Lift Me Up | A Gabenath Story

Chapter 3: Desperate Calls

It was a cool night. Not too hot nor too cold. She could comfortably walk wearing her usual work attire. She calmly sauntered not knowing exactly where she desired to go. The ambience of the peaceful streets settled her nerves. By chance, Nathalie found herself walking into Le Grand Paris.

Nathalie felt a dizzy spell forming so she sat at the bar of the hotel to rest herself. She rested her head on her hand, slightly closing her eyes. Luckly, the pain was a short-lived, mild headache.

"What can I prepare for you, Mademoiselle?"

Nathalie looked up. It was the Bourgeois' butler.

"Oh, nothing. I don't usually drink," she replied. It was true; she did not usually drink during work days. For Nathalie "work days" were every day. "But thank you."

"Are you sure, Mademoiselle? I don't mean to intrude, but you seem to have had a difficult day."

Nathalie was about to deny. Alas, she figured that drinking a little might help her put her mind at ease.

"Okay fine. Surprise me, I guess."

The bartender noticed her slight hesitation morph into comfort.

"And please, call me Nathalie."

"Of course, Mademois- I mean Nathalie."

Nathalie watched him prepare her cocktail. She watched his swift movements in amusement.

"I know who you are, Nathalie," he continued, "You are Monsieur Agreste's personal assistant, aren't you?"

Her face slightly twitched at the mention of her boss. The last thing she wanted tonight was to hear about him.

She reluctantly replied, "Yes, I work for Mr. Agreste."

The bartender felt a twinge in her voice as she said this and figured to change the subject.

"Call me Jean, if you please," the bartender mentioned as he slid the drink her way.

"Thank you, Jean," she responded, taking the thin stem of the cocktail glass in between her delicate fingers, "What is this?"

"The 1789. A concoction of Bonal Quina, Lillet Blanc, and Whiskey," he listed as she took a small sip, "With orange peel for garnish."

"I like it very much."

"I'm glad to know."

For the first time in a while, Nathalie showed a genuine slight smile. Jean reciprocated the smile.

As she continued drinking the cocktail, she subconsciously watched Jean attend the other guests. She couldn't help but notice his gorgeous smile. When he glanced at her direction, she felt her heart subtly flutter in her chest.

What is happening to me? she thought to herself, I've only felt something like this for Gabriel. It must be the alcohol, she continued through sips until she finished the drink.

Some of the guests at the bar had left as quickly as they had come. Jean had time to attend to her again.

"Can you please make another 1789 for me?" she found herself asking. She knew she shouldn't have another. But whatever, fuck it. Just this once, she convinced herself.

"I'll make anything for you, my dear."

Oh. Fuck. Her heart beat slowly accelerated. Had he just called her "my dear?" She couldn't help but blush at this, her cheeks turning into a crimson shade of red.

Jean focused on making the concoction. Nathalie, again amused, watched him even more intensely. It was late at night and the first round of alcohol quickly arose in her head, she noticed. But she did not care. She still engaged her focus on his arm work. She noticed how stealthy he was. For some reason, she wished his gaze would focus on her instead of the drink. She wished for his olive green eyes to make contact with her deep blue eyes. And when they did, she felt a jolt of electricity throughout her body. It wasn't the peacock miraculous which made her feel this. It was her own heart.