Our eyes meet in the mirror, brown on brown, and I remember the two of us at twenty, smiling the same way as we coloured my hair in the bathroom of Ada’s New York apartment. We were blasted on vodka, and I’d decided I wanted red streaks in my hair like Hayley Williams from Paramore. Ada’s roommates all said I was nuts, but Ada walked straight to the chemist and bought two packs of dye. The streaks turned outhideous, but it was still one of the best nights of my life.
That was before responsibility stuck to us like melting asphalt and became the highway of our lives. But Ada’s still here, supporting my choices even if she doesn’t understand them, like all the times before and all the times to come.
“Thank you,” I repeat, and this time we both know I’m not talking about the dress.
Ada gives me a small smile. “Anytime, sugar tits. Now, let’s talk shoes...”
By the time we get back to Afterglow—plus one pair of nude pumps—the effect of the afternoon’s free champagne is roaring inside me, and I’m decidedly tipsy. I’m not the only one. It’s ThirstyThursday, and most of the booths are full. My spirits lift at the unexpected patronage…
Until I catch a glimpse of Krissy and Cameron, each five customers deep, while Aggie’s meals pile up in the kitchen window. On the walk home, Ada and I decided to finally take the sultry, fake-candid photos of us pretending to bartend. Now, it looks like I’m going to have toactuallybartend. Only, I’m sure I rostered three people on for tonight…
“Cece?” Cameron shouts as he heroically attempts to pour three pints at once. “Lisa’s out. Called in sick.”
“Shit.” My chest tightens. Lisa’s called in sick four times this month, which wouldn’t be a problem if Krissy hadn’t seen photos of her dolled up at the races last Friday. Now, I never know whether to believe her or not.
Ada grabs my arm. “I’ll help. I know I’m dogshit, but I can do things. At least for a little while.”
“Addy,” I protest.
“I promise not to be a dick to the punters,” she says, completely misreading me. I meant that she’d already done enough for me today.
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “This ismymess.”
“Shh. Seriously, go get behind the bar,” Ada says, already tying her hair into a high ponytail. “I’ll clear tables and run food.”
“And I’ll help,” a low voice says from behind me.
Davis is here, an hour early for his shift—tall, tanned, and apparently summoned anytime Ada’s in mild distress. My stomach twists. Probably from his cologne. It’s nice. Woody and spicy and God knows what else. I usually try not to inhale when he’s nearby because sniffing employees seems like a straight shot to employment court, but right now the scent of his wealth surrounds me. Poor dudes don’t wear cologne like that. The reminder that Davis doesn’t need this job bouncing the door of my struggling bar has my intestines twining like snakes. That, and the way he and Ada are grinning at each other.
“Hurry up, Tofu Bacon,” Ada says, oblivious to my crisis. She dashes behind the bar to grab a couple of aprons.
“Demon,” Davis mutters,dragging his hoodie over his head. He’s hacked the sleeves off his black and lavender Afterglow tee. His tattoos are on full display, ink winding up his arms and disappearing under the raw cotton.
I wonder how far they go… What makes someone stop? Just say, “That’s enough. No more?”
Oh God, what was in that champagne?
“You’re not even supposed to be here until seven,” I tell Davis, trying to recover from my thoughts.
He doesn’t respond to this, just stares me full in the face. “You look different.”
My fake eyelashes suddenly feelveryfake. Why did I let Ada talk me into extensions? ‘Natural glam’ my ass. I don’t feel glamorous, I feel like a kid playing dress-up. A fraud of a woman. A fraud of a bar owner. There’s a burst of laughter as another wave of after-work-drinkers rolls in.
“Oh God,” I moan, dropping my shopping bags onto the beer-stained carpet.
“What’s wrong?” Davis asks.
“Nothing,” I say, my voice wobbling like half-set jelly.
“I’ve got this,” Davis says, scooping up my bags. “Head upstairs if you want. I’ll?—”
“It’s fine.” I give myself a hard mental slap. “Can you please put those in the office for me?”
He smiles, and my pulse jolts, but I do my best to ignore it, locating my own apron and getting to work helping Cameron and Krissy battle the flood of drink orders.
We work steadily, Davis clearing plates and Ada waiting tables. Usually that would be a PR disaster, but she’s on form tonight. Maybe it’s the champagne, maybe it’s that she always thrives in chaos, but she’s smiling, bantering with customers and delivering Aggie’s pasta without complaint. Her apron hugs her waist like it’s tailored, emphasising her hourglass figure, and male eyes are tracking her every move.
Davis says something to her as she passes, and Ada laughs—throwing her head back, all white teeth and Bambi eyes, her dark hair catching the light like a shampoo commercial.
