Elena was out of breath. She'd retraced her steps through fifteen New York City blocks in record time, winding through tourists at a pace that would make any native proud. Her steps slowed as she approached her destination. The now familiar neon sign winked at her. Bub's beckoned.
She took the stairs one at a time, hand gliding along the guardrail. At the top, she smoothed her dress, and tucked her hair behind her ears. She had been so sure of her decision to come she'd practically flown here. Standing at the door, she was having second thoughts. Her phone was buzzing with texts from her lab partner she didn't know how to answer. "Where am I? On my way to a grungy sports bar to chase down a lost part of my psyche and a total stranger I might be halfway in love with. Sorry, see you back at Whitmore!" She didn't think that would go over very well.
Then there was Damon. What if he never wanted to see her again after her disappearing act? She took a deep breath to calm the nerves brewing in her gut. She hoped he was here.
Elena ran her fingers through her hair. If he was, he'd be working, she realized with a slump. What was she thinking? She would come and stare at him all night, hoping he found stalker vibes attractive? Her dreams of a repeat experience torpedoed.
The door to Bob's opens. A woman in a Yankees jersey, cigarette in mouth, spots Elena, and props the door open with her back. She motions to Elena, looking at her expectantly.
New plan. Elena says to herself. She was here to apologize, say thank you, and then she would go meet up with her colleagues like she knew she should. Now she was being reasonable.
Elena walked in, nodding a thank you to the Yankees fan. It took Elena a minute to adjust. Somehow she had forgotten how Bob's was such a veritable assault on the senses. It was a different scene compared with the other night. The booths were crammed with students munching on wings and burgers. Pop hits from the early 2000s blared over the speakers. A group of sorority girls on the dance floor were singing along at the top of their lungs. Every TV was surrounded by a crowd of people in Yankees gear watching the home game, happening at the stadium just across the river.
Elena scanned the room. She blushed when she saw the gaggle of Bros from the other evening. They were sitting at the booth where she and Damon migrated after breaking some glasses on the bar. Bros 2, 3 through 5 and 7 zeroed in on the game. Bros 1 and 6 were in a heated debate about coin. All of them were in complete ignorance of what had gone on at that table. She wondered what they would think if they knew.
"Stay focused," Elena admonished herself. She wound her way through the packed room, craning her neck to catch a flash of blue eyes or dark hair. He wasn't behind the bar. She couldn't find him among the handful of servers wandering about, trays held high, heavy with the next round of beer. She was about to go ask one of them if he was there, when she remembered the secret bar. She pushed her way through the crowd, and yanked open the door. She was ready to sprint down the hallway when a reedy voice brought her to a halt. "Password."
It was Kyle. He was sitting at a high round table, bored out of his mind. He hated working door duty, would much prefer to be on the floor. It made him feel alive.
"Password?" Elena queried.
"Password." Kyle confirmed. She then remembered the conversation revealing Damon's capricious use of a barrier to entry.
"Um, pretty please?" Elena asked in her sweetest voice, opting for the charm offensive.
"That's not the password." Kyle remained unmoved. He was an impenetrable wall.
Elena could not roll her eyes any harder. "Can you just tell me what the password is?"
"If I could tell you that, we wouldn't be having this conversation," Kyle rolled his eyes in return. He had never understood Damon's insistence on requiring a password to get back to the cocktail bar. He knew it was a marketing technique designed to encourage word of mouth. It worked. Almost too well. The bar's reputation spread further than the knowledge of where to find the nightly password. Which, lead to a regular occurrence of annoying conversations like this one.
"Can you at least give me a hint?" Elena grit out in exasperation.
"No." That was a lie. He could. He just didn't feel like it.
Thanks to her medical knowledge, Elena knew about six ways she could kill Kyle and get away with it. She was in the middle of debating the pros and cons of each one when he surprised her.
"Okay fine, one hint. It's a famous film from the 1940s." In the ensuing silence, Kyle had recognized the woman in front of him as the chick who sewed up his boss the night of the storm. The way she was glaring at him made him nervous.
Elena scrunched up her eyebrows in thought as she scanned her memory. Then it hit her. "Casablanca," she whispered under her breath.
"You may enter," Kyle bellowed with a grand sweep of his arm. "Next time just check our Instagram page," he hollered after her rapidly retreating back.
