𝗔𝗰𝗾𝘂𝗮𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲𝘀

Three.

Rebecca Caruso

The traditionalist agreed to be patient with me, as Christopher and I made a silent agreement to carry on with our lives as if nothing had happened. It was a delicate balance, as we both tried to navigate our feelings and the unspoken expectations that lingered in the air.

Christopher broke the silence, asking, "You got everything?"

"Yeah," Pausing behind him, I stole a glance at my phone. 7:09 PM. "I think I'm gonna stay," I gently voiced my desire. I wanted to forget what had just occurred, to momentarily detach myself from the realities of the world. "I read somewhere that Buddy Guy's performing tonight." 

"Who?" Christopher's doubt was evident.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, tucking my phone away in my pocket. It was becoming clear just how little research Christopher had put into choosing this place. At least the complimentary appetizers were a silver lining.

"A famous jazz player," I bantered playfully, raising my voice slightly to be heard above the bustling kitchen staff. "He's the Godfather of blues."

"You want me to stick around?" he asked, and it irked me.

Why did doing something together always feel obligatory? It would have been nice if he genuinely wanted to stay, instead of constantly focusing on the state of our relationship. A simple, enjoyable date would have been much more pleasurable.

"Nah, you're good. You can go," I replied, considering his demanding job as a city police officer. Time off was a rarity for him, and when we did have it, it was usually spent on relaxation and catching up on sleep. So, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I often did. "It's all right."

"Are you sure? I can stay if you want," he offered, adding that infamous 'if you want' clause.

I want you to want to...

"We're good," I lied, mustering a smile. "I'll just take a cab home."

Sometimes, I craved more than just the comfort of staying indoors. Being out in the bustling city was invigorating, full of life and adventure. One of the perks of his job as a police officer was the opportunity to experience and explore the city firsthand.

"'Kay, see you home, Beck," he replied, retrieving his car keys from his coat pocket. "Text me when you leave." We departed the same way we arrived, separately. No nagging questions, no fighting, no kiss goodbye, just an understanding of circumstances.

As I made my way toward the stage, I couldn't help but notice the familiar man I had seen earlier. He was still at the same spot in the bar area, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he nursed a glass.

The surroundings around him faded into a blur as I walked closer, hoping to express my gratitude for his earlier intervention. I gently took a seat next to him, hoping to catch his attention.

"I never got a chance to thank you," I whispered, settling onto the stool. "You know, for what happened earlier."

It took him a moment to register who I was, but then a glimmer of recognition appeared in his brown eyes.

"Oh," he muttered, attempting to sit up straighter. "With Frank's bullshit. Sorry about that."

"Not many strangers go out of their way to help others. It's a shame." I said, straightening up and preparing to leave him be.

"Agreed, we're a rare breed these days," he said with a faint smile gracing his lips. "By the way, what did you think of the scene from the upper floor lounge?"

I paused, suddenly remembering that he had the authority to kick the creepy bartender. "Please tell me this isn't your club?" I couldn't imagine him as a manager, especially since he appeared to be lingering at the bar, seemingly lost.

"Nope, not my club," he reassured me, raising his clear glass and catching the attention of the bartender. "Hey Eve, can we get two Glen Milseans, please? One for me and one for my dissatisfied friend here."

Before I could decline his offer, the new bartender nodded and went to fetch our drinks.

"Excuse me?" I questioned, trying to understand what he meant. "I had a great time, thank you very much."

He adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter. "Your date lasted what? An hour, right? You didn't leave with the guy, and now you're here thanking a shabby, distraught drunk like me for his kindness.  Yup, 'dissatisfied' definitely comes to mind."

"Stalker much?" I retorted, taking the shot that was placed in front of me while maintaining direct eye contact with his brown eyes. "I'm starting to regret thanking the shabby, distraught drunk."

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "Well, in all fairness, I'd rather not have been called to empty out my office last minute for a regular dinner event."

"You said this wasn't your club," I sighed, feeling a burning sensation as the strong whiskey made its way down my throat.

He nodded slightly. "It's not," he admitted. Then, with a hint of sadness, he added, "It's my father's. And if it makes you feel any better, I was just going to sulk there for the night—moping at the bar doesn't exactly attract customers."

I remained silent for a moment, processing his words.

"And, respectfully," he continued, leaning back on his elbows and resting his head on the bar, "I wasn't prying. I was genuinely hoping that someone like you could teach a heartbroken, cheated-on, distraught drunk like me the secret to maintaining relationships. Because apparently, I know jack shit."

His eyes were glassy, and his face was flushed—the image of a man who had either had too much to drink or had experienced a moment of self-realization.

"Shit, sorry...I don't-- forget it," he said, his gaze intensifying and his voice becoming more fervent. "You're right. No need to bother yourself. You should go check out the stage."

"Yeah, I should probably go...," I replied, a hint of self-righteousness seeping into my tone. Initially, I had wanted to enjoy the music and watch the bands play, but as always, my righteous nature took over...

Fuck.

A few moments of conversation could be a welcome distraction. I walked around and plopped myself a seat on the other side of the lonesome stranger.

"I'm Rebecca," I said, extending my hand with a friendly smile. "And just I turned down my long-time boyfriend's marriage proposal up in the VIP lounge ."

He turned his head towards me, a mixture of surprise and curiosity on his face.

"Oh," he responded, seemingly recognizing the sincerity in my eyes. "Nice to meet you, Rebecca," he said, his warm handshake providing some comfort. "I'm Marco, and it seems like women are only interested in me for the money I don't have."

"Pleasure, Marco," I replied, leaning closer to the bar table. "But I have to say, it seems like you might be suffering from a classic case of gold-digger syndrome."

"Gold-digger syndrome?" His expression of disbelief caught me off guard. "Seriously? It's still a thing?"

I couldn't help but chuckle, crossing my arms. "Yeah, well, of course. It hasn't gone away if that's what you think. "

He nodded appreciatively. "Things then are starting to make a whole lotta of sense." We exchanged smiles, enjoying the lighthearted moment.

As he shifted his attention back to the bartender, I joined him in requesting another round. "Eve, could we get another round, please?"

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