Work was going well. It hadn't been too difficult to blend in. She'd bought some mixology books and practiced at home.
The staff was friendly but left the strange girl alone for the most part. She kept to herself, did her job well, was never late and didn't call in sick. She didn't know just what it was about her that put them off but she was grateful. They were helpful when needed and would smile in greeting but that was pretty much where the line was drawn.
The male customers on the other hand, would try to talk to her, flirt, over the crowd and the music of the always changing bands. They'd talk or ask about something other than a drink and she'd shrug, smile apologetically, point out to the music and then to her ear.
Sorry buddy. I just can't hear you.
They didn't really care. They'd move down the bar, onto the dance floor, and find someone who could hear their come-ons.
But there was one that nearly piqued her interest. He stood out in a way that at first alarmed her, but then, when no danger came, she began to study and appreciate. His clothing didn't try to impress, he didn't feign interest in anyone, kept time to the music with a tapping foot, and only watched and spoke to Nicky as Sophie when he wanted a drink. There had been a handful of times where he could have hurt her had he wanted to but she was still here. There was just something about him.
She was still weary though and at times went home in the early hours of the morning when the bar closed, fully exhausted by the people-scrutinizing habit that had become second nature.
"Draft beer. A pint. Please." Nicky looked up from washing out a glass while nodding and met the man's eyes. He had no accent. How had she never noticed that?
She bit the inside of her bottom lip gently and poured the beer. It was early and the music and the crowd was still low. He'd never been here this early that she could remember and her insides were slowing freezing. Was she wrong to have stayed all this time?
She pushed the beer toward him, forcing herself to do it gently and not throw it in his face and run for the door. "Here you go," she managed.
"Thanks." He sipped. "Sophie," he began, clearing his throat. She froze in a half turn. "That's your name, isn't it?" he questioned.
Breathing hard she turned back to him and forced a small smile. "Yes, um," she'd choked on the word and cleared her throat. "Did you need something else?"
"No, I, ah…I just wanted to say hello."
He was obviously uncomfortable. Was she his first assignment? Her mouth went dry as she watched his face, looking for the mask they had all worn during her meetings with them all those years ago. They'd worn it always when working or debriefing—controlled, minimal expressions and features. Always thinking, planning, plotting. But this man, seemed just genuinely…awkward.
"Hi," she gave him with a nod. Shaking she pretended to go back to work, washing, pouring, wiping, stocking but aware of his eyes on her.
"You work a lot," he noted as she made herself wipe down the small spill that his neighbor had left.
"Excuse me?"
"You work a lot. I mean, I see you here every time I'm here. And I'm here a lot."
She regarded him. What information did he want? What was he looking for?
"No other job?" He continued. "A Student? Husband at home? Kids?" he fished, waiting only a second between each question.
He was so bad at this she nearly laughed out loud. She allowed herself to let out a long breath.
"No," she released the information, shaking her head slowly. "Right now, this is it. This is what I do."
"You do it well." Her mouth dropped open and her eyes widened at the smarmy remark. He could see it, could see her reaction to the remark. "Oh. That was bad wasn't it." Not even a question, a statement. "Very, very bad," he muttered and turned pink. "I, um, I just meant…you're very good at pouring…"
Nicky's eyebrows went up a bit. She was becoming amused.
"No, not at pouring, anyone can pour," he continued quickly. "I mean, you always get it right. You're …efficient."
She watched him and for the first time in a long while her smile met her eyes, and they lit up along with her quiet laugh.
"Efficient," she rolled the word around her tongue and nodded slightly. "Okay. I'll take that as a compliment."
Please, please do," he tried to recover. "I mean, at least that's the way I meant it."
"I know." She smiled. Now she knew why it was that he kept to himself so much when he was here. But then why was he here so much? She tensed but he was unaware. "What about you? What brings you here so often?" Her words had a sharper edge to them than she'd intended.
"The bands that come in, my brother just started his own business and he manages them. I help him out for now, give free reviews, that kind of thing. Helps him, helps the bands…" He trailed off, shrugging a bit. It made sense and relief washed over her. "And I like this place. Never too busy to be crazy but still enough people so you don't feel weird being out by yourself."
Nodding, she smiled and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Okay."