Elena slowed down as she neared the heavy velvet curtain separating the bar from the hallways, her stomach drawn up in knots. She slid through, hoping not to draw too much attention to herself, and froze. The doorway had a straight shot view of the bar, where Damon was mixing a cocktail. Devastating, once again in nothing more than a black button up and dark jeans. His entire focus was on the various tinctures he poured into a tumbler with speed and precision. Occasionally, he would toss a bottle into the air, catching it behind his back, much to the delight of the largely female audience sitting at the bar. With a grin of satisfaction, he topped the tumbler with a glass and began shaking in an energetic rhythm. His shirt strained with the movement. Elena noted his sleeves were down, buttoned at the cuff.
"Miss?" Elena turned with a jolt. It seemed a cocktail waitress in a sequin mini dress and a high ponytail had been trying to get her attention for the past thirty seconds. The woman's smoky eyes followed Elena's gaze to the bar, her red lips turned up in a knowing smile. "If you could follow me please", she beckoned and showed Elena to the last remaining open table, tucked in the far corner of the room.
Elena sank into the plush velvet booth, listening as her server introduced herself. "I'm Danielle, is this your first time here?"
How to answer that? She went with the simplest answer, "Yes." The first time as a patron, anyway.
"That explains it," Danielle thought to herself. Her boss had a reputation for inspiring a whole range of curious behavior from both women and men at first sight. Luckily, the effect wore off with time. The fact that he could sometimes be a bit of an ass helped. Outloud, she said, "Well then, welcome. Our special for tonight is a sloe gin fizz, everything else you can find here on our menu. I'm here if you have any questions. Anything I can get you right off the bat?"
Elena thumbed through the extensive list of libations, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of choice. Luckily, cocktails weren't her thing. A bit of that delicious champagne sounded tempting until she saw the price. She couldn't believe he opened up an entire bottle, just for her.
Elena snapped the menu shut. "I'll take a glass of your Chablis, please," she ordered, looking up at Danielle with a smile.
"Excellent choice," Danielle said in sultry voice over her shoulder. Her ponytail swang languidly as she eyed her other tables on the way back to the bar. Table five needed their check.
Settling in, Elena had a better look at her surroundings. The swanky cocktail bar had a more intimate energy when it was filled with people. She found it hard to believe the artistically dressed hipster clientele would ever come within five feet of the crowd on the other side if it wasn't required to get to this part of the bar. Bob's—bringing people together, before separating them again.
Her perch, while tucked away, had a direct line of sight to the bar. She watched as Danielle went up to Damon, and placed her hand on his shoulder to get his attention. She leaned in, speaking close to his ear. Elena's stomach clenched, her brow furled. Then she leaned back. Who was she to be jealous? She didn't even live here.
It was then Elena remembered it had not been her intention to stay for a drink. She was so mesmerized at the sight of him, she followed Danielle to her table in a trance. She looked on in horror as Danielle finished giving her order, gesturing towards her table. Damon's head whipped over in her direction. Her hand flew to her mouth in mortification as Damon's electric blue eyes zeroed in on hers. She was caught.
If he had feelings about seeing her, his face gave nothing away. He got to work at once, grabbing a glass from the rack overhead, dipping down to the cooler to grab the bottle of Chablis. With practiced aim, he poured the golden liquid into the stemware, eyes darting over to hers at regular intervals. Once finished, he grabbed the wine, walked out from behind the bar, and headed straight for her table. Elena's pulse quickened with each step he got nearer. The cupcakes she'd had for dinner turned over in her stomach.
As he approached, she searched the slight arch of his eyebrow and the curve of his lips for clues about how he felt. The idea to come here had been so grand in theory, but now she realized she had no clue what she planned to say.
Damon set her wine down on the table and pulled out the chair opposite her at the table. He gestured, eyebrows shooting up in a way that asked if he could join her. She nodded. He sat down, stretched out. Everything about his posture screamed "Well?" She watched as he appraised her hair, straight as bone this time, her sleeveless black dress. His eyes lingered around the V of her neckline, and found their way back to meet her own. He cocked an eyebrow as if to say, "I'm waiting".
"Um, hi," Elena blurted out. "Brilliant opener," she groaned to herself, as she reached for her Chablis and took a long drag.
"Hi."
Elena thought it was unfair how his voice could make one syllable sound so delicious. He was smirking. That was a good sign for him, right? She traced the foot of her wine glass with her finger, gathering her thoughts. Damon didn't offer anything else, just sat there. Watching her. Expectation hung heavy in the air. She understood he had no intentions to make this easy.
