‘And you said you don’t like a fuss?’
‘I don’t.’
‘Well,’ she scrunches up her face then gives me an apologetic wince, ‘I’m afraid there is going to be a slight fuss. Very mild. You’ll barely notice it. More like fuss adjacent.’
Birthdays make me anxious. Technically, they make mesecond-hand anxious, because it’s my mom who simply cannot cope with planning a party without having to take to her bed for a month afterwards. I’ve inherited a lot of great things from her side of the family – easy-to-manage hair, healthy nails that grow super-fast, and the ability to wiggle my ears on command – but those things come at a price. Being normal about people wanting to celebrate your birthday is not something I’m capable of.
‘Be ready around one-ish.’ Alice slips past me to grab a bottle of vodka. ‘Wear something cute and sit-downable, no spike heels.’
‘You’re not going to give me any other clues?’
She mimes zipping her mouth, pauses, then unzips it again.
‘Bring a light layer. I just know you’re a cardigan owner.’
‘Wait.’ I frown. ‘Is that an insult?’
‘It’s a fact,’ she replies before nodding to the bar behind me. ‘You have a customer.’
When I turn around, Oliver is standing directly in front of me.
‘Oh look, it’s my favourite barmaid,’ he says, resting one elbow on the slick wooden counter, chin propped up in his hand. ‘I thought you’d run off without me.’
‘No, no way!’ My hands fly into my hair as I bite colour into my lips. Something else I can’t be normal about. This guy. ‘You missed a good game this afternoon.’
‘And you missed ninety minutes where you could’ve been doing anything else.’
‘Like myBleak Housepaper?’
He scoffs and taps his fingers along his high cheekbone.
‘I didn’t say ninety minutes you could’ve spent torturing yourself.’
The room is swirling with activity, so many people dancing, grinding, leaning in and talking, it’s as though Members is alive,but Oliver leans against the bar like the eye of a hurricane. Twenty people are waiting for drinks and he just stands there at the front of the line, commanding all my attention. I can only imagine how he must look on stage, guitar strapped across him, microphone up against his lips.
‘Something wrong?’ he asks when I momentarily black out.
‘Not at all.’
I slap the top of the bar and smile at him as though I’m not imagining him singing to me, shirtless. The shirtless part was a late addition to my mini fantasy but it really made the whole thing work that bit harder.
‘What can I get you to drink?’
‘Old Fashioned.’
‘Old-fashioned what?’
He laughs and I laugh along with him because what else am I supposed to do?
‘Long shot I know but if you’ve got Four Roses, I’ll have that. Otherwise, anything that isn’t Jack Daniels.’
Fuck.
With a maniacal nod, I turn to Alice who is furiously attacking a cocktail shaker as though it offended her in a previous life.
‘I need your help!’ I hiss into her ear. ‘Oliver wants an Old Fashioned.’
‘Tell Oliver to piss off.’
