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The only thing I remember from the wedding reception is Lyla. Her dress was flawless and clung to her in all the right ways. The neckline plunged, showing her perfect cleavage. And her ass? Better than I had even imagined.
But that was it. The rest was a blur. I could only focus on Nico’s hand on my leg, thumb rubbing circles as he mindlessly made sure I was okay.
I was ready for the wedding to be over with. Not just because I didn’t want to be sitting here, watching my ex-girlfriend vow to another woman. And not just because I was aching to be immersed with Nico again, climbing to the next best orgasm of my life. But also, because, despite having just met him, my life didn’t feel like such chaos around him. I didn’t feel like I had when I was on my way here, wondering where the hell everything went wrong. Because in this moment, everything felt right.
ONE
It might be ironic that I’m a bartender and all I really like to drink is whiskey. Or it might be the most kismet thing ever. And while I go to Jack Daniels most of the time, I actually prefer the higher end shit. But I can’t afford the higher end shit most of the time.
Especially when I’m unemployed and living in a new city.
After Lyla’s wedding and the fact that everywhere I looked, I found happy couples—including Stacey in a new and open relationship—I needed a new scene. It just took me a few months to come to terms with it.
So, I finally packed up my shit in my shitty Corolla and drove north.
And now, I’m standing here at the bar of The Bellhouse Pub waiting for someone I could ask about a job. Normally, I’m cool, calm, and collected.
Right now, I was sweating, shaking, and scattered.
I needed this job. I didn’t know much about this town beyond the fact that it seemed like no place was hiring. I wanted more than anything to work at the high-end bar down the street, but they weren’t hiring. As soon as I arrived in this small-ass town, that was the first place I saw. They were packed. And I could just tell it was the place to earn a shit load of money.
But when they told me they weren’t hiring, I found myself wandering down the streets until I ended up at a little bakery called 12thStreet. And I gorged myself on a variety of pastries.
That’s where I heard about this place. The girl behind the counter said she worked there on and off, if they didn’t have anyone else, and knew they needed someone. So, I picked my ass up, wiped the crumbs off my face, and brought my resume down there.
After standing for only a few minutes, I was lucky enough to hand it directly to Anthony, the general manager, who asked if I had time to sit down and talk.
Of course, I did. I didn’t have anything else to do. I’d already “unpacked” in my new studio apartment.
“So, Della.” Anthony held his palm out, gesturing for me to sit at one of the high tops near the bar. He let me sit first before taking his own seat.
“Yes.” I put on my brightest customer service smile I could muster.
“Kentucky?” His question might have only been one word, but I knew all the other questions underlying.
“I needed somewhere new. I’d outgrown that small town.”
“So, you came to another small town?” He teased.
I held my hands up in defense and chuckled. “Trust me, there is nothing like a southern small town. This is practically a different world here.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Sounds like you’ve been there, ran from it yourself.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows in agreement and huffed.
From there, the conversation went from us bonding over “running away” from southern small towns to our favorite liquors and memories associated with them.
Hell, we barely even talked about my experience, and I think the only time he looked at my resume was when he was double checking my name at the beginning. By the end, I realized almost forty-five minutes had passed.
“Well, Della. Have you ever heard the expression that being a bartender is more about communicating and being a sort of therapist for the people than it is to make drinks?”
I nodded, “Yeah, I’ve heard similar things.”
“You are one of the best conversationalists I’ve met.”
His unexpected compliment shocked me. “Uh—thank you.”