"It's really busy tonight." Elena was kicking herself. It was as if she had never had a conversation before. Her mind was blank. It didn't help that flashbacks of the other night kept fighting for the forefront of her brain. It had been hard as it was to keep them at bay with the distraction of the conference. Now, sitting two feet away from the main character of her fantasies, she didn't stand a chance. Her hands itched with the urge to reach over and run her fingers through his perfectly tousled hair, remembering how soft it was.
"It is," Damon affirmed. He fought to keep down a smile. Watching Elena squirm was hilarious. He wasn't upset about what happened the other night. You live in New York long enough and you learn the city giveth and taketh away. He'd accepted the night for what it was—a beautiful moment of unexpected connection that blew in and out with the storm. That didn't stop him from getting his hopes up every time someone ordered a glass of Chardonnay. It was a pleasure to see her. Her obvious freak out, adorable. All the same, she was the one who left, so he wanted to follow her lead.
Hushed conversations and lo-fi beats filled the gap in their conversation. He watched her bite her lip, her eyes avoiding contact with his. The flickering light of the candle danced across her olive skin. She was beautiful.
Elena couldn't take it anymore. It was clear he didn't want anything to do with her. She downed the rest of her wine, and stood up. With a hasty "Good seeing you again, I've gotta run, thanks again for the other night," she started towards the door.
"Nuh uh uh, Cinderella, sit down." Damon jumped to his feet and caught her by the wrist.. It took everything in him not to pull her up against him. He guided her gently back to her chair. "I'm not letting you run away again."
Elena slid back into her seat. "About that. I'm so sorry I left without saying anything. Once I saw the time, I couldn't think of anything else except getting back to my hotel," she explained. The memory made her wince. "If it's any consolation, I feel terrible. That was one of my best birthdays, and I didn't even say thank you."
"You don't have anything to apologize for, I knew you had an early morning," Damon countered. "If anything, I'm more concerned that losing at darts qualifies as one of your best birthday celebrations."
Elena didn't want to explain how she'd spent the last four in the library. "It wasn't only the darts," she said with a suggestive smile. This time it was Damon who struggled to reply. He liked the direction this conversation was headed, but he wanted to have it away from the attentive ears of his staff. Her empty glass caught his eye.
"What are you doing this evening?" Damon leaned in, bringing his voice low. "Do you want to get out of here with me?"
"Aren't you working?"
"I also happen to know the manager. If I ask nicely, I think he'll let me go," Damon said with a wink.
Elena was delighted. Whatever she expected from coming here this evening, it certainly wasn't this. "Okay," she beamed, "I'd love that."
"Excellent." Damon said with a slap on the table and stood up. He extended his right hand to Elena, inviting her to join him. "I know a fantastic rooftop bar not too far from here with a great wine list. Follow me."
Elena took Damon's hand and turned it over, palm up. She unbuttoned the cuff, and pushed the shirt up his forearm, pleased to see he had changed the bandage. She looked up at him for permission. He nodded, brow furled in confusion. Elena unwrapped the gauze, and observed her handiwork.
Looking up at Damon, "This is healing nicely. When is your appointment to get the stitches out?"
"I was waiting to see if the doctor who put them in would show up again."
Elena smiled wistfully. "They still need to stay in for a few more days. This is my last night in town. Otherwise I would be more than willing to take them out for you," she said in a soft voice, her fingers gently traced a line next to the cut. "Do you have a GP?"
"In all honesty, I was planning to do it myself."
"No healthcare?
"I have insurance. It's more that I've been in kitchens and restaurants my whole life, and I didn't always. This is nothing compared to some of the stuff I've had to deal with." Damon glanced down at his arm. Elena realized with a start she'd been tracing absentminded circles on his skin.
Clearing her throat, Elena started to reapply the bandage with great care. She pulled down his shirt and buttoned the cuff, like he had it before. Next, she rummaged in her purse. "Put in your number," she demanded, handing over her phone.
Damon grinned as he complied with her request, "You know, if you wanted my number, all you had to do was ask. No need for the pretense."
Elena rolled her eyes as she grabbed the phone from him once he had finished, and opened up a new text message. "No pretense, I'm being practical," she insisted, looking down as she typed. "It would be preferable if you went to see someone in person. But if that's not going to happen, telemedicine is the next best thing."
With a flourish, she hit send, "There. Now you have my number. On Tuesday I want you to send me a picture of your cut so I can advise on whether the stitches are ready to come out."
Damon looked down into her shining eyes with an unreadable expression on his face.
"And if I don't hear from you, I will spam you with pictures of poorly healed injuries until I do," Elena continued with a wry grin.