"Okay?" he asked, puzzled.
"Okay," she affirmed, not answering his confusion.
They stared at each other for a long second and any tension that she'd had pent up simply broke. There was something about him that she intuitively…trusted. Watching him, she unconsciously compared him to Jason. Taller, leaner, glasses, brown tousled hair that looked good with a small amount of gel thrown in. Fair skin. He must work indoors a lot, not get too much sun. But yet he was athletic. A gym? A morning runner?
"I'm Benjamin," he gushed, suddenly. "Or just…Ben. Carpenter." He put out his hand.
Smiling, Nicky accepted and shook it lightly. "Sophie," she countered. "Sophia Kane." Then after a moment, "But just Sophie."
He nodded and smiled.
She'd gone back to work after a few more minutes of easy chatter, and by the time the music had started and the crowd had increased he had taken his usual spot to watch the band.
She noticed that he started to come in earlier now. Now he came in as she began her prep work and they talked easily while she worked and he drank. He'd remarked more than once that the set up wasn't fair but truthfully she was happy to have the long wooden bar between them while they talked. He told her about his family back in the US, how his sister lived in Italy part of the time and had invited him to use her apartment after he graduated with his Masters in Economics. His brother was a bit of a drifter, but was finding himself and when he opened his management business the whole family lent their support. His story was so wholesome, so normal,so...boring...and she loved it.
She was compelled to share her made up story about her made up family and her made up past, and it made her feel horrible. It was simple and straightforward. Boring too but only because she'd devised it that way. Grew up outside of Chicago, went to school, followed a boyfriend to Europe on a graduation trip but he'd met someone else and left her outside of Lisbon. Her family was full of I told you so's so for now they didn't speak. She'd gotten a degree in International Relations but for now would bartend her nights away and sleep away the days.
"Fun," he deadpanned after the story was told.
"What?" she wondered. What had been wrong with her story?
"It's no way to live." He nearly scolded her. "You're not doing anything."
She was instantly angry. Who was he to question how she lived? "What do you mean I'm not doing anything?" she retorted, her quick anger firing.
He didn't see the anger and continued. "You're in Europe here, in Italy, in ROME." He emphasized before resting a beat. "And you're bartending."
"SO?" she flared.
"SO," he retorted. "That's it. You're bartending. "He shrugged as if the words explained it all. "You could be doing that anywhere. You should do something else, that's all. More."
"More," she repeated. "Mm, Hmm." Her lips pursed as she opened new bottles of liquor and lined them on the shelves, hard.
"All I'm saying," he continued, "is that you're a beautiful girl in a beautiful city. You're smart and you're fun and you should be enjoying yourself. Have you even been to Vatican City yet? Been to the center of town? The ruins? Any of this sound familiar?"
She'd stopped at his description of her, flattered. But she was still angry with him, she reminded herself. Who was he to say how she lived?
She found her words finally. "I don't have time," she told him tightly. "I work. I work late. I go home and I go to sleep and until work starts again I...live. I pay my bills, I grocery shop, I..."
He was twirling one finger in the air. "Whoo!" He interupted as he gave her a lopsided smile. While she didn't like his judgements she could see he wasn't trying to be mean. If anything he thought he was being helpful.
He put two hands flat on the bar and told her, "So that's it. Tomorrow night you're not working."
"No, I always work on Thursdays." She shot him a look that was quizzical and worried. Where was this going?
"And yet tomorrow you'll take off..." One hand reached for hers and held it. "And you'll let me take you around. One date."
His words hung in the air between them and she was hyper aware of the feeling of his hand on hers. Cool but warming. Dating someone isn't what you did when you were trying to start a new life for yourself. Or wait, wasn't it? Wasn't that part of starting the new life? She'd seen the news reports on the Black Briar collapse and ultimate fallout. David's body hadn't been recovered but she knew he was alive. Nursing his body and mind. He wouldn't come for her, didn't know her in the sense that made you seek someone out.
She saw herself at a crossroads. Which path should she choose? In her mind's eye she looked left and then right, deciding. And in her mental picture she began to walk. She'd chosen. She did need to start over. All over. This man was, without knowing, offering to help her do so.
She left her hand under his and looked him in the eye. "Okay. One date. I'll take tomorrow off."