The spots where I’d felt the warm touch, or whatever it was, are now cold. My fingers trace over the spot on my shoulder. The skin is freezing. Weird.
I try to recall the last time this happened. It felt so good, until I snapped out of the dreamy state and freaked out.
I bite my lip, thinking. I was caught off guard, and I didn’t know what it was, and that scared me.
As I slip on the clean shirt, I make a decision. I won’t let myself panic next time—if there is a next time.
I let my dark curls loose from the messy bun and they tumble down over my back. I glance at myself in the mirror and apply a sheer lip gloss to my plump, but dry, lips before turning to check if the back of my pants are still clean.
Pete is wiping down the counter as I walk in. He turns his head to me and smiles broadly. I return his smile and start preparing garnish for the most popular cocktails.
One by one, the guests from earlier start to trickle back in. The rest of the night is busy but uneventful.
On the walk home, my mind drifts back to the touch, sensation, or whatever it was. Maybe I’m going crazy. Maybe I have a brain tumor. Or maybe it’s something else, something I don’t know about?
I chuckle at the thought. A brain tumor seems more likely.
Suddenly, I’m home. I was so deep in thought I didn’t even notice my surroundings until the door clicks shut behind me.
I change into pajamas and curl up in front of the TV. I always need to unwind before I can sleep after an evening shift.
My mind wanders again. An hour passes as I try to make sense of everything. I barely pay any attention to the TV. It’s just a low buzz in the background of my racing thoughts. I finally give up and go to bed.
Six days pass without anything happening. I start to wonder if I’d imagined it all.
Even though it scared me at first, it also gave me a strange sense of calm, something I’m not really used to. And I kind of miss it. I feel alone, cold, and honestly, a little sad. It’s a confusing feeling, not knowing what caused all this in the first place.
The first few days I wait, longing for it to happen again. I even try to recreate the scenarios, but it doesn’t work.
Finally, I manage to push it down so I can focus on everyday life. I’m trying to get a contract for a larger job position, preferably full-time, and this distraction is getting in the way.
Today is Friday, and I have the evening shift with Pete. I pull my hair up in a tight, posh bun and study my pale face in the mirror.
I actually feel like wearing makeup today, so I do a light smokey eye and use an old blush to enhance my high cheekbones. I apply my usual sheer lip gloss, get dressed, and head out.
It was quite a nice day, but now that the sun has set, the streets are cold and unwelcoming. I hug my arms around myself as I rush to the hotel.
When I turn the corner into the alley, I feel uneasy. It seems darker and more unsettling than usual. It’s always disgusting and uninviting, but this is different. We’re not allowed to go through the main entrance, so I don’t really have a choice.
I run the short distance up to the door. Just as I reach for the door handle, I hear glass shatter farther down the alley. It startles me, and I bolt inside.
I take a few deep breaths before I burst out laughing. A few of the kitchen helpers walk past, raising their eyebrows at me. I gather myself before throwing my bag in my locker.
On my way to the bar I bump into Rob. He looks a bit more agitated than usual.
“Everything okay?” I ask him.
He frowns and lets out a heavy sigh. “The top-floor executives are coming to the bar tonight,” he replies, eyeing me up and down, his lips slowly curling up into a smirk.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“Yes, sir!” I reply mockingly as I walk around him.
The bar is empty, so I start preparing an overflow of garnish. I know from experience that these posh office rats love their fancy cocktails.
When I turn around, there’s a man sitting at the bar, studying me. I almost jump out of my skin. He gives me a charming half smile.
“I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t hear you come in. I didn’t mean to overlook you,” I say, smiling with my hands on my chest, trying to calm my racing heart.
His smile widens into a toothy grin. “No worries, love. I have all the time in the world,” he says, winking at me. His voice is like soft velvet. He speaks with a slight accent, so faint that I can’t place it.
He’s breathtakingly handsome. Sharp jawline with a five-o’clock shadow and cheekbones that a lot of women would happily pay a lot of money for. Brown hair, messily styled to one side. His eyes are dark amber, almost with a slight red tint in them.
I snap back to reality. “Would you like a drink, sir?” I ask, trying to stay professional. I’m not one to ogle a guest like this, or anyone else for that matter. I feel a slight blush creep up as I realize he must have noticed.
“You wouldn’t happen to know how to make a Sazerac?” he asks, a challenge in his eyes.
I can’t help but grin. It’s not a common drink in these parts. “Actually, I do!” I respond, reaching for a lowball glass from the back counter.
“Really? Well, let’s see if you can do it right,” he teases, a chuckle in his voice.
I pour a splash of absinthe into the glass, swirling it around to coat the inside. His eyes narrow slightly. I start soaking sugar in bitters, then add two ounces of Hvenus Rye Whiskey and stir it all with ice in a mixing glass.
I bite my lip, feeling a thrill of anticipation. I’m taking a risk, deviating from the standard recipe by swapping the usual American whiskey for a cheaper, Swedish brand.
I pick up the lowball glass, pouring out the excess absinthe before straining the mix into it and adding a curly lemon peel as garnish. I slide the glass over to him and start cleaning up my work area.
He raises an eyebrow at me.
I bite my lip to hide my grin and continue wiping down the counter.
He lifts the drink to his lips, taking a sip.
“Is it to your liking, sir?” I ask, trying to sound professional.
A low, pleased rumble comes from his throat. “Indeed, it is,” he says, taking another sip.
Just then, the executives from the top floor start to filter into the bar. The man nods at me and walks over to a table in the corner.
People start crowding around the bar, shouting out their orders. Pete and I are a whirlwind, mixing drinks and pouring brandy. The room fills with the sound of chatter and laughter, drowning out the soft background music.
I scan the room, my eyes landing on the corner table. He’s still there, alone, watching me.
A flutter of excitement stirs in my stomach. My cheeks heat up, and I quickly look away.
It’s been a long time since a man has paid me this kind of attention, and I can’t say I mind. Normally, an interaction like this wouldn’t interest me. There hasn’t been any outright flirting, but there’s something about him that’s intriguing.
I notice one of the executives heading toward the bar. She has long, bright red hair and very dark brown eyes. She’s wearing a short, green dress that complements her fair skin. Her black stilettos make her legs seem endless.
Her name is Oriana. She’s the Chief Marketing Officer.
I smile as she approaches. “Good evening, ma’am. What can I get you?”
She smirks playfully. “A glass of the deep red, darling,” she replies sweetly.
I nod and reach for the two-step stool tucked under the counter. Standing on it, I grab one of the black, label-less bottles from the top shelf. I tip the bottle up and down a few times before slowly pouring the thick, dark red liquid into a wide, red-wine glass.
As I slide the glass carefully toward her, she grins widely and looks straight into my eyes.
“Gratias, cara,” she says in a teasing tone, taking the glass gracefully and turning away.
A small frown creases my forehead. Even though it doesn’t feel like an insult, it stirs something deep inside me that I can’t quite identify. Her accent suggests English isn’t her first language, but I’ve never been able to place it.
I glance around the room, noticing she’s now standing next to the Sazerac guy. I watch them discreetly from the corner of my eye. She doesn’t sit down, just leans her hip against the wall as they talk.
Suddenly, he stands up and points a finger at her face, looking upset. I quickly turn to toss something in the trash, and when I turn back, Oriana is walking back to the other executives.
The corner table is empty.
