Page 9 of Notes About Vodka

Tony watches her too before turning back to me. “Val, stop while you’re ahead. She’s the type who’ll sleep with you and leave you. And just in case you need reminding, it’s prohibited to have relationships with coworkers. Do I need to remind you about your mistakes with Roquelle?”

I grit my teeth, feeling a surge of frustration. “I wasn’t?—”

“Just focus on your work,” Tony cuts me off before I can finish. “I don’t want any trouble from you.”

Before Tony leaves, he turns around and says, “Oh, and those shots? Don’t think I didn’t see you two. That’s coming out of your tips tonight, and if it happens again, you can take your ass back to Russia. Don’t think I won’t tell Dante. I don’t care if he took you under his wing, I’ll ruin you.”

I nod, biting back a retort, and return to my shift. The bar is slow even though the dining room is busy. The storm outside is keeping the usual rowdy crowd at bay with only large parties coming in for the new entertainment. Apparently, my girl caught the attention of many people that first night. Theatmosphere is subdued, with only the occasional burst of conversation breaking the calm as I wait for her to take the piano stage.

I occasionally see her running drinks and food to her tables. Once I even swear I heard her laugh with a few of the other wait staff from the dish drop off station. I swooned from hearing the happy sound.

A few die-hard patrons sit nursing their drinks at the bar. They are helping me pass the time as the sound of rain patters against the windows, creating a soothing, sleepy backdrop. The warm glow of the overhead amber lights reflects off the polished wooden surfaces, casting a cozy ambiance over the room. The faint scent of whiskey, sandalwood, citrus and aged cherry lingers in the air, mingling with the occasional burst of laughter from a corner table in the cocktail section of the bar.

Finally, after what feels like hours of waiting, my girl takes the stage, wearing a fitted black cocktail dress that accentuates her entire body. A scooped neckline reveals her collarbone. I lick my lips, thinking about the moment I will kiss along the edge.

Her ass is the perfect apple as she takes a seat and pulls the bench closer to the piano.

She’s captivating as she sings and plays. Blending songs by John Legend, Macy Gray, and Alicia Keys into a seamless performance; her voice is a sultry, soulful melody that fills the bar, drawing the attention of every patron.

Eventually, one of the other pianist waiters joins her on the other piano. Complementing her notes as she sings Fleetwood Mac that blends into a heart wrenching Miley Cyrus.

I am so happy I love all contemporary American music. This girl is beyond good on the keys.

As the night wears on, I keep finding myself stealing glances at her. She owns that piano, and the whole room justfollows. Her music’s like a balm for my tired soul. Even with the storm raging outside, there’s this warmth she brings, like she’s making everything a little less harsh.

As the shift finally comes to an end, I glance around the bar and notice that it's almost empty, with only two lingering customers still nursing their drinks.

The storm outside has calmed to a light drizzle, but my mind is preoccupied with finding her before she disappears again.

As the rest of the staff finish up their closing tasks—rolling silverware, squeezing citrus for tomorrow's drinks, and hanging clean glassware—I search for her among them. But apparently I’m too late because she’s nowhere in sight.

I even check the dressing rooms in case she slipped away unnoticed to change her clothes, but she’s not there either. She’s like a ghost in the night.

But why? Most of us stick around to unwind, vent, meet up and have an adult beverage before we all head home.

Disappointment settles in my chest as I begin cleaning up, now surrounded by the heavy and oppressive silence of the bar.

As I finish counting the cash in the register, I notice a discarded napkin on the bar’s surface. There’s a dark red kiss on the side facing up with a doodle of a tulip.

Picking it up, I see a single word written in neat handwriting:

"Laura."

A smile forms on my face, knowing that she didn’t completely disappear from my evening. I fold the napkin carefully and tuck it into my pocket.

I’m like a moth to the flame.

Despite Tony’s warnings, I can't help wanting to figureLaura out. There’s something about her that just pulls me in, and the more I try to push it aside the feelings, the desire, the interest that is growing inside me, the more I find myself thinking about her. It's like every time I see her, I get a little glimpse of something deeper, something just out of reach that keeps me coming back for more. I know Tony thinks I'm being reckless, that I should just let it be, but I can't. It's not in my nature to walk away from something that intrigues me this much.

As I lock up the bar, I find myself saying her name out loud, “Laura.”

Her name slips out so easily into the chilly night air, like it belongs there, like it's meant to be spoken by me in this quiet, empty space. The sound of it hanging in the stillness makes me smile, and I shake my head, feeling a bit ridiculous but also strangely satisfied. There's a warmth that comes from just saying her name—I can’t quite explain it.

I feel a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, there's more to this than I even realize yet. Laura’s a mystery, and I want to solve it—not just because I'm curious, but because I feel like there's something important waiting at the end of it. Something worth all the effort. I don't know if it's her smile, the way she seems so guarded yet vulnerable at the same time, or maybe it's her music, the way it seems to speak directly to a part of me I didn’t even know was listening.

I think about the way she plays, her fingers dancing over the keys, her eyes closed as if she's lost in another world. There's something almost magical about it, like she's letting us see a piece of her soul, but only just enough to leave us wanting more. It's that feeling that draws me in—the sense that there's so much more beneath the surface, layers that she's kept hidden from everyone else. And if her music is any indication, this journey will be nothing short of rhythmicallyharmonic, full of unexpected turns and raw, unfiltered moments.

I slip my hands into my pockets and start walking, the cold air biting at my skin, but I barely notice it. My mind is too wrapped up in thoughts of her. I think about the way she looked at me earlier tonight, her eyes lingering just a little longer than they needed to, like she was trying to figure me out too. Maybe she feels it also—this pull between us. Or maybe I’m just imagining it, getting carried away in my own head. Either way, I can't deny that there's something there, something worth exploring.

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