Elderflower

Fat, hot tears swelled the windows to her soul. They hung to the peak of her cheekbones until they sauntered down to the crease of her smile. The release felt poetic as the rain softly raced down the windowpane. The sunned street outside formed a breathy mist. The flowers lining the brick sidewalk waltz with the raindrops.

"Alice?"

She turned from the mirror lined with amber-toned and emerald bottles. Her thick curly hair became a curtain as she discreetly wiped away her break in character. Leave your problems at the door.

"I just sat a guy at your bar. Seat 27."

Alice's soft brown eyes flicked to the far end of the mahogany runway. She gave a quick nod and manufactured a smile to the hostess. Showtime. Pacing her steps to appear attentive but not eager, she silently recites her brief monologue along the way. Collecting a tall, heavy glass during her travels she fills it with half a scoop of ice and sets it on a coaster in front of seat 27. She pulls in a deep breath as she begins to fill the glass with an apathetic stream of water from the soda gun behind the bar. She exhales.

"Hello sir, my name is Alice and I'll be taking care of you today. Can I get you started off with something to drink other than water? Perhaps one of our signature hand-crafted martinis or one of our 25 beers on tap?"

The man at the bar gives no response as his head hangs sunken between his shoulders. His right thumb mindlessly scrolling down the small, illuminated screen cradled in between his hands. Alice lets out an audible sigh.

"Sir?"

He blinks and quickly shifts his attention to meet the gaze of Alice. He can see her humble impatience and exhaustion. But there is also a warmth found in her eyes.

"My bad. They really have us addicted to these things, huh?"

Alice notices his body language shift with the extension of this modern-day olive branch. He presses his spine against the back of the bar stool while combing his fingers through his thick dark hair. The man places his phone face down on the glossy bar top.

She can feel his attention.

"I suppose many would say the same. What can I get you to drink?" she offers casually.

"You wouldn't?" he rebuttals.

"I would. I'm a bartender. My job is to get you drinks."

"That's not what I meant," he laughs.

Alice feels herself going off script as the exchange begins to take on a melody of its own.

"I meant; you wouldn't say that you're addicted to your phone?"

"Addicted? No." She scoffs, amused.

"Wow, you might be one of the few who actually enjoys receiving their weekly screen time report."

"Oh Absolutely. It's better than receiving my credit report."

Laughter sprinkles the air. The moment was brief, but full. It reminded Alice of how good it felt to laugh in the rain.

"You're making me look bad," she muses.

"My apologies. This is the cleanest cotton t-shirt I had," he quips.

She feels her smile begin to make an entrance as the corners of her mouth stretch. The dialogue carries a familiar tune.

"You're making me look bad at my job," she clarifies.

"I think you look great at your job," he smiles.

"What would you like to drink?"

The dance felt like walking. The effort was comparable to breathing. She felt herself opening up to receive the sun. Then the air seemed to suspend briefly. There was a shift in the tempo.

"Water with lemon. Perhaps charge me extra for the lemon. Oh, and you can close out my tab."

Alice felt confusion flush her face. Her palms began to feel warm. She gave a quick nod and pivoted on her heel towards the register. She returned to the mirror and placed her hand on a smooth classic Black leather notebook. Her fingers stroked the pages as her receipt for seat 27 printed. She replayed the exchange in her mind. The register offered more time printing than her time serving the man. The moment only offered 5 minutes before it was over. The equivalent of one slow dance.

Alice paced her way over the bumpy bar mat on her way down the mahogany runway. The grooves in the mat were designed for her protection but somehow felt like she no longer knew the right steps. She grabbed a short glass and placed the receipt in front of seat 27.

Her soft brown eyes met the his.

"Extra Lemon. $2.50"

"$2.50?!" He spat

"Plus tax for the time." She quipped.

The man let out an audible chuckle.

"A high price for lemons."

"They're worth it."

"How much are you worth?"

Alice stared at the man in bewilderment to the proposition. How much are you worth? The question felt more like an acquisition.

"More than you can afford." She stated matter of fact

"Write it down."

She felt flushed with anticipation. This was completely out of character for her. No script.

She feebly wrote $20,000.

He looked up and smiled at her. The sun danced in the street.