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“Seer,” Fitz says, inclining his head toward the bartender as her eyes scan over both of us. She’s wearing a pair of crepe black joggers, with a short sleeved red lace top tucked in, showing off the full sleeve of intricate tattoos on her left arm. Her almost white-blonde hair is cropped at her shoulders, and it reminds me of Carla’s. And I can’t help but feel like I’ve seen her before, but I can’t place where. “Piper,” Fitz starts, and looks at me, then the woman in front of us. “This is Seer.”
She holds her hand out toward me - her fingernails are painted black, and silver rings, much like my gold ones, glitter on her fingers. I take it, and her deep brown eyes crinkle as she gives a small smile.
“Nice to finally meet you, Piper. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Startled, my head whips toward Fitz, and he’s giving Seer a look that would kill if it could. “Oh, don’t give me that look, boss-man.” She rolls her eyes toward the mirror ceiling, and then nods down toward the menu. “I’ll give you a minute to look that over.”
Seer busies herself making two glasses of water, and I whisper under my breath “You’ve been talking about me to people at work?” Fitz squeezes my hand.
“Seer is my sister’s friend.”
“You’ve been talking about me to your sister?” He smiles.
“Most of my friends are bachelors, and I wanted to do this right.” Fitz nods toward me, and I can’t help the smile as I look down, scanning the menu in front of me.
“They have mocktails!” I manage after a moment, my fingers sliding along the names of all the delicious sounding drinks. He gives me a satisfied smile as Seer sets down the glasses in front of us.
“Damn right we do.” She tilts her head toward the menu. “Crafted by yours truly.”
“Seer is also sober,” Fitz explains, and I try to hide the startled look at the woman behind the bar as she gives him a reproachful look.
“Tell the world, why don’t you.” But then she smiles, and looks at me. “Two years in, a lifetime to go.” Seer taps on the menu in front of me. “See anything you like?”
“Coconut mojito,” I answer without hesitation, and she nods in approval.
“Good choice.” She turns to Fitz, who looks at me like he’s asking permission.
“You can drink around me.” I shrug, picking the menu back up and looking over the food options.
“Blue Moon,” Fitz finally says, and Seer paces away to start making the drinks. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure…”
“I’m not going to take your beer and chug it or anything,” I mutter, half-laughing. Even in my worst binges, I didn’t touch beer with a ten foot pole. He just looks at me, a line between his brows, and I reach forward, pushing my fingertip into it. “It’s weird seeing you emote so much.” His eyes tip toward the ceiling.
“You just surprise me,” he says quietly, and gives my hand another squeeze. Not sure how to respond, I take a sip of my water. As I watch Seer muddling mint in front of me, I try to place where I recognize her from. It can’t be from here, and I don’t think she went to school at Southwest. College, maybe?
A loud whistle breaks me out of my thoughts, and we all turn toward the sound, which came from the bustle near the stage. A latino man with a black hat tilts his head at Fitz, gesturing for him to come over, and Fitz lets go of my hand. Instantly, I feel cold at the loss of his touch.
Fitz stands from his chair just as Seer comes up, placing our drinks in front of us, and he leans down until his mouth is right next to my ear.
“I’ll be right back, ok?” I nod dumbly, because the feeling of his breath on my ear sends a literal chill down my spine.
Get a fucking grip, Delmonico.
Then, with absolutely zero shame, I watch him walk toward the stage, where the man, standing behind a sound board, pulls Fitz into a half-hug.Those pants.
“Dude’s got it bad,” Seer says, and I turn to see her standing with one hand on her hip, looking between Fitz and I with raised brows.
I swear, I know this woman.
“What do you mean?” I ask, and she fits me with a look that tells me she sees right through my placating response.
“The Westfall men are notoriously hard to crack,” she replies simply, putting a lime slice around the rim of the glass in front of me. “He’s basically humpty dumpty around you.” I snort, and pick up the drink, taking a tentative sip.
The moan I emit is near-sexual, and Seer gives a satisfied shoulder shake. That’s when I realize where I recognize her from.
“Have you ever been to Greensleeves? The renaissance festival?” I narrow my eyes at her, trying to picture the woman in front of me, with her sleeve tattoo and nose piercing, in garb. But the shoulder shake reminds me of the court dances that the noble characters do from time to time, all stately and beautiful. To my surprise, she grins.
“You’re presently speaking,” Seer starts, and her voice slides into a thick Irish accent like it’s nothing, “to Lady Serena O’Neill, niece to the Earl of Tyrone.” I stare as it clicks.
“Celtic Court. You’re on the Celtic Court.” She nods, pushing a blonde curl out of her face. I knew I’d seen her somewhere, though her appearance behind the bar couldn’t be anything further than what I remember her looking like last fall.
