Page 12 of After the Snap

“You two planning on eating, or should I tell the kitchen they’re free to go home?”

I glance toward the clock behind the bar for what feels like the first time all night. Almost an hour has passed without me noticing. She follows my gaze before looking back at me, surprise flickering across her face when she discovers how much time has disappeared between us. Neither of us moves to leave, and the bartender smiles to himself as though he has seen this moment a hundred times before.

“I’ll grab you a couple of menus,” he says, already turning away.

I watch him disappear through the swinging kitchen door before looking back at my new dinner partner. “You know, for someone who hates sports bars, you’ve been here a while.”

She smiles, slower this time, without hiding behind the rim of her glass. “So have you.”

Chapter Four

Calliope

The bartender appears, carrying two menus beneath one arm and setting them on the bar as though the decision has already been made for us.

“The kitchen closes in forty-five minutes.”

The man beside me reaches for one of the menus. “What’s good here? Any bad choices?”

“Food’s decent. Company’s questionable,” the bartender replies.

I look between them. “Do the two of you know each other?”

“No,” they answer together.

The bartender walks away, leaving me with a menu I don’t remember agreeing to look at and the growing certainty that I’m staying. I came here because it was better than sitting in my apartment ducking my friends’ calls. I intended to drink something strong, sit alone until the sharpest part of the humiliation dulled, and leave without speaking to anyone.

Instead, I open the menu as the man beside me continues to flip through his. He hasn’t asked for anything since I sat down. Not my name, not my number, not an explanation for why I walked into a bar looking like I’d lost an argument with my life.

“What are you getting?”

He studies the menu with an expression better suited to negotiating a hostage release. “I’m trying to determine which option is least likely to make tomorrow worse.”

“You’re applying entirely too much logic to bar food.”

“Considering the advice you gave me about the bourbon, I’m not sure you’re qualified to criticize my decision-making.”

“I asked for something that would let me wake up with my dignity.”

“That was recklessness wearing a respectable outfit.”

A laugh escapes before I can stop it, softer than the ones he earned earlier. He smiles without looking surprised this time, as though he’s stopped trying to earn it.

I scan the menu again, although I already know what I’m going to order. “Burger with no tomatoes.”

His attention lifts from the menu. “You don’t like tomatoes?”

“I like tomatoes. I don’t like them when they’re warm and making the bread soggy.”

“That’s an aggressively specific distinction.”

He considers this for a moment before closing his menu. “Burger. No tomatoes.”

“You don’t have to copy me.”

“I’m not copying you. I’m benefiting from your expertise.”

“You don’t even know whether I have good taste.”