I locked the door behind me and headed down the stairs of my apartment building. With any luck, this would all be over by nine, and I could salvage what was left of my evening.
I slid into my Honda and took a deep breath before popping my favourite icebreaker mint into my mouth. I caught my reflection in the rear-view mirror and paused, my hand resting on the key instead of starting the engine.
Maybe I should have stayed home tonight, I had studying to do, and an important project assignment coming up in Dr. Chen’s class.
“Verdammt—damn,” the word slipped out.
Everything felt overwhelming lately. That was part of why I’d moved here from Germany in the first place, chasing something new, without the same stale air of home, away from familiar faces. If I were honest, I wasn’t regretting the decision to come to Canada for my master’s program.
I turned on Apple Maps and started the engine, pulling out of my underground parking lot. The lounge I was headed to was called Roxie’s. It was fifteen minutes away, and from the Google reviews I’d skimmed, it was a cozy place on a busy street, loud and usually crowded. I wasn’t thrilled about that combination, but I could handle it.
I finally pulled up outside Roxie’s and sat in my car for a moment, watching through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Warm light bounced off exposed brick walls while people clustered around high-top tables with drinks in their hands, leaning into each other’s conversations.
As my eyes roamed, taking in every detail, that was when I saw my date. She was exactly how Atlas had described. The amber light hit her hair just right, and she had on this red sweater that made her look friendly but also as if she was in her own world. She was sitting tall at the bar, totally locked into whatever was on her phone.
She was beautiful, undeniably so.
The door was heavier than it looked, and the noise hit me the second I stepped inside. Laughter, clinking glasses, conversations layered over each other in that strangely intimate, chaotic way bars always had.
She looked up as I got closer. Her face was all sharp angles and full lips, and her eyes were doing this cool thing where they flipped between brown and blue depending on the light.
“Marley?” Her voice had a faint rasp to it, as if she’d just woken up.
“That’s me.” I offered my hand, and she took it firmly.
She flashed a smile that definitely should’ve done something to me, but I didn’t feel a thing. Instead, I just watched her eyes dart back to her phone expectantly.
“Nice to meet you, Devon.” I flagged down the bartender and ordered a mojito. “Atlas told me absolutely nothing about you except that you’re perfect for me, which is either flattering or mildly terrifying.”
She laughed, but it sounded practiced. “Atlas is optimistic. I told her I needed someone who could keep up with me.”
Right.
“Keep up with what exactly?”
Her phone buzzed against the bar. Her attention snapped to it immediately, fingers moving across the screen with the kind of speed that suggested muscle memory. I watched her expression change from polite interest to complete absorption.
“Sorry,” she said, still not looking up. “Work thing. You know how it is.”
I didn’t, actually. But I nodded and took a sip of my drink, letting my eyes wander around the room while she typed what looked like a novel-length response.
The bartender caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. I shrugged back.
“So,” I said when she finally put the phone down, “what do you do? Besides being permanently on call.”
“Marketing. Digital campaigns mostly.” She picked up her drink, something pink and complicated with a garnish I couldn’t identify. “It’s actually fascinating if you understand the psychology behind consumer behaviour and how social media algorithms create targeted engagement.”
I waited for her to ask what I did.
She didn’t.
Instead, she launched into a rehearsed monologue about conversion rates and brand awareness that probably impressed people at networking events.
Her phone buzzed again. This time, she didn’t even apologise before picking it up.
I turned slightly on my barstool, facing the room instead of watching her scroll. A couple at a corner table leaned into each other over wine glasses, deep in an intense discussion. Another woman sat alone by the window, reading a book with complete focus. Apparently, the rest of the bar didn’t exist.
The realization was settling over me slowly that this wasn’t going to work. We weren’t even having the same conversation, let alone the same date.
