About That Night

by Natalie Ward

  For just a second, it surprises me how callous I can be.

  I’m supposed to have some sort of empathy, a caring nature that lets me not just do my job, but do it for the right reasons.

  The other bartender shakes his head, stepping closer as though he doesn’t want anyone else to hear what he has to say to me.

  “This place isn’t nothing,” he says, his voice low, but not so low that I miss the seriousness of what he’s saying; or the anger in his words. “Don’t fuck with him about it, okay? Because you have no idea what you’re talking about,” he adds, echoing Nick’s words from earlier.

  I open my mouth to speak, but he shakes his head at me and walks off. What the hell is this about?

  By the time I finish my beer, Nick still hasn’t returned. The alcohol has definitely kicked in now and I know I should just grab a taxi and go home, forget about this night. Forget about Nick.

  I slide my phone from my purse and open the taxi app so I can book one. Once it’s done, I slide on my coat and head towards the door. It’s only as I walk towards it that I notice the bar is now empty, not a single person left inside.

  Nick and the other bartender are nowhere in sight and I wonder how it is I’ve missed everyone disappearing. When I reach the glass door, I pull on it, only to find it’s locked. I glance up and pull on the bolt at the top, before reaching for the one at the bottom.

  “I thought you were staying?”

  I freeze, my hand on the handle, unsure what to say. I thought he wanted me to go?

  “Emma?”

  I half glance backwards, my eyes on the floor rather than Nick. “I didn’t think you’d want me to anymore.”

  I hear him step closer. “Why?”

  I swallow hard, my eyes closing as I wonder what the hell is happening here. “Because I practically insulted you and your profession.”

  “No, you didn’t.”

  I look up confused and see Nick standing a couple of feet away from me. His eyes are watching me, but the lighting is too low for me to see what he’s thinking.

  “Yeah, I did,” I say, nodding.

  Nick shakes his head, stepping closer as he holds something out for me. I stare down at his hand, see the coins in his palm and watch as he reaches for my hand now. His touch startles me. The coldness of his fingers, the gentle way they lift my hand and place the coins into my palm. My eyes never leave our hands, not wanting to look up and see his face…or let him see mine.

  My heart is racing in my chest, pounding against my sternum so hard it almost hurts.

  “Go and pick out some music,” he whispers, his voice husky.

  I nod automatically as I close my fingers around the coins and walk past him towards to jukebox at the back, wondering how the hell everything has changed again.

  As I do, I hear Nick re-bolt the front door, the metal clang loud in the now empty bar. I stick some coins in and pick the first thing I see because my heart is hammering so loudly in my chest I need to hide it before he hears it too, before it completely gives me away.

  When I turn around, Nick has set out two glasses on the bar, one with ice and one without. I watch as he reaches up to the highest shelf behind the bar, the movement causing the hem of his long-sleeved tee to pull free from his jeans.

  My eyes immediately gravitate to his waist, fixating on the strip of bare skin that’s now exposed as he stretches, the movement pulling his whole body taut. My mouth goes completely dry, my hammering heart now reaching pounding status in my chest.

  But then the material lowers and that brief glimpse of skin disappears and when I force my eyes up, I find Nick staring at me again, a strange look on his face.

  Shit.

  ~ Nick

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I mean seriously.

  What. The. Fuck?

  It’s one thing to suddenly be so interested in one of my customers. Breaking a rule that up until tonight I was adamant I wasn’t ever breaking. But it’s quite another to let her insult me and then beg her to stay and hang out with me.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  Either I’ve completely lost my mind or I’ve somehow drunk more than I’ve realised tonight and I’ve actually lost more than just my mind.

  The girl insulted me, literally right to my face.

  Although to be fair, she doesn’t know the full story and as much as it might make things easier, I have no desire to explain it to her either. I’d much rather she just think I’m a dumbarse bartender with no real aspirations in life.

  Because I mean really, what the hell do I care what she thinks?

  I shake my head, as I reach for the top shelf scotch, twisting off the cap as I turn to face her. An unexpected jolt of nervousness crackles through me that might be partly due to the fact that we’re now all alone in my bar and partly due to the way she’s looking at me.

  Staring at me, actually.

  I have to swallow hard as I give us both a generous pour. I really shouldn’t be doing this, yet for some reason, I do and this night only continues to get weirder and weirder with every passing hour.

  “I think I might have had enough to drink,” Emma says quietly, eyeing the two glasses on the bar.

  Apparently I haven’t though. “Last one,” I say, the words catching in my throat.

  Emma steps forward, sliding into a chair at the bar as her hand reaches for the drink I’ve poured her. I watch her, notice her fingers shaking a little as they lock around the glass.

  Mine grip the bottle tighter in response.

  “Last one then,” she says, lifting the glass and tilting it in my direction.

  I swallow hard. Half slamming the bottle on the bar as I reach for my glass and mirror her action. We both take a long sip that half empties our glasses and immediately makes me want to refill them. Instead, we both lower our glasses at the same time; our eyes meeting and somehow making the entire room feel a million times smaller.

