Chapter 2 — The Usual Shift
By the time Kevin clocked in for his evening shift at Hollow Oak Bar & Grill, the sun had already dipped behind the rooftops. The faint glow of twilight gave way to the hum of neon signs and the low buzz of conversation from early patrons.
He tied his apron with practiced indifference and ducked behind the bar. His coworkers were already there: Eddie, loud and perpetually grinning, wiping down pint glasses, and Marla, effortlessly chic, leaning against the counter with her phone in hand.
"Well, well," Eddie called as soon as he spotted Kevin. "Look who decided to grace us with his brooding presence. Let me guess — therapy again?"
Kevin ignored him, as usual, and started checking the stock of clean glasses. "Yeah," he replied flatly.
Marla glanced up from her phone, smirking faintly. "Honestly, Kev, therapy's not your problem."
Kevin arched an eyebrow without looking at her. "Oh? Do enlighten me."
"Your love life," she said matter-of-factly. "Or lack thereof."
Eddie barked a laugh and nearly dropped the glass in his hands. "She's right, man. You're seventeen, almost eighteen — when's the last time you even looked at someone?"
Kevin sighed, shaking his head as he set a fresh row of glasses on the shelf. "Not everyone needs someone to feel complete."
"Ohhh, here we go," Eddie groaned. "He's doing the lone wolf thing again. Tragic."
Marla leaned closer across the bar, giving Kevin a wicked little grin. "You know, Kev… if I weren't a lesbian, I might've even dated you out of pity."
Eddie nearly doubled over laughing, pounding his fist on the counter. "Out of pity! Jesus, Marla, don't hold back or anything!"
Kevin finally cracked the faintest of smiles and shot her a dry look. "Wow. Touching. I'll treasure that forever."
Marla winked and went back to her phone. "Don't say I never offered, broody boy."
The rest of the shift settled into its usual rhythm: pouring drinks, clearing tables, making small talk. Kevin liked it that way — predictable, simple. He could almost forget the heaviness in his chest when he stayed busy enough.
But then she walked in.
It was just past 9:30 when the door swung open and a hush seemed to ripple through the bar.
She moved like she owned the place — tall, poised, wrapped in a dark green trench coat that screamed money. Her heels barely made a sound against the wood floor, and yet every head seemed to turn.
Her hair was jet-black and sleek, falling just to her shoulders. Her skin was pale, almost luminous in the dim light. But it was her eyes — sharp and green, like fractured glass — that made Kevin stop mid-step.
She crossed the room without hesitation and took a seat at the far end of the bar, her movements calm, deliberate.
Kevin swallowed the strange knot in his throat, grabbed a towel, and walked over.
"Evening," he said, keeping his tone even. "What can I get you?"
For a moment, she just watched him — really watched him — with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
Then her lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
"Whiskey. Neat," she said, her voice low and smooth. "Whatever you recommend."
Kevin nodded, reached for a bottle, and poured.
As he set the glass down in front of her, she tilted her head slightly, eyes still locked on his.
"You're Kevin, aren't you?" she asked.
The glass paused halfway to the counter.
Kevin frowned faintly and met her gaze. "…Have we met?"
Her smile deepened, just a little, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"You could say that," she murmured.
Kevin set the glass down, trying to mask the faint chill crawling up his spine.
"Right. Well. Enjoy," he said, retreating a step.
But as he turned away, her voice followed him — quiet, almost teasing, but somehow heavier than it should've been.
"You really don't remember, do you?"
He froze.
When he glanced back, she was already sipping her whiskey, her expression serene, as if nothing had happened at all.
For the rest of the night, Kevin couldn't stop glancing toward the end of the bar.
And every time, she was already watching him.