a little in the dim bar lights. he rubs at them with one hand, trying to clear his vision.

“yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it, sunshine.”

the words escape him before he can stop them, and he’s already turning away when you speak again, causing him to pause.

“sunshine?” you echo, tone slightly puzzled.

“yeah. cause you’re, like, y’know…” matt trails off, lazily gesturing up and down your frame with one hand, as though that little flick of his wrist explains everything. “you. y’seem too happy to be working in this shithole.”

“huh.” you’re quiet for a moment, letting his words bounce around in your mind like a pinball, thoughts wild and giddy. “i ain’t never had a nickname before.”

“no?” matt raises one brow. “well. you got one now.”

and that you do.

from that day on, matt never calls you anything else. no, you’re always sunshine, in that same facetious tone that you can’t help but smile at. somehow, it doesn’t feel mocking or malicious. if anything, it feels like a way to include you, welcome you into the place’s bubble easily.

three shifts deep, it becomes clear that you’re not entirely used to working in a place like this.

there’s no denying that you have the personality for the job – hell, you’ve got half of the regulars wrapped around your little finger already – and your work ethic more than shines through in your enthusiasm to do a good job. you’re just a little uncoordinated sometimes, is all.

darting around behind the narrow bar, the thought of making your presence known with something as simple as a ‘behind!’ completely slips your mind. you only realise your mistake when all two-hundred-and-something pounds of matt rempe crashes straight into you.

you would have gone flying, had his reflexes not kicked in quickly and allowed him to catch you with one large hand, thumb barely brushing the small sliver of skin between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse.

“jesus, easy.” matt’s touch lingers long enough to stabilise you, and then the warmth of his skin on yours is gone as quickly as it came. “almost knocked you on your ass, sunshine. you alright?”

heart racing with what you presume to be adrenaline from your near fall, you nod with a breathless laugh, finding your own clumsiness more than a little amusing. with the confirmation that you’re okay, matt’s tone turns slightly chiding.

“hell are you doing back here anyways?” he enquires, pulling a rag from his back pocket to thoughtlessly wipe at a small spillage on the bar top. “y’know, waitresses usually hang out on the other side of the bar.”

“oh, i know,” you assure easily, fixing a wayward strand of hair that’s fallen into your eyes. “i was just looking for another pen. i lost mine.”

in the short time you’ve been here, matt has come to learn that misplacing things seems to be your speciality. whether it’s the hair tie you had on your wrist literally moments prior to starting your shift, or your notepad, you seem to have a terrible time keeping track of the whereabouts of your possessions. lucky for you, matt always overprepares.

digging into his jean pocket, he huffs a little as he pulls out a black biro and holds it out to you, missing the way your eyes linger on the subtle swell of his bicep.

“here. i don’t use it anyways.”

the pen is quickly tucked behind your ear with a grateful smile and a promise to return it come the end of the night, and just as you’re about to return to the floor, matt speaks again, pulling you back into the conversation.

“we oughta get you a bell or somethin’. let everyone know when you’re coming.”

the idea is ridiculous, and the thought of you jingling with every step makes you roll your eyes playfully. unable to stop yourself, you swat at his toned arm, grinning.

“buy one for me, and then we’ll talk.”

matt’s laugh comes in the form of a short exhale through his nose, and then he nods, indicating the conversation has come to an end. then, he’s back to mindlessly wiping over the already clean counter. taking the hint, you wander back out to the floor, well aware of matt’s pen perched behind your ear.

it’s only later that night, when you’re half asleep and getting ready for bed, that you realise you’ve forgotten to return it. you brush your thumb along the nib, watching black ink bloom on your fingertip, and smile softly before tucking it back into your bag.

even when he spots it back behind your ear the next day, matt never asks for it back.

a week or so later, another quirk of yours makes itself known.

in your defence, the bar is packed tonight, crammed with regulars and other patrons alike, and you’re run ragged trying to keep on top of the various orders and requests being thrown your way.

when you rush up to the bar, ticket already outstretched, matt prepares himself to get through the order as quickly as possible in order to keep up with the never-ending demand for alcohol.

he makes a point of grabbing the very corner of the paper, leaving no room to accidentally graze your neatly manicured fingers as he takes the ticket from your hands, and jesus christ, your handwriting really is something else. a huff of laughter escapes him before he can stifle it.

“what the fuck is this?”

“a ticket,” you state simply, resting your hands on the slightly sticky bartop as you peer up at him, bouncing once on your toes.