  I watch as Emma slides her coat off, her eyes never leaving mine as she does. I feel my fingers tighten around the glass, an instinctive reaction that feels more like an attempt to stop myself from reaching out for her.

  I don’t know what’s suddenly changed or why things somehow feel so different, but something is happening. Maybe it’s the fact we’ve taken jabs at each other all night. Or maybe it’s because we’re practically strangers and doing that to each other somehow feels easier when you won’t have to worry about facing the other person in the light of day.

  I have no idea what it is and no idea why I suddenly feel the need to blurt out, “The kitchen was my sister’s plan.”

  Emma watches me, not saying anything at first and for a second I can’t help but wonder if I really said that out loud. But then she asks, “What?” a confused expression on her face.

  I busy myself restacking the small dishwasher, already regretting speaking. “You asked me why I hadn’t really opened the bar,” I say, shooting her a quick glance.

  “Nick,” she says, pausing until I stop and look at her. Regret is written all over her face now and as much as I know we’ve both pushed harder than we should have tonight, I’m pretty sure it was never her intention to deliberately insult me. She just doesn’t seem like that kind of person.

  “I didn’t…I really didn’t mean too…” She trails off, still staring at me with what now looks like an apologetic look.

  I nod my head once, closing the dishwasher and turning to tidy up the bottles on the shelves that line the wall. Emma doesn’t say anything else and I’m sure it’s the weirdly uncomfortable silence that now surrounds us as the reason I just keep digging myself in deeper.

  “She’s not around anymore,” I continue. “And I guess I could never bring myself to do what was always her idea. It just didn’t seem right, no matter how much better I know it would make this place.”

  Emma still says nothing and as the silence draws on, I find myself turning just to make sure she’s still here. That she hasn’t walked out on m
e. But she’s still sitting on the other side of the bar and when I finally meet her gaze, she offers me a half smile, a tiny nod that says she understands even though I’m not sure she really does.

  “I’m sorry I was such a bitch before,” she says, her fingers slowly turning the glass in front of her. “It’s been a shit day, an even shittier week and I guess…I guess I’m not used to drinking this much either.”

  I nod once.

  “It’s no excuse though,” she continues. “You didn’t deserve that. Especially after you’ve been nothing but nice to me tonight.”

  I shake my head, confused. I didn’t even think she wanted to be here, let alone that she thought I was being nice to her. Emma offers me a hopeful smile though, one that just might say; can we clear the slate, start again? I smile back at her, clearing my throat as I say, “It’s okay, apology accepted.”

  Her smile widens, actually reaches her eyes and I find myself smiling back at her as a weird feeling spreads through my chest. I swallow hard, not wanting to acknowledge it as I ask, “So what are you going to do about your friends from tonight then?”

  Emma shrugs as she takes a small sip of her drink. “Nothing, probably.”

  “Why?” I ask, wiping down the counter as I once again open the dishwasher. “You don’t want to call her, explain about the day you’ve had, the reasons why you were late?”

  She shakes her head this time. “No point, seriously. They don’t get it and honestly, I can’t be bothered to explain it to them.”

  “Why?” I ask, pausing to look at her.

  She finishes her drink, setting the glass down firmly in front of her. “Because I don’t want to relive days like today, much less subject my friends to them.”

  “You told me about it,” I offer.

  Emma nods. “I know and believe me, I’m as confused about that as you probably were.”

  I smile, lean a hip against the bar as I say, “Don’t you think it helped, getting it all out?”

  Emma shrugs. “Maybe.”

  I laugh a little. “I think it probably did. And I think you’d be surprised by how much better you’d feel if you told your friends about it too.”

  Emma gives me a strange look that almost says, like you can talk and once again I wonder if she can see right through me and just how full of shit I really am.

  “Well, you should at least let your friend know you tried to meet her tonight,” I suggest, wanting to steer the conversation in a safer direction. “I’m sure she’s worried about you.”

  Emma shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she mumbles, even as she reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone.

  I slide the bottle of scotch towards her in case she needs it; ignoring the look she gives me as I wander off. I realise for all the talking we’ve been doing, we’ve somehow failed to notice that the song Emma put on has long stopped playing.

  I grab a couple of coins from the register as I walk past before walking towards the jukebox and flicking through the albums that I never really had any say about being on here. It makes me smile to see all of her choices, to know that even though my sister is gone, there are still whispers of her influence around this place.

  I slide in some coins, queuing up a bunch of songs. When I turn around, Emma is still staring at her phone as it sits on the bar. I get the feeling she isn’t going to make the call, no matter how much I try to convince her it would be a good idea. I also know how much of a hypocrite it makes me, but Emma doesn’t know that, so whatever.

  I lean back against the jukebox and watch her as she sits at my bar. She looks so wrapped up in her own world that it wouldn’t surprise me if she has somehow forgotten I’m still here.

  I take advantage of this by openly checking her out, something I only half did earlier in the night. As unhappy and trapped as she looks, I realise once again that she’s also incredibly beautiful.

  When she first walked in here tonight, I didn’t get how someone who looked like she does could possibly be sitting in a bar all alone on a Saturday night. I guess now I know more about her, it makes a little more sense. But it also has me wanting to know more, wanting to ignore my rule about getting involved with a customer and instead, force my way into her life.

