“Hey. Is this seat open?” I turn and there he is. The guy from the plane. Sleeves still rolled. Same steady posture. Familiar in a way that feels almost intentional. His hair falls slightly forward, like he hasn’t bothered adjusting it since landing.
And those damn green eyes. Calm and direct. They don’t rush away when I meet them.
Oh. Okay.
My brain, apparently drunk and reckless, offers up a suggestion. Potential one-night stand.
No.
Stop.
I blink and glance around. There are empty seats everywhere but he just wants a chair. That’s it.
Good God, Era. Get a grip.
“Fourth one’s on me,” he says, nodding toward the bartender.
And there it is again, that flicker. I manage a small smile. It feels foreign on my face, like I’m borrowing it from someone braver.
“Bad day?” he asks. “I don’t usually see someone take three shots that fast unless something went very wrong.”
“You can call it that.”
He waits. Doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t fill the silence.
“Actually… yeah.” I exhale. “It’s been a really messed-up two days.”
He doesn’t look surprised. “I found out my husband’s been cheating,” I say. The words land flat between us.
“Walked in. Saw them upstairs.” I swallow. “And the worst part? I didn’t say anything. I just left. Like if I stayed quiet, maybe it wouldn’t be real.”
The confession hangs there. I don’t know why I told him. Maybe because he’s a stranger. Maybe because strangers don’t expect you to stay. Maybe because for the first time tonight, someone is looking at me and I’m not invisible.
Then his hand moves, and I catch it, the band on his finger. Unremarkable. Unapologetic. Just there. My stomach tightens, and I release a slow breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I look away before my face betrays anything. He studies me for a moment, like he’s deciding whether I’m worth the conversation.
Then he lifts his glass slightly.
“Lucien,” he says.
I hesitate a second longer than necessary.
“Sera,” I say. The name feels strange on my tongue. My real name is Serafina, but the people closest to me usually call me Era.
Era is the name that belongs to the life I just walked out of. Era is the woman who believed everything was fine. Tonight, I don’t feel like her. “Sera” feels different. Like something slightly removed from the wreckage I left behind.
“Short for something?” he asks.
“Serafina.”
He repeats it slowly, testing the sound of it. “Serafina.” Something about the way he says it makes it feel unfamiliar again.
“Most people call me Era,” I add, “but tonight… Sera works.”
He nods once, like that makes perfect sense. “Well, Sera,” he says, a faint smile touching the corner of his mouth, “nice to meet you.”
“And that explains the attitude.” He adds.
I blink at him. “Excuse me?”
