This Is Love, This Is Life

Rosie Part Three (Bongiovi/Sambora)

Author's Notes:

Hello from my Saturday morning!

I hope you've all had a decent week, and that this finds you as happy and as well as you can be in this moment.

This is the final instalment of Rosie's tale and now the question begs; where to go next? So drop me a suggestion in the comments. Do you want to see the boys moving into the loft or something out of this AU?

And with that, I'll leave you to enjoy this chapter😉

Be safe, be strong but most of all, be kind to each other out there...

J💕💕💕

Rosie Part 3

Late September 1981

Such's Bar

Richie POV

It was mid-morning and Richie was down in the tap room, taking inventory and checking keg levels in readiness for the lunch hour rush. He always liked being down here in the coolroom as it gave him the best acoustics to test out new songs and practice older ones and covers.

Since he took over as full-time manager, Richie had worked hard to renovate and promote the bar and it was finally beginning to pay off. Customers from surrounding businesses had started calling in for the atmosphere and the music. Richie figured that it would keep expenditure low if he sang whenever they had a decent crowd. He'd even sketched out plans to install a stage at the far end of the bar, including a secure storage area for instruments should he ever be able to get a band together.

For the moment it was just him and his guitar although on occasion, usually on busy weekends, David would bring a keyboard and accompany him, working just for the drinks and the opportunity to show off a little to Amber.

He'd just lined up the spike to the new keg, ready to break the seal when one of the bar staff yelled down the stairs to him. "Hey, Rich?! You got a phone call, man."

"Just gotta get this line back in. Be right there," he yelled back.

"Okay!"

He sent the spike into the barrel with one swift blow of the mallet and hooked up the lines again, making sure everything was working correctly. He and Jon had had plenty of practice over the past twelve months or so; he couldn't count the number of times one or both of them had gotten covered in beer from misaligned keg spikes or not driving them in swiftly enough. Making quick notes in the register, he wiped his hands on the cloth and took the stairs two at a time.

He flopped down in his office chair and picked up the phone receiver that was sitting in the middle of the desk amongst his paperwork. "Richie Sambora speaking, sorry to keep you waiting."

"Took you long enough, kid," Al's rough voice greeted him. "You always keep people waiting on the phone like that?!"

"Not normally, boss," Richie said, dragging his hand down the side of his face. "I was in the middle of spiking a keg and they didn't tell me who was on the phone."

"That's your failing," Al said gruffly, "not mine."

"Yes, boss," Richie replied. Al hadn't changed over the years; he still expected the best of his employees regardless of their station. "How can I help you, boss?"

"Actually, I rang to tell you that there will be an envelope waiting for you at the bar," Al said. "You were always one of my good ones, kid. Punctual, polite, kept outta trouble for the most part, hard worker, the johns certainly liked you and you brought in good money. And you still do. I like what you've done with the bar. It's how it should have been."