Love, Take One

Scene 9

The radio mocked her on the short drive to the bar. Love song after love song. The only way the moment could be any more clichéd was if it was raining and she was wearing a push-up bra. Neither was happening, but as she stepped into the near-empty boozer she could have sworn a spotlight showcased her arrival and a symphony of strings ushered her inside.

Her inner thoughts were getting ridiculous.

She was prone to casting herself in a made-up movie, but she shouldn't have been casting Roderick as the love interest. He'd already turned her down once and she didn't plan on giving him the chance to do it again. She was here out of curiosity. That was all.

He was wiping a table when he saw her, stopping and smiling as she approached. "You're late. I didn't think you were coming."

"Neither did I," she admitted then looked around. "It's quiet tonight."

"Monday's normally are. Now you know why I needed keeping company." He stood tall and wiped his wet hand on his black jeans. He wore a creased white shirt rolled up to show off surprisingly strong looking forearms and a smile that continued to grow in her presence.

"Ah, so it wasn't me you wanted here then, just anyone willing to talk to you."

"You got me," he teased. She hoped he was teasing. With his constant smile it was difficult to tell his real meaning. "Would you care for a beverage?"

"Diet coke would be good, thanks."

"Oh, come on, have something exciting," he pushed, walking them both to the bar. "Give me something to do. A cocktail, perhaps?"

"I'm driving," she replied, a little disappointed. A drink would be good right now. She was inexplicably nervous. This wasn't a date so there should have been zero pressure to impress. It was just two people hanging out, despite what the butterflies in her stomach said.

"A mocktail, then?"

"Sure." Bo claimed a barstool but was quickly ushered out.

"No, no. Come help me make it." Roderick held a hand out to her from behind the counter.

"Am I allowed behind there?"

"There's nobody here but I. Besides, my uncle owns this place. He loves me—it's his job to. For that reason, we won't get into any trouble."

"Okay." She hesitated crossing the line from customer to staff but felt oddly relaxed at his side as opposed to in front of him. "So, what are we making?"

"What do you like? Something fruity? Milky? Liquorishy?"

Something shaggy-haired and stubbly-chinned.

"I don't really know what I like."

He lifted one shoulder. "Let's sample them all, then."

Together they made drinks of every color, a rainbow of flavors, and they sampled a little of each one. Their pantomime brought a small crowd to the bar, of the few people that were around to see it, and what started as a means to get to know each other soon turned into a mocktail sales event.

Roderick ordered Bo around like she was a child—not patronizingly or firmly, but with patience and fun. They laughed more than they talked. Bo laughed at his showing off and he laughed at her incompetence. He touched her waist to move around her in the narrow space, and instructed her hands to shake her cocktail shaker harder with a firm grip around her wrist. He wiped her cheek with his bare finger when she cried tears of laughter and pressed a napkin to her chin when she dribbled her drink at something he'd said. He was hands on, Bo realised, and it didn't bother her one bit.