  I don’t know if it’s the matching aches of loneliness we both seem to wear or the fact that we’ve managed to have one of the strangest nights I can ever remember having in my bar, but there’s something about Dr Emma Young that intrigues me.

  Emma suddenly looks up, her eyes meeting mine across the room as though she’s heard every single thought inside my head. I watch as she bites her bottom lip, the tiny action sending a wave of heat throughout my whole body that suddenly propels me across the room and towards her.

  She eyes me with wariness, swallowing hard as I reach her and hold out my hand.

  Seriously. What the fuck am I doing?

  ~ Emma

  I’m not really sure what he expects me to do. My eyes glance from his hand in front of me, to his face, and then back to his hand. Nick says nothing.

  “What?” I eventually ask, looking up at him.

  He smiles, but it’s different this time, before he reaches for my hand and pulls me from my seat and into his arms.

  Have I missed something here? Maybe I’m drunker than I thought? Maybe he is too?

  I feel his hands as they slide across my back, one of them pressing against the base of my spine, the other resting on the skin just below my neck. His fingers are warm and surprisingly gentle as they pull me closer until we are practically embracing.

  And then he slowly starts to move and I can’t help but think, yeah, I’m definitely drunk.

  “What…what are you doing?” I stammer, pulling away from him.

  Nick’s fingers tighten, but not in a way that’s threatening. “Dancing,” he says.

  “Why?” I immediately blurt out.

  He chuckles, drawing me closer again as he leans towards me and whispers, “Why not?”

  I’m not sure which explanation to go with first. Because it’s weird to be dancing in an empty bar with someone I barely know and only an hour or so ago was being incredibly rude to? I mean surely that would be a good start?

  But as though he knows I’m about to question his motives, Nick pulls me closer so my cheek is resting against his shoulder as he says, “Just go with it, Emma.”

  He moves with a casual kind of confidence that makes me wonder if this is something he’s done before. The music he’s put on isn’t exactly slow dancing music, which has me thinking he wasn’t intending to do this. But what is it that changed his mind? And why am I so okay with it?

  I close my eyes as I try to find a plausible explanation. But nothing comes. Nothing except the realisation that Nick’s body feels hard and warm as it’s pressed against mine.

  His thumb strokes the top vertebrae of my spine, reminding me that his hand is resting against my bare skin. It makes my heart skip a beat as I draw in a quick breath, the move sending a wave of sensations rippling down my spine.

  He smells so good.

  I feel my heart rate increase, the pounding crash against my sternum that makes me wonder if it really is possible for it to break free. Of course I know it’s not, but right now, years of medical training can’t convince me of that.

  I force my eyes to open, my stare fixating on the black ink I can now see on his left forearm. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before; maybe his sleeves weren’t pulled up like they are now.

  I pull back just a fraction, wanting to read the words he has tattooed into his skin. I see the phrase and now she’s free trailing down his inner forearm. The four words are surrounded by a black line that wraps around both them and his arm, as though it’s binding the words to his skin, to him, before disappearing beneath his sleeve.

  A part of me wonders how far up it goes.

  A bigger part of me wonders what it all means. Who she is?

  Nick pulls me close again, as though he senses my curiosi
ty. Just as I’m about to ask him about it, I feel the hand at the base of my neck slide up into my hair, cradling the back of my head. I instinctively look up, our eyes meeting in the half darkened room.

  Nick swallows hard as he stares down at me, looking at me in a way I can’t decipher. I watch as he blinks once before leaning in, almost as though he’s going to…

  …the loud ring of my phone shatters the moment, both of us pulling away from each other as though we’ve suddenly woken up and aren’t sure how we came to find ourselves in this position.

  We stare at each other as my phone continues to ring. Eventually it stops and just as I feel the gentle press of his fingers pulling me back in, it starts to ring again.

  “Someone’s trying to get hold of you,” he says, his words hoarse.

  I nod, not trusting myself to speak.

  The phone stops again, sending us back into the unknown before it immediately starts ringing once more.

  “I should get it,” I say, pulling myself from his arms. It might be the hospital, but even if it is, I’m in no state to answer, much less go in. I’m off for the next two days, but it’s never stopped them from calling me before. I guess I don’t ever complain about it either.

  Nick nods and I walk towards the bar, reaching for my phone. I have just enough time to see Sarah’s name flashing on the screen before the call stops again.

  “Sarah,” I mumble. “My friend from tonight.”

  Nick steps towards me. “You should call her back.”

  I shake my head, knowing this is one conversation I definitely don’t want to have right now.

  “Call her back, Emma,” he murmurs. “It’s never going to get any easier.”

  My eyes find his, the darkness of his stare boring into me. “I don’t know if I can,” I admit.

  “You can,” he says confidently. “Go back to my office,” he says, gesturing towards the back. “It’ll be more private.”

  I nod once, gripping the phone in my hand as I turn and walk away. I can feel him watching me as I walk across the room to the corridor that leads down to the bathrooms and his office. As I open door, I hit the button on my phone and lift it to my ear.