Be Good Mrs. B | Spies, Lies & Butterflies Book #2

5. neon moon

"But you clearly don't remember me," the man chuckled, reaching for a bottle of amber-hued liquid.

I studied him, the archives of my brain seemingly void of any fleeting images of the dark-haired man.

"It's okay – I'm only a little sad," his voice sliced through the cloudy reverie I had been carried away in.

My head whipped around in search of any suspicious and inconspicuously placed outliers.

I estimated how far away the nearest bar tool was from me.

"You were in here with your work buddies? Handsome guy with nice teeth? Excited brunette?"

My eyes widened slightly.

My jaw clenched, "Yeah, that's right."

Leave it to a bartender to remember such a mundane, insipid moment.

I wrung my hands together underneath the bar, suddenly feeling very exposed.

He smiled, inspecting me, "Not coming from the office today, then?"

I mustered a small smile, offering a short shake of the head.

I slid an abandoned menu across the lacquer for my perusal.

The list overwhelmed me with its elegant typography and fervid flavors. I didn't go to bars, and unlike spies in movies, I wasn't some connoisseur of spirits.

"What can I do you for?"

I looked down at the menu, again unsure of myself, "Uh, you pick."

He smirked again like he had some secret, "You got it."

He moved around the bar like a dancer, both fluid and precise. Bobbing and weaving around the other staff like they were in an orchestral composition.

I surveyed the room again, endeavoring to see the unseen.

Deft and powerful, I watched him shake a figure eight in the air next to his ear, suddenly remembering his face from that night. It seemed so far away, but it had only been weeks.

With delicate hands, he placed a tumbler and a long neck in front of another patron.

Noncommittally, I watched him pour an expensive-looking Bourbon into a mixing glass.

My phone lit up with a message from Sadie.

Sadie: Want company? We can order pizza and stay up too late watching Wednesday.

Me: Maybe another night. I'm no fun right now.

Sadie: You're never fun. Mani-pedis tomorrow, then? You need it.

Me: ??

Sadie: Don't act like you don't know your feet are looking crusty.

Despite my morose mood, my lips jerked into a smile. Sadie was always grounding, even if she used humor to do it.

"Milady," he poured the drink through a strainer over a block of ice, garnishing it with what I recognized as a Luxardo Maraschino cherry and a twist of orange peel.

I nodded, "Thanks."

"You're quite welcome," he looked like he wanted to say something else but, instead, backed away to rinse a pair of glasses.

I sipped from the short tumbler, swallowing tears. It tasted like a variation of an Old Fashioned. McCain's favorite.

I cleared my throat, wanting the comfort of reclusion. I itched for the anonymity my hat provided me.