“Is the kitchen open?” I ask in a rather loud voice, considering he vanished to the other side of the L-shaped bar.
I can’t see him, but I can hear the deep huff of his breath, a cabinet open, glass hitting the wood, and then the crinkle of a package. The cabinet door closes, and seconds later, he comes back around the wall, holding a bowl of bar nuts.
“Kitchen’s closed.” He pushes the bowl toward me. “The bar’s technically closed, but I forgot to lock the door. We don’t open for another thirty minutes.”
If the bar was closed, why didn’t he say so when I walked in?
I look at my phone and see Naomi has yet to text. So far, the first day of my new life has consisted of drinking alone in a closed bar.
I raise my glass and air-cheers the bottles of liquor sitting on the shelves in front of me. “Here’s to my new adventure.”
Peering over the glass, I see Mr. Sociable walking over with a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. With one of my brows perched up high, I watch as he pours amber liquid into the two glasses. He slides one across the bar to me and raises the other in his hand.
My hand reaches out midway to take the glass, and then I pull back. I don’t drink whiskey straight, and I don’t drink with strangers.
Oh, what the hell? I reach for the glass and look back at him. “Isn’t it a little early for whiskey?”
“Only the good die young,” he replies just before he shoots the liquor back without even a flinch at the burn.
I can feel my forehead creasing with the face I am making at him. As odd as he is, I am not one to argue with his logic.
The shot doesn’t go down in a ladylike way, so I cough at the tail end and wait for my chest to simmer down.
“First time in Napa?”
I hear the question, but it takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
Of course he’s talking to you. You’re the only person here.
“Oh, yeah. Yes, I just flew in”—I stop to look at my watch—“four hours ago.”
“Here with a guy?” He’s pouring two more shots into the glasses.
“I actually flew across the country to move in with my girlfriend.”
He lifts his glass to his full lips and takes another shot. “Big move. Congratulations to the two of you.”
Congratulations? Why is he—
“No!” I say rather loudly. “No. I didn’t mean it like that. She’s…we’re…when I said girlfriend, I meant, my friend who’s a girl, and she’s married. We’re not a couple. I’m not a lesbian. Not that I have a problem with that. I’m from New York.” I offer that last part up in explanation, as if it’s a valid reason not to be homophobic.
He’s looking back at me with his mouth puckered and his eyes slightly widened, as if saying, Okay, but in the most sarcastic way.
I cross my right leg over the left and adjust my posture. “So…how’s the nightlife around here?”
He frowns and shrugs his shoulders. “Not too much to do. Go to San Francisco if you want the clubs and late-night scene.”
“Where do single people go to meet other single people?”
His perfect brow narrows, skeptically, as he appraises my question. “You didn’t move all the way across the country in hopes of finding love, did you?”
My leg slides down, and my foot hits the bar. “So what if I did?”
He leans forward, grabs the shot he poured for me, and drinks it. “Seems like a waste of time.”
“You don’t believe in love?”
He sets the glass down on the bar harder than the other two shots he took. “I believe in love just as much as I believe in death. It is inevitable, and it can hurt.”
His words are straightforward, and he sounds unaffected, but his eyes bear the hurt he speaks of. They’re looking straight at mine, and I am captivated by the heaviness of them.
“Have you always been this cynical?”
He breaks our contact.
“Let me guess. You got fucked over by one undeserving woman?” My comment causes him to flinch.
His chest puffs out with the smallest of laughs, as if what I said was comical. “Let’s just say, I’m serving my time.”
I slap my hand against the bar. “God, this is what pisses me off. Women are always accused of being overly dramatic and never letting things go, but at least we move on from failed relationships. One man scorned, and the rest of us get shoved into a category of unworthy adversaries of your affection.”
The right side of his cheek rises but not in a smile. He’s shaking his head in a way you would to a child who just made a mistake.
“If you’re so desperate to meet someone, you picked the wrong place. Napa is for lovers, not loners. If you’re alone in this city, you’ll only find misery.”
Misery is felt within the heart. It doesn’t matter where you live.”
“Why do you want to fall in love so badly?” His words are quick.
“I never said I did!” I say louder than intended. “You can’t judge someone without knowing a thing about them.” I take a breath and wave my hand in the air. “Aren’t bartenders supposed to be the best listeners? You’ve done nothing but insult me.”
Wrapping my hands around the cold pint glass, I stare at the dark liquid lying in there, half-full.
“I’m a catch,” I say even though I don’t know why I’m explaining myself. “I have a college degree, and I’ve always been gainfully employed. I’m pretty, not in a conceited way, but I’m okay to look at, and I can be a good time. I am an excellent gift-giver and can definitely hold my own in a conversation. Many have even told me I’m funny. I’m not desperate for love, but, yeah, I’d like to find it. I just don’t want to settle. You only get to live life once. Why waste it with the wrong person?”
When I look up, his expression is different. He is staring at me, as if trying to decode a mystery. His square jaw isn’t clenched as tight, and the corners of his eyes have a slight crease to them, softening them.
For some unknown reason, I can’t help but stare right back. My heart begins to race, and without my permission, my lips part in an inviting way. I’ve never met this man before, yet there is something about him that I feel almost connected to. My hand starts to tingle with this burning need to touch him—not sexually, just physically.
It’s like I need to make contact or else I’ll implode.
I think he feels it, too, because his pupils dilate, and the olive green turns onyx, making him look hypnotized in the moment.
My fingers inch slightly forward, and I will them to come back, but they have a mind of their own. My hand is just inches from his, the static in the air igniting as skin draws closer to skin, when a cell phone vibrates on the bar, making a loud buzzing sound, breaking the spell of the moment. I look down and see Naomi’s text, saying that she’ll meet me at the car.
My heart is pounding, and I wonder why I’m reacting this way. When I lift my head toward him, he’s gone, having moved a few feet away. His body is keeping a safe distance, but his eyes show a yearning I’ve never felt before. I must have been looking at him for too long because he turns his back to me and leans his hands on the counter, his back rising and falling.