It had been a long time since Grant had gone out drinking. One would think he'd have been in a bar every night after Sabrina's death, and if he didn't have Robbie, he might have been. Or if he hadn't been turned, the extra senses of a were took a lot of getting used to. Grant liked to think he'd adjusted as well as he possibly could, but there were some moments when things still took him off guard. Like talking to her now - he caught some sort of scent from her, but he couldn't pinpoint what. He didn't have experience with every single supernatural type out there and he really didn't care to know everything about everyone, either. She wanted a drink, he made the drink, all was well in the world. "If you're going to drink stout, Guinness is the way to go," he agreed. Universal favorite and all of that, though he hadn't been as picky when he was in college.
He held up a hand as if surrendering. "No tab, got it. Is there a certain cut off point I should be aware of?" He was mostly teasing; she was old enough to decide that for herself. Grant was just the bartender, after all. And it had been a long-ass time since anyone besides his dad called him kiddo. It was kind of nice, in a way, since that was the kind of thing you forfeited when you had a kid of your own. Taking her money, he rang it through on the nearby till, holding up her change for her.