003: Meeting him

Avery's POV

The first hour was easy. The Friday crowd was the best kind. Loud enough to disappear into, generous with the tips, and mostly interested in their own conversations. I moved through my set on autopilot, which was not always a good thing but tonight it was exactly what I needed.

I was heading to the bar for water after my second song when I saw him.

He was sitting at the end of the bar away from the stage, not facing the performance at all. He had a glass of something dark in front of him and he was staring at it like it had said something he was still deciding how to answer. He had dark hair, a strong jaw and broad shoulders wearing a plain grey shirt.

He looked like someone having a genuinely bad night.

I knew the feeling.

I took my water from the barman and made my way over. Not because it was my job, exactly. Because something about the way he was sitting made me want to.

"You look like you're trying to drown something," I said, sliding onto the stool beside him.

He looked up. His eyes were dark brown and very direct.

"Is it that obvious?" he said.

"Little bit." I put my water glass down. "Rough night?"

"Rough week." He looked back at his drink. "Rough everything, honestly."

"New in town?"

"That obvious too?"

"You've got that look. Like you're not sure yet what the rules are." I held out my hand. "Scarlett."

He looked at my hand, then shook it. His grip was firm but not trying to prove anything. "Liam."

"Just Liam?"

"For now." The corner of his mouth moved slightly. "You always introduce yourself to strangers at bars?"

"Only the ones who look like they need someone to talk to." I rested my elbow on the bar. "So. What brought you to Crestwood?"

"Family situation." He turned his glass slowly with both hands. "My dad remarried. We moved. Very exciting story."

"That sounds complicated."

"Yeah." He glanced at me. "You from here?"

"Born and raised. Lucky me." I said it lightly but he caught the edge in it, I could tell by the way his eyes stayed on my face a second longer.

"Bad night for you too?" he said.

"Oh, terrible." I smiled. "It's my birthday, actually."

His eyebrows went up. "You're spending your birthday here? Working?" He gestured to my outfit.

"Change of plans." I picked up my water. "Original plans fell through in the most spectacular way possible."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm better off here." I meant it more than I expected to.

He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, "Happy birthday, Scarlett."

He said it simply. No performance to it. Like it actually mattered to him that I had one.

Something small and stupid happened in my chest.

"Thank you, Liam," I said.

We talked for another twenty minutes. He didn't ask about what I did here. He didn't make any of the usual comments. He asked about the town, the campus, whether the coffee anywhere near Crestwood was actually good or just survivable. He was easy to talk to in a way that felt unfair, like he had been specifically designed to be the wrong person to meet on a night like this.

When the stage manager caught my eye from across the room, I knew I had to get back to work.

"I've got to go," I said, standing.

"Yeah." He picked up his glass. "Thanks for the company, Scarlett."

I was halfway off the stool when I turned back.

"The private room is open," I said. "Last one on the left. If you want." I kept my voice professional. It was always a choice. Never a push.

He looked at me for a moment.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "Okay."

The private room was small and dim, with low music coming through a speaker in the ceiling. I did this part of the job the same way I did everything else, on my own terms, in control, with a clear line I did not cross.

But somewhere between the first song and the second, something changed.

Maybe it was because he wasn't watching me the way the others did. He was watching my face.

"You said your plans fell through tonight," he said. His voice was low, almost careful. "What happened?"

I stopped moving. Just for a second.

"You're not supposed to ask me things like that in here," I said.

"I know." He held my gaze. "What happened, Scarlett?"

I looked at him. This stranger with the dark eyes who had sat alone at the bar staring at his drink and wished me a happy birthday like he meant it.

"I walked in on my boyfriend," I said. "With someone I know."

His jaw tightened. "Tonight."

"About six hours ago."

"I'm sorry," he said. And again, no performance. Just the words.

"What about you?" I said. "What's the rough week actually about?"

"I fought with my dad all week about why I didn't need to move with him to live with his new wife. Then I came in today into a new city, a new school, and a new family situation I didn't ask for." He exhaled slowly. "I'm trying to figure out where I fit."

"And do you? Fit?"

"Not yet."

We looked at each other in the low light. The music kept playing and neither of us moved.

"You know this is the strangest conversation I've ever had in this room," I said.

"Is that bad?"

"No," I said. "That's the problem." I was kneeling on the platform right in front of him now.

I don't know which one of us moved first.

But when his hand came up and touched my jaw, very gently, like a question, I didn't pull back.

And when his lips met mine, I kissed him back.