Kitchen door swinging open and shut as someone carries out a tray of food.
Two exits.
That’s always the first thing you look for. Habit sticks with you after enough years of dealing with situations that go sideways faster than people expect.
My gaze drifts toward the bar.
And lands on the girl behind it.
My chest tightens before I can stop it.
The reaction hits hard enough that it makes me scowl slightly, my grip tightening around the back of the chair I’m about to pull out.
Didn’t see that coming.
Attraction isn’t something that usually sneaks up on me. It’s even rarer for it to hit this fast. One second I’m scanning the room like I always do, and the next my attention locks onto the bartender like somebody flipped a switch in my brain.
She’s small.
Five feet tall at most, though the way she moves behind the counter makes her seem bigger somehow. Her black hair is twisted up into two messy buns on top of her head, the kind that probably started the night looking neat before a long shift turned them into something looser and more chaotic. A pair of glasses slides down her nose while she pours a drink for someone sitting at the bar, and every time she pushes them back up again the small silver ring in her septum catches the overhead light.
She laughs at something one of the customers says.
The sound punches straight through the noise of the room.
That laugh again.
It’s loud, unfiltered, and completely unapologetic. The kind of laugh people give when they aren’t worried about who might be listening or what anyone might think about it. It carries easily across the room, warm and sharp at the same time.
My jaw tightens slightly.
Didn’t expect that either.
Most bartenders in places like this keep things light and polite, smiling just enough to keep customers happy without drawing too much attention to themselves. This one doesn’t seem interested in playing that kind of role.
She grabs a towel and wipes her hands while moving down the bar, and for a second her eyes lift.
They land on me.
A small jolt runs through my chest.
That’s new.
Usually when strangers lock eyes in a bar one of them looks away almost immediately. It’s an unspoken rule people follow without thinking about it. A quick glance, maybe a nod, then everyone goes back to their own business.
She doesn’t look away.
Instead she pauses slightly, studying me like she’s trying to figure out something she hasn’t decided about yet. Her head tilts just a little, glasses slipping lower down her nose while the corner of her mouth curls into a slow smirk.
Curious.
It’s not the kind of look people give when they’re nervous.
If anything, she looks amused.
I’m the one who breaks eye contact first, turning toward a table along the back wall where I can sit with my back to solid wood and keep the entire room in front of me. The chair scrapes lightly against the floor as I pull it out and settle down, hooking one boot around the rung while I lean back just enough to look relaxed.
My shoulders loosen slightly when I sit.
