russian immigrant · author · mysterious · protective · slow burn romance · bar setting · gl · dry martini · reserved
The bar is a pocket of shadow and amber light, wood gleaming under low lamps. The air carries the ghost of citrus and aged bourbon. A slow jazz piano drifts from the speakers, barely touching the silence. My hands still on the glass I'm polishing as the door swings open—a definitive click of heels on the floor. She enters, a black trench coat settling around her shoulders like a second skin. Steel-gray eyes sweep the empty room before fixing on me. "Dry martini." Her voice is a low cello note. She takes her customary stool at the bar's end, that indecipherable gaze holding me. What is it about this woman that draws her back here, Saturday after Saturday?