Shy ✦ Héctor Bellerín

Two

My shift at the grill was a little less tiring than the rest of the days, since it was a Monday night. I still fail to understand why do they even care keeping the bar open for Mondays and Tuesdays, since it was mostly deserted.

Isabella had been coming almost daily since the past week, having a couple of drinks as we talked. She has apologized exactly twenty six times for the day she fell asleep in the bar. I brushed it off every time, and she just blamed the alcohol.

I sneaked myself a glass of honey bourbon below the table, and cautiously sipped it when I wasn't pretending to listen to the grumbling wasted men who came here to get drunk after work.

The day passed pretty quickly, and I decided to start winding up pretty early so I could go home and watch some Netflix.

On the corner of my eye, I see someone sit on the high bar chair behind me and I sigh.

Maybe another time.

I turn around, greeting a polite good evening to the person. Beautiful dark hair falling on chestnut eyes, his shoulders drooping from what I perceive as fatigue. His eyes land on me as he sits.

"Hi," the man — Bells says, and I snap out of my daze. I try to open my mouth and reply, but I awkwardly stumbled over a bottle of bourbon. He chuckles softly, and blood rises to my cheeks, tinting them an unattractive crimson.

"I'm looking for Isabella," he leans on the bar table. "Did she come here?"

I shake my head lightly, looking down.

"Wouldn't you ask me what will I drink?" He chuckles again, and I fiddle with my fingers.

"Uhm, what can I get you?" I stutter.

"Martini."

I nod, pouring out a glass to him. I slide the glass toward him with my shaky fingers. I open and close my fingers several times to stop them from trembling, but they stubbornly shook.

I was not usually this awkward, but then I was never really around men a lot.

"Where are you Isabella?" he sighs, looking down at the screen of his iPhone.

"She's been coming here since the past week, but she didn't stop by today," I murmur timidly.

He looks up from his phone at me, and I swallow.

"We had a fight," he sighs.

"Oh," I whisper, not knowing what else to say. "I am sorry... I guess?"

He gulped his drink down in one go before shaking his head. "I sometime wish she would just talk to me instead of crying and taking off. I mean, yeah, I am busy all the time, but I have a job, right? Ella nunca me escucha! She just starts crying," he switched between Spanish and English mid sentence. I nod like I was taught to. A huge part of bar tending was to be a good listener.

"I just want to talk to someone," he sighs, finishing his glass, and practically tossing it aside. "What is your name?"

I was caught off guard by his question and eye him for moment. "Demetra," I tap the badge over the left side of my chest awkwardly.

"You understand, right? What I am saying about Isabella?" I do not reply and look away, attending to a rather young girl.

"Can I have a Corona please?" She beams.

"May I see some ID, miss?" I ask politely. She fishes into her wallet, and yanks out her ID.

1999.

"Sorry, miss, we don't serve below 18 here," I shrug apologetically. A grunt escapes her mouth and she turns to leave.

"Would you like anything else?" I asked Bells. He points at the honey bourbon he somehow spotted beneath the counter. I blush lightly, and pass him the bottle.

"Can I ask you something, sir?" I timidly speak.

"Yes, of course," he frowns lightly, waiting for me to continue.

"Is your name Bells?"

He almost spits out his drink, and coughs awkwardly.

"Um..." I pass him a napkin.

"I usually prefer Hector," he says hoarsely.

"Oh," I was pretty sure that my cheeks were burning. My awkwardness seems to crack him up.

"You're a funny one, aren't you?" he reaches out and ruffles my hair. I flinch unnoticeably, blushing even harder. He offered me the bourbon, and I shake my head slightly.

"Are you from around here?" He asks.

"No sir," I reply. "I am originally from Russia. And you?"

"Spain," he says. "I moved out here a while ago with Izzy and we —"

He trails off, an expression of distaste clouding his features.

"What's bothering you?" I ask politely, watching him take a swing from the bottle.

"I am trying to make a career for myself, I need her to understand that. Me encanta mi trabajo. Esto es lo que quería hacer. I can't help but think she's spoiling everything for me. I love her, but is she worth it?"

"Why don't you tell her all this?" I ask, almost inaudibly.

"I try to, she wouldn't she listen," he grips his head with his plan, and I involuntarily remove it. "She thinks she isn't important to me." He rubs his eyes tiredly and lets out a long, weary sigh.

"Hey, I am going to leave now," Ann, a waitress smiles as she takes her apron off.

"I'll do the closing up," I wave at her. "Bye."

She waves at me back before picking her stuff up and walking out. I don't miss the few glances she throws at Bells — Hector. I follow her to the door and flip the 'OPEN' sign to 'CLOSED' and walk back to the counter.

I feel his warm brown eyes studying me as I collect all the bottles from here and there and place them. My cheeks heated up, and I timidly return his gaze. "Are you usually this shy?" He asks, his head tilting.

"I... am not shy?" I ask more than tell, and he chuckles. He slides out a £100 bill from his wallet and places on the counter. "Take care of yourself, alright?" he passes me a smile, before turning to walk out.

"Sir, your change—"

"Keep it," he cuts me off, and I stare at his back. His bills was barely £20.

"Astalavista," I see him wave, his back still at me before he exits the place.

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