He tried to come up with something snarky, but for once, couldn't think of a single thing to say.
"Thank you," he said, voice thick.
"It's normal! Truly, the least I can do." Patient care completed, Elena stood up and grabbed her purse. "Let me go settle my check and I'm ready to go."
Before Damon could stop her, she took off towards the bar. He followed after her, but a chatty regular stopped him to say hello. By the time he could extract himself and catch up with her, she had already handed over her credit card to Danielle.
"That won't be necessary," he said as he snatched the card back, and returned it to Elena. "I'm taking off for the night," he told Danielle, who glanced over at Elena and raised an eyebrow at her boss. "I'll send someone back to take my place," Damon assured.
Danielle nodded, "Sure thing." She shrugged. Whatever was going on here, it wasn't her business.
Damon looked at Elena, who had been digging in her purse for some bills to leave for a tip. He nodded his head towards the door, indicating it was time to leave.
Elena put the money on the bar with a "Thank you, have a nice evening," and turned to follow Damon. A bemused Danielle watched them leave.
Damon held the velvet curtain open for her, placing a hand on the small of her back as she passed by. The subtle touch sent shivers of anticipation up Elena's spine.
As they neared the end of the hallway, Elena could see Kyle slumped at the table, one hand propping up his head. There was nothing to do but send people away when it was busy. He had resorted to trying to list all his favorite podcast hosts in alphabetical order.
"My man," Damon clapped Kyle on the back, startling him. "I need you on the bar back at Bub's"
"On it," Kyle jumped up with enthusiasm, relieved to finally have something fun to do, and scurried off in the opposite direction.
Elena turned her head to watch him go, then looked back at Damon. She was incredulous. "Bub's?"
"The place in back. That's what we call it, to minimize confusion," Damon explained, the level of irony still unclear.
"What about the password?" Elena asked, still peeved by her interaction with Kyle from earlier in the evening.
Damon waved his hand in dismissal, "We like to think that chaos is part of our charm," he said with a wolfish grin. "Never let them know your next move." This was accompanied by a swift peck on Elena's cheek, before he disappeared through the door. Elena gasped in surprise, too taken aback to move.
"You coming?" Damon asked as he dipped his head back through, reaching his hand out for hers.
With a smile, Elena took his hand, bracing herself for the wall of sensory overload she knew awaited her over the threshold.
Damon wove them through the crowd of people, a pro at moving through a busy room. As they crossed the dance floor, Elena laughed as Damon spun her around and pulled her in close. He relished the opportunity to feel the silky fabric of her dress as he slid his hand over her hip. Eventually they reached the exit and stepped outside, the roar of the crowd cheering the game muting as the door swung shut behind them.
They walked for a bit in comfortable silence, enjoying the balmy summer evening. Elena gave Damon's hand a squeeze, as she turned her face up towards his. The promise of a beautiful evening alight in her eyes. Gazing back at her, Damon realized it had been awhile since he'd felt this carefree. A few moments later, he broke the silence.
"You know if you are still in the mood for giving apologies, I would accept one for ruining my favorite shirt."
Elena raised an eyebrow, unsure if he was serious. He had on an identical button-up to the one she ripped open the other night.
"I can't find one of the buttons anywhere," Damon teased.
Elena stopped walking, and used the change of momentum to pull Damon around to face her. "Nope, no regrets" she said, as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Depending on how things go tonight, you might lose a few more." She pulled him down into a kiss.
Elena smiled at the feel of his lips on hers again, growing more insistent as the kiss went on. Now that she was in his arms again, Elena didn't know how she had stayed away. She couldn't stop herself from sneaking her hands under his shirt to feel the hard plane of his abs. There was a reason she had been so impatient to get it off him the other night.
They broke apart, breathless, after someone hollered "Get a room!"
"What do you think, should we take his advice?" Elena grinned.
"How about the next best thing?" Damon said as he stuck his arm out to hail the taxi about to zoom by. In a bit of New York magic, the driver swerved to the curb and skidded to a stop. Damon held the door open for Elena, and slid in behind her.
"30 Hudson Yards, please," Damon directed the driver.
Elena was about to ask Damon why that address would sound familiar to her, but his lips crashed into hers before she could finish forming a coherent train of thought.
The cabbie shook his head as he looked in the rear view mirror at the scene unfolding in his backseat. "The Yankees must have won," he thought to himself as he hit the blinker, and glided into the flow of traffic streaming up and down Manhattan.
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