Page 244 of Banter & Blushes

He hesitates, then shrugs. “I like bars that open early.”

“Clearly you’re a man of discerning taste.”

He doesn’t laugh this time, just lets the silence settle around us like we’re two people at a bus stop who both know the bus isn’t coming.

I fidget with a napkin. There’s a tiny seagull doodled in the corner. I don’t remember drawing it. Probably me though. I’ve never met a blank napkin I didn’t want to ruin.

The guy finally takes off his sunglasses, resting them on the bar. His eyes are sharp and blue, the kind that probably land well on camera. There’s something in his expression when he sees me looking. Not recognition. Something more like quiet resignation.

“Have we met?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

There’s the briefest pause before the words leave his mouth, like he's considering a different answer. Or deciding not to give one. Instead, he simply shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

I narrow one eye. “Are you sure? You look like someone who maybe once tried to sell me essential oils.”

He lets out a short breath of a laugh, but it’s not really a laugh. More like disbelief. Like he honestly can’t tell if I’m messing with him or if I genuinely don’t know. It hits a little different now that I can see his eyes. “Positive. I don’t even use regular oils.”

“You’re missing out. There’s this garlic one that’ll change your worldview.”

He tilts his head like he’s considering it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The bell above the door jingles again and a couple of tourists walk in, arguing gently about whether they want tacos or fish and chips. I move to greet them, take their drink orders, and start prepping something with more umbrellas than actual liquid. I keep half an eye on Mystery Ginger Ale Guy while I work. He hasn’t looked at his phone once. Just sits there watching the slow, messy rhythm of the afternoon take shape.

However, he did put his sunglasses back on.

When I swing back around, he’s nursing the drink like it’s medicine. He taps the bar with one finger.

“So you name all your drinks after emotional baggage?”

“Only the good ones.” I refill a glass of water and gesture toward the chalkboard. “We’ve got Daydream Regret and Trust Issues. I was going to add Problem Child but it wouldn’t fit.”

He grins. “You made those up.”

“I did.” I pour a splash of soda water into a shaker, mostly to look productive. “Most people don’t notice. They just order whatever’s closest to their mood.”

“And what would I be if I ordered Trust Issues?”

I shrug. “Someone who once got ghosted in a hotel lobby and now refuses to make eye contact with fruit garnishes.”

He lets out a full laugh this time and leans back on the stool. “That specific, huh?”

“I don’t make the rules. The drinks do.”

Clara slips behind me and nudges my hip with hers. “You need a hand?”

“I’m good,” I say, but she follows my gaze to the guy at the bar and raises a brow that says we’re going to talk about this later. I give her a look that says no we’re not. Her look doubles down. Mine retreats in defeat. She wins most of our silent conversations.

By the time I turn back, he’s drained half the ginger ale. Still watching, but not in a creepy way. More like someone waiting for the second act of a play to start. I mentally upgrade him from Mystery Ginger Ale Guy to The Quiet Ginger Ale Guy Who Might Be on the Run from a Life Coach.

I consider asking his name, but that feels too direct for this kind of energy.

“Well,” I say, reaching for the towel again, “let me know if you want to graduate to a drink that comes with a tiny flag.”

He lifts the glass slightly. “I’ll consider it.”

The door opens again and more customers shuffle in, drawn by the promise of shade and sugar. I fall back into the familiar rhythm of mixing, pouring, and dodging questions like what’s the wi-fi password and why can’t I find you on one of those hookup apps. I check on Quiet Ginger Ale Guy Who Might Be on the Run from a Life Coach a few times, and each time he’s just there. Not intruding. Not hovering. Just part of the furniture now, somehow.

Eventually, he stands and drops a few bills on the counter.

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