“it’s hieroglyphics, is what it is,” matt scoffs, though the sound, somehow, isn’t unkind. he makes a show of squinting at the loopy black ink, moving the crumpled paper closer to and farther from his face until he hears you giggle over the general cacophony of bar noise. “you seriously write like this?”

“he was talkin’ super fast. i was trying to keep up,” you shrug, holding your hand out in a silent request for your ticket back. “it’s not that bad.”

“it’s illegible, sunshine. whole point of these is for us bartenders to be able to read ‘em.”

still, he makes no effort to refuse your wordless request. you clearly don’t share his same concerns regarding personal space, as you accidentally grab the tip of his thumb in the process of taking your ticket back, not even blinking at the contact.

matt hardly has time to dwell on the weird pang in his chest, though, because suddenly you’re reading the order back to him at a snail’s pace, playfully enunciating every syllable in every drink, eyes glinting with mischief.

“oh, very funny,” matt croons dryly.

even so, he finds himself moving, beginning to prepare the drinks that fall from your lips. he doesn’t even roll his eyes when you make some stupid, cheesy comment about teamwork and dreamwork.

had it been anyone else, matt probably would’ve found himself getting frustrated at the overly cheery and slightly scatter-brained demeanour. hell, he’s cursed cade out for far less, and has made a reputation out of grumbling under his breath any time someone so much as slightly inconveniences him.

but with you, it’s just… different. endearing, even.

maybe it’s the fact that you’re so earnest, so determined to do the best you can and get a smile out of every person you come into contact with.

or maybe, it’s simply the proximity. working together for hours on end multiple times a week means that you always seem to be around, your presence comforting rather than annoying. you hang around, not so much like a buzzing fly, but more a puppy sidling up to his side and demanding attention.

slowly, he becomes accustomed to your constant stream of chatter, learns to placate your endless rambling with well-timed ‘mhm’s and ‘oh yeah?’s that don’t give away how closely he’s actually listening to your every word.

fond would most accurately describe matt’s feelings towards you, and suddenly your nickname seems more apt than ever; like sunshine, you shine brightly, lending your warmth to those around you and drawing them into your orbit. perhaps that makes matt the moon, but he’s not a poet.

worse, other people slowly start to notice the soft spot matt harbours for you. if cade isn’t shooting him smug looks every time that the two of you interact, a regular is making a snide joke about him being wrapped around your little finger. frustration bubbles up in him each time, because deep down, matt knows that it’s true.

it’s a humid friday night, around eleven pm, when the cracks in matt’s grumpy facade begin to appear more clearly.

multitasking has never quite been one of his biggest talents, and yet matt still finds a way to keep an eye on you amidst the chaos of the weekend rush. you’re a blur of limbs, dashing from table to table, and the first drops of perspiration on your brow give you a subtle glow.

how you make sweating look good, matt has no idea. beyond that, though, matt can see the small glint of panic in your eyes, the adrenaline that pairs well with keeping on top of a full house. with every trip back to the bar, he notices the growing shake to your hands, the more frantic pace of your words, and he has to do something about it before you explode.

another ticket is slammed onto the bar, and the lingering ring of condensation where a beer glass once sat begins to seep into the paper, bleeding the ink. matt hardly glances at it, eyes focused on you instead.

“you okay?” he enquires.

his tone isn’t harsh, but direct, and you find yourself unable to lie to him.

“fine. just–” you cut yourself off and shake your hands beside your head, a vague and chaotic gesture. “overwhelmed. place is busy tonight.”

and yeah, you’re right there.

not only is the bar near wall-to-wall with customers, you’re also most definitely understaffed, causing the few employees actually scheduled tonight to work twice as hard to keep up. you’ve all been go-go-go, and though watching you run around like a headless chicken all night has been pretty impressive, matt doesn’t want you to burn out before the end of your shift.

the drinks for table whoever can wait one minute: matt’s priority right now is you, and ensuring that you’re hydrated. wordlessly, he moves to grab a glass, shovelling in some ice before filling it with water.

not allowing himself to think twice about it, he grabs one of the ridiculous bendy straws that his boss insists on keeping around the place – purple, because he imagines you’ll like that – and sticks it unceremoniously into your glass, causing the ice to clink gently.

