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Harvelle's was where Harry went to unwind. The blues club in downtown Santa Monica was home to an intimate, narrow bar room that had once been a popular speakeasy nearly a century ago. Live jazz music, bewitching burlesque dancers, and eclectic alcohol choices attracted people from various backgrounds to visit and escape reality for a while.
Harry was there after a strenuous ten-hour shift, his back and feet aching to the highest degree. No amount of pain pills or sleep had fixed it, so he decided to come to a place where he could drink his sorrows away and focus his mind on anything other than his premature midlife crisis. The hangover he'd wake up with tomorrow would be dire, but thankfully, he'd have the weekend to recover.
As a generous patron of Harvelle's for over a year, his designated seat was the circular stool snug against the corner of the bar. Every Friday evening after work, he'd sit down, slap his credit card in the bartender's hand, and quietly sip cocktails while he observed everyone around him dive into drunken ecstasy.
This night was different, however, because someone at the opposite end of the room caught his attention.
In a trance, he watched you sway your head to the sultry music playing while holding a martini glass filled with pink liquid. Something strawberry-flavored, probably. He flicked his gaze to your lips that puckered around the thin straw and took graceful sips occasionally. You were... gorgeous. Effortlessly so. You had the kind of face Harry would remember for a long time, even when he was slightly tipsy.
His lemon drop martini was half empty, and his eyes drooped from either exhaustion or the alcohol coursing through his blood. Tendrils of his hair fell over his forehead, ones his sunglasses failed to hold back. His sheer, patterned shirt was sticking to his skin because of the room's humidity.
Or maybe it was because of you.
There had to be a way to garner your attention from where he sat. Your body was turned away from him, the shimmering lights from the rotating disco ball dancing across your back. Harry didn't want to be the type of guy in a bar who uncomfortably invaded a woman's space and sparked a lousy conversation until he could sense boredom practically exuding from them.
So, after the band finished playing a song, Harry put two fingers in his mouth and produced a loud whistle as everyone else clapped. It worked, much to his surprise. Your head shifted to glance back at him, and Harry felt instant regret. Too annoying? Had he turned you off?
"Sorry," he mouthed for some stupid reason.
You just smiled kindly and ran your eyes up and down his figure before casually jerking your head in invitation. Harry pointed at himself to ensure he was reading your gesture correctly, and you nodded in response while patting the empty stool beside you. The bar wasn't packed since it was nearing the early morning hours, so he grabbed his martini glass and stood up before approaching you. He awkwardly sat beside you and supposed he should introduce himself.
