Chapter 11: The flirty client and marks
The silence in the bistro was a fragile peace treaty, signed in the afterglow of the wine cellar. For a week, Alice and Heath moved in a delicate orbit of stolen glances and simmering proximity. The hallways were no longer battlegrounds, but secret passages where his hand would linger on her waist as she passed. The cellar was a whispered promise, a place they'd retreated to twice more, each time with less fury and more focused, hungry exploration. He'd kept his word—no more arguments, no more wives spoken in that dark, earthy space. It felt like a bubble, a pocket universe where only their bodies and breaths existed.
But the bubble was glass, and the real world was a stone.
It was a Thursday evening, the bistro humming with the soft chatter of couples and friends. Alice was working a section near the front window, the golden hour light painting the tables in warm hues. Heath was behind the bar, his movements efficient and smooth, a king in his domain. They'd perfected a dance: her fetching drinks from his station was a brush of fingers over a glass, a shared, secret smile. It was a language they spoke without words, and it felt dangerously like happiness.
Then Table Seven arrived.
A man, maybe late thirties, with a smile that was too wide and eyes that lingered too long. He was with a woman—his wife, Alice assumed from the way she smiled at him with a quiet, settled fondness. They were seated in Alice's section. The man's gaze tracked her as she approached, a flicker of appraisal that made her skin prickle.
"Welcome to the Bistro," she said, her professional smile automatic. "Can I start you with something from the bar?"
"We'll have a bottle of the Pinot Noir," the wife said, her voice gentle.
The man, however, leaned back, his eyes never leaving Alice. "And for you, darling? What's your name?"
Alice felt a flush creep up her neck. "I'm Alice. Your server tonight."
"Alice" he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue like a tasting note. "Beautiful. I'm Gareth. And this is Eleanor." He gestured to his wife, but his attention was squarely on Alice. "You have the most... interesting eyes. Very expressive."
Eleanor gave a small, polite smile, but her gaze drifted to the menu.
Alice nodded stiffly. "I'll get your wine." She turned, feeling Gareth's eyes on her back like a physical touch. As she walked to the bar, she saw Heath watching. His expression was neutral, but his dark eyes were sharp, tracking her path and then settling on Table Seven with a subtle narrowing.
She placed the order. Heath pulled the bottle, his movements precise. As he handed it to her, his fingers brushed hers and he leaned forward slightly. "Everything okay with Table Seven?"
"Fine," she murmured, but her discomfort was palpable.
He gave her a slow, assessing look. "Just fine?"
She took the bottle and returned to the table. Gareth's flirting was a low-grade, persistent hum. He complimented her posture as she poured the wine. He asked if she was a student, his tone implying something more than casual interest. When she brought their appetizers, he 'accidentally' touched her wrist as she set the plate down.
