Paris // Jake Kiszka

Nashville

Over the clamour of chiming voices, Jake raised his hand to grab the bar tenders attention. Lifting himself up onto his tip-toes, trying to make himself appear taller as he stood on the base of his bar stool. You stared at him, enamoured. Tendrils of hair framing his face, a low messy bun peaking out from beneath his favourite hat.

He ordered your drinks, leaning in so that he could be heard over the jukebox. You had picked the music. A few Billy Joel classics and a personal favourite of his, which you had refused to reveal to him until it spun around.

"So, what are we celebrating?" He asked, throwing the bar tender a scrunched up bill from his waistcoat breast pocket.

You took the glass of rum and coke to your lips, taking the liberty of quenching your thirst before telling him that you'd scored yourself an entry level job at a record store part time and couldn't be happier at the prospect of it.

"Holy shit! That's incredible, baby!" He enthused, as if you had just announced your second term as president of the entire world. "So fucking proud of you."

Clinking his glass against yours, he leaned down and wrapped his knuckles around your bar stool, pulling you into him. Your legs were fashionably crossed, landing in the wide parting of his.

"Yeah, it means I can focus on writing and I can join you on tour and I don't have to worry about pissing off any corporate bastards...and massively extend your already expansive vinyl collection..." You mused, although you were certain it didn't matter to him why you'd taken the job as he nuzzled his face into the curve of your neck.

"I just love that you're finally figuring out what you love, what you want to do." He said, kissing you softly whilst butterflies took flight in your stomach.

"Jake?" You purred, allowing him a final peck before you spoke. "I couldn't have done any of it without you. I'm serious. Every good thing in my life is because you poured that fucking wine down me in Paris. I don't know where I'd be or who I'd be if I hadn't met you that day."

Sometimes you caught him off guard with your sweetness. He tucked your hair behind your ear affectionately, trailing the back of his hand down your cheek and looking at you as if you were the only woman in the room. You'd felt like that in so many different rooms with him since you'd met, it was a bittersweet moment when you realised you had to ruin it.

"And on that note, I have to go to the bathroom..." You announced, sliding off your bar stool with a wink and a kiss.

The bar had a flashing neon sign pointing you down a flight of stairs which lead to a long, dreary corridor lined with spot lights that barely flickered on. Almost as if down here in this dungeon of sorts, it didn't matter if you could see where you were going. The ladies room was situated at the end of the corridor, frustratingly further away than the men's room that was conveniently back upstairs.

Which was why you were surprised to see him down there as you shook your hands dry, leaning against the wall with one knee bent and his hat pulled over his brow. He flicked it up as you emerged, reaching out his hand for you to take.

"I think my baby deserves a gift." He said, pulling you into his embrace, the scent of rum on his breath. "You know how I love giving you presents."

The muffled sound of the jukebox turned, the song you'd wanted him to hear playing out to an audience who wouldn't appreciate it like he did. He pricked an ear towards the stairs, smiling.

"You know me so well." He murmured, "The only jukebox in Nashville that has this song, I swear..."

He led you back towards the stairs, to the sound of Howlin' Wolf. But he didn't ascend. Instead, you were diligently pressed against the door marked 'Staff Only' which was set back from the dreary, flickering corridor. In a small enclave, shrouded in darkness.