“there.” his voice is gruff as he nudges the water towards you. “now drink up before you pass out on me. i’m not scraping your ass up off of the floor.”

by all means, it’s a fairly standard gesture, basic decency between coworkers, but you beam up at him as though he’s handed you the moon and all of the sky’s stars with it, promptly gulping down around half the glass.

even with a straw, you manage to cause a little bit of chaos. a few stray droplets of water escape your lips and trickle down your chin. matt’s eyes trace their path, and he hates himself for wishing his fingers could do the same.

not noticing the way the man in front of you has fallen silent, you roughly swipe at the wetness with the back of your hand and shove the glass back towards him with a chirped ‘thanks!’.

matt barely blinks, and you’re gone, mingling effortlessly back into the sea of patrons and swanning from table to table. with your back turned, he doesn’t see the giddiness sparkling between your eyes, but his gaze lingers on your retreating form.

he curses to himself when he allows his eyes to dart briefly to the swell of your ass, not wanting to be like the very customers he’d gruffly called out for ogling you in the past, all unbeknownst to you.

“you forgot your–” matt starts, but it’s too late.

instead, he sighs, picking up the ticket, and begins to decipher your familiar squiggles. you’ll remember to come back for the order eventually. you always do.

everything comes to a head on an evening in early june.

whose idea it was, matt doesn’t know, but it had been decided that after closing up, the staff would have a couple of drinks together, for ‘team bonding’ or whatever bullshit excuse had been spewed to their boss in order to gain permission to drink on the property after hours.

usually, matt would decline the offer without hesitation, wanting nothing more than to head home, reheat the leftovers of whatever his mom had made for dinner that night, and after inhaling his food at an alarming speed, immediately crash.

this time, matt knows exactly why he accepts the offer, and he only hates himself a little bit for it.

having grown close to everyone in your short time at rusty’s, you spend the first portion of the night darting between friends, flitting from conversation to conversation and accepting each beer handed your way.

as you grow tipsier, absolutely no one is shocked by your decision to set up camp next to matt, who has spent the better portion of his evening hovering at the stools by the counter, slowly making his way through his second whiskey.

matt says nothing when you slump into the stool by his own, not even when your knee knocks against his. instead, he adjusts to grant you enough room to sit, and lets the comfortable silence linger for a few moments before sparking up conversation.

“having fun?”

“mhm,” you nod, eyes a touch glassy. “‘s nice, seeing everyone.”

you’re not drunk by any means, just tipsy enough that your words are a little looser, mind running a little slower.

matt opens his mouth to speak, but you’re quicker, cutting him off.

“they said you weren’t gonna come tonight,” you hum, legs swinging ever so slightly as they dangle from the high stool. “said you never come to these things.”

matt snorts at that, lifting his drink in a half salute, as if cheers’ing to that idea.

“i don’t.”

you frown as though the idea upsets you, and though you’re clearly not actually hurt, matt’s stomach twists anyways.

“y’know,” you start up, voice a little softer than it had been previously. “everyone talks about you like, like you’re some stick in the mud. i mean– lucille actually warned me about you on my second shift. said not to take anything you say to heart.”

your cadence is almost like a lullaby, lilting and charming, and it’s apparent that you’re gearing up to start rambling.

“but i think you’re real nice. you’ve always been awful nice t’me,” you continue, taking a small sip of your warming beer. “even when i first started and i was an idiot.”

to your surprise, matt laughs at that, actually laughs, bright and amused, and your heart sings at the new sound.

“you weren’t an idiot,” matt corrects. “just a little… inexperienced, ‘s all. and now lookit you. you buzz around like you own the place.”

sober you would be embarrassed at the way you preen under his praise, giving him a bashful swat to the arm in a playfully coy manner. you may as well have added an ‘aw, shucks’, with the way you’re acting.

“it’s true,” he continues, sharp grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “you’re good at this, y’know? everyone loves you.”

something shifts at his words, a slight crackle in the air, and matt’s smile drops ever so slightly. brown eyes break their gaze with your own, and instead, he opts to swirl the amber liquid around his glass over making further conversation with you.

in an effort to seem casual, matt hums, taking a large mouthful of his whiskey as his other hand moves, catching your attention.

embarrassingly, the movement is largely insignificant.

matt simply places his hand onto the counter, drumming his long, slender fingers absentmindedly to the rhythm of whatever song is playing over the jukebox, yet it’s more than enough to have you entranced.

drunken logic tells you that if you move slowly enough, matt won’t notice the way your fingers inch closer to his. you move little by little, fingertips shifting in tentative steps, until your pinky barely grazes his own.

when he makes no effort to pull away, or even provides any indication that he’s caught onto you, your fingers creep closer. millimetre by millimetre, they nudge their way in until they’re partially underneath his much larger ones, sheltered.

indulging you, like he always does, matt pretends not to notice your less than subtle operation until your digits are practically interlaced, and he can’t ignore it any longer. your skin is a little cold from where you’ve been nursing your bottle of beer, but still soft, almost delicate compared to his own.

