~ Nick
What the fuck am I doing?
I mean seriously.
What. The. Fuck?
It’s one thing to suddenly be so interested in one of my customers. Breaking a rule that up until tonight I was adamant I wasn’t ever breaking. But it’s quite another to let her insult me and then beg her to stay and hang out with me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Either I’ve completely lost my mind or I’ve somehow drunk more than I’ve realised tonight and I’ve actually lost more than just my mind.
The girl insulted me, literally right to my face.
Although to be fair, she doesn’t know the full story and as much as it might make things easier, I have no desire to explain it to her either. I’d much rather she just think I’m a dumbarse bartender with no real aspirations in life.
Because I mean really, what the hell do I care what she thinks?
I shake my head, as I reach for the top shelf scotch, twisting off the cap as I turn to face her. An unexpected jolt of nervousness crackles through me that might be partly due to the fact that we’re now all alone in my bar and partly due to the way she’s looking at me.
Staring at me, actually.
I have to swallow hard as I give us both a generous pour. I really shouldn’t be doing this, yet for some reason, I do and this night only continues to get weirder and weirder with every passing hour.
“I think I might have had enough to drink,” Emma says quietly, eyeing the two glasses on the bar.
Apparently I haven’t though. “Last one,” I say, the words catching in my throat.
Emma steps forward, sliding into a chair at the bar as her hand reaches for the drink I’ve poured her. I watch her, notice her fingers shaking a little as they lock around the glass.
Mine grip the bottle tighter in response.
“Last one then,” she says, lifting the glass and tilting it in my direction.
I swallow hard. Half slamming the bottle on the bar as I reach for my glass and mirror her action. We both take a long sip that half empties our glasses and immediately makes me want to refill them. Instead, we both lower our glasses at the same time; our eyes meeting and somehow making the entire room feel a million times smaller.
I watch as Emma slides her coat off, her eyes never leaving mine as she does. I feel my fingers tighten around the glass, an instinctive reaction that feels more like an attempt to stop myself from reaching out for her.
I don’t know what’s suddenly changed or why things somehow feel so different, but something is happening. Maybe it’s the fact we’ve taken jabs at each other all night. Or maybe it’s because we’re practically strangers and doing that to each other somehow feels easier when you won’t have to worry about facing the other person in the light of day.
I have no idea what it is and no idea why I suddenly feel the need to blurt out, “The kitchen was my sister’s plan.”
Emma watches me, not saying anything at first and for a second I can’t help but wonder if I really said that out loud. But then she asks, “What?” a confused expression on her face.
I busy myself restacking the small dishwasher, already regretting speaking. “You asked me why I hadn’t really opened the bar,” I say, shooting her a quick glance.
“Nick,” she says, pausing until I stop and look at her. Regret is written all over her face now and as much as I know we’ve both pushed harder than we should have tonight, I’m pretty sure it was never her intention to deliberately insult me. She just doesn’t seem like that kind of person.
“I didn’t…I really didn’t mean too…” She trails off, still staring at me with what now looks like an apologetic look.
I nod my head once, closing the dishwasher and turning to tidy up the bottles on the shelves that line the wall. Emma doesn’t say anything else and I’m sure it’s the weirdly uncomfortable silence that now surrounds us as the reason I just keep digging myself in deeper.
“She’s not around anymore,” I continue. “And I guess I could never bring myself to do what was always her idea. It just didn’t seem right, no matter how much better I know it would make this place.”
Emma still says nothing and as the silence draws on, I find myself turning just to make sure she’s still here. That she hasn’t walked out on me. But she’s still sitting on the other side of the bar and when I finally meet her gaze, she offers me a half smile, a tiny nod that says she understands even though I’m not sure she really does.
“I’m sorry I was such a bitch before,” she says, her fingers slowly turning the glass in front of her. “It’s been a shit day, an even shittier week and I guess…I guess I’m not used to drinking this much either.”
I nod once.
“It’s no excuse though,” she continues. “You didn’t deserve that. Especially after you’ve been nothing but nice to me tonight.”
I shake my head, confused. I didn’t even think she wanted to be here, let alone that she thought I was being nice to her. Emma offers me a hopeful smile though, one that just might say; can we clear the slate, start again? I smile back at her, clearing my throat as I say, “It’s okay, apology accepted.”
Her smile widens, actually reaches her eyes and I find myself smiling back at her as a weird feeling spreads through my chest. I swallow hard, not wanting to acknowledge it as I ask, “So what are you going to do about your friends from tonight then?”
Emma shrugs as she takes a small sip of her drink. “Nothing, probably.”
“Why?” I ask, wiping down the counter as I once again open the dishwasher. “You don’t want to call her, explain about the day you’ve had, the reasons why you were late?”
She shakes her head this time. “No point, seriously. They don’t get it and honestly, I can’t be bothered to explain it to them.”
“Why?” I ask, pausing to look at her.
She finishes her drink, setting the glass down firmly in front of her. “Because I don’t want to relive days like today, much less subject my friends to them.”
“You told me about it,” I offer.
Emma nods. “I know and believe me, I’m as confused about that as you probably were.”
I smile, lean a hip against the bar as I say, “Don’t you think it helped, getting it all out?”
Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”
I laugh a little. “I think it probably did. And I think you’d be surprised by how much better you’d feel if you told your friends about it too.”
Emma gives me a strange look that almost says, like you can talk and once again I wonder if she can see right through me and just how full of shit I really am.
“Well, you should at least let your friend know you tried to meet her tonight,” I suggest, wanting to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “I’m sure she’s worried about you.”
Emma shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbles, even as she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone.
I slide the bottle of scotch towards her in case she needs it; ignoring the look she gives me as I wander off. I realise for all the talking we’ve been doing, we’ve somehow failed to notice that the song Emma put on has long stopped playing.
I grab a couple of coins from the register as I walk past before walking towards the jukebox and flicking through the albums that I never really had any say about being on here. It makes me smile to see all of her choices, to know that even though my sister is gone, there are still whispers of her influence around this place.
I slide in some coins, queuing up a bunch of songs. When I turn around, Emma is still staring at her phone as it sits on the bar. I get the feeling she isn’t going to make the call, no matter how much I try to convince her it would be a good idea. I also know how much of a hypocrite it makes me, but Emma doesn’t know that, so whatever.
I lean back against the jukebox and watch her as she sits at my bar. She looks so wrapped up in her own world that it wouldn’t surprise me if she has somehow forgotten I’m still here.
I take advantage of this by openly checking her out, something I only half did earlier in the night. As unhappy and trapped as she looks, I realise once again that she’s also incredibly beautiful.
When she first walked in here tonight, I didn’t get how someone who looked like she does could possibly be sitting in a bar all alone on a Saturday night. I guess now I know more about her, it makes a little more sense. But it also has me wanting to know more, wanting to ignore my rule about getting involved with a customer and instead, force my way into her life.
I don’t know if it’s the matching aches of loneliness we both seem to wear or the fact that we’ve managed to have one of the strangest nights I can ever remember having in my bar, but there’s something about Dr Emma Young that intrigues me.
Emma suddenly looks up, her eyes meeting mine across the room as though she’s heard every single thought inside my head. I watch as she bites her bottom lip, the tiny action sending a wave of heat throughout my whole body that suddenly propels me across the room and towards her.
She eyes me with wariness, swallowing hard as I reach her and hold out my hand.
Seriously. What the fuck am I doing?