“you trying t’hold my hand or something, sunshine?” matt quirks an eyebrow, and the corner of his lip threatens to follow.

“no,” you defend quickly, snatching your hand back as though you’ve been burned.

how you have the nerve to act wounded when being confronted by your own actions, you don’t know. strangely, matt doesn’t seem too disgruntled over the whole ordeal.

“shame.” hand now free, he lifts his glass and tips the remaining mouthful of whiskey down his throat. warmth blooms behind his ribs, and he speaks again. “wouldn’t have minded all too much.”

had his heart not been pounding behind his ribcage, matt would’ve burst into laughter at the sheer amount of shock your facial features are able to convey. he’s surprised your eyes haven’t popped right out of their sockets and onto the table top.

“no?” you encourage, searching for any ounce of clarification. surely you were misreading this somehow, you had to be.

“jesus.”

matt groans out a laugh, dragging a large palm over his face before scratching at his jaw. a slight tinge of pink dusts the top of his cheeks, paints his nosebridge dusty rose, and he shrugs.

“you’re real oblivious, huh sunshine?”

you continue to blink dumbly at him, and matt exhales sharply, before reaching out to grasp your hand in his own. not quite used to such affection, his hold is a touch rough, a little too tight, but it’s not claustrophobic. instead, it’s as though he’s latching onto you, not wanting to risk losing you before he can even have you.

“i don’t-” you stammer, and matt cuts you off with another gentle sigh.

his eyes lock onto yours, gaze intense, and it prompts you to listen closely to whatever he’s about to say.

“you ever notice how i treat you different to everyone else? i let you yap my ear off without complaining, i let you wear my hat that one time, i mean– i call you sunshine, for christ’s sake.”

seeing it all spelled out makes you realise how much of an idiot you are. you’d been pining for god knows how long, and had been too invested in your own little crush to realise your feelings had been reciprocated this whole time. they’d just been displayed in matt’s own little way.

“you like me,” you assess, words feeling heavy in your mouth as you speak them clumsily.

matt feels awful for laughing, because he’s not laughing at you, but the situation itself. how he’s managed to make what should have been a simple confession of feelings into a whole ordeal is beyond him, but now he’s determined to see it through.

“look, you in tomorrow?” he asks, and when you nod, his smile softens further. “good. gives me time to get some flowers and ask you out proper. think you’ll get it through that pretty little head then?”

unless his ears deceive him, matt swears you let out an actual squeak of excitement, and he produces another fond huff as he squeezes your hand once before letting go. it’s strange, how he finds himself not wanting to cut the night short, but it’s getting late, and matt now has plans to hit the farmer’s market to purchase a bouquet of flowers before his five pm start tomorrow.

“i’m heading out,” matt announces, voice low and smooth as he ducks to speak into your ear. “get home safe, okay? i’ll see you tomorrow, sunshine.”

all you can do is watch as he shoots you a crooked smile, grabs his jacket, and slips out of the bar without another word to anyone else. your eyes linger on the doorway long after he’s left, your mind replaying the past five minutes of your life over and over, each repeat leaving you dizzier than the last.

beaming to yourself, you push out of your seat, and head back over to the rest of the group with a skip in your step. amused glances are exchanged amongst the group, yet no one mentions the elephant no longer in the room. it was only a matter of time, after all.

the next day rolls around and, as promised, you get your flowers, and matt gets his date. the town may be small but his feelings for you are anything but, and so, he plans the best date he can, a meal at a diner followed by star-gazing in an open field, his hand laced with yours.

one date turns into two, and then three, and soon, matt wonders how he ever functioned without knowing you.

soon enough, it’s the end of june, and matt turns twenty four with you by his side.

the heat is sticky and syrupy, much like the iced tea you’ve slowly conditioned him into loving, and still the blazing sun doesn’t even hold a candle to how brightly you shine. matt is positively bathing in your glow, and as he basks in your radiance, he realises that this is how life is supposed to feel after all.

#tbr

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