08-19-2013, 07:22 PM
By light of day, the bar seemed like any other. The patrons were few and far between. From a corner a pair of waitresses watched where the newcomers would sit, then breathed a sigh of relief when they steered toward the bar.
Claire climbed up the stool and dumped the bag of incense on the bar top nearby. She liked how Giovanni took the initiative to make a selection for the pair of them. He seemed to grow bolder by the moment. A sense of pride swelled within her chest, and in the dim interior, she was comfortable finally.
Giovanni. The name scrolled foreign and mysterious across her imagination.
His drink selection elicited a surprised look. "An Italian with a taste for vodka? This is surprising."
She teased of course, then turned to the bartender, though her pensive gaze scanned the wall of bottles above the man's shoulder. She settled on a bottle of vermouth. "Martini dry, two olives."
He nodded and went to work.
Claire angled herself better so she was slightly facing him. The seat was narrow and uncomfortable, but she hooked an elbow across the back of it. The bangles and bracelets looping her forearm caught the corner of her eye.
Soon enough a chilled martini glass was placed before her, perched atop a square napkin. Careful to hold the glass by the stem, she lifted it in greetings, "Claire Novak,"
she replied in turn, then took a sip.
She glanced at his vodka, and waited, curious and patient to note the sort of expression to cross his face as he sampled the liquor. Whether the crystal blue of his eyes would harden or wince, or whether they would absorb the severe, eighty proof russian liquid without recognition. There was much to this man she instinctively did not trust, though that did not mean she was not intrigued. "What do you wish of me, Giovanni?"
She finally asked, "I have my own stressors to care for, and have never taken an interest in these sorts of projects."
Claire climbed up the stool and dumped the bag of incense on the bar top nearby. She liked how Giovanni took the initiative to make a selection for the pair of them. He seemed to grow bolder by the moment. A sense of pride swelled within her chest, and in the dim interior, she was comfortable finally.
Giovanni. The name scrolled foreign and mysterious across her imagination.
His drink selection elicited a surprised look. "An Italian with a taste for vodka? This is surprising."
She teased of course, then turned to the bartender, though her pensive gaze scanned the wall of bottles above the man's shoulder. She settled on a bottle of vermouth. "Martini dry, two olives."
He nodded and went to work.
Claire angled herself better so she was slightly facing him. The seat was narrow and uncomfortable, but she hooked an elbow across the back of it. The bangles and bracelets looping her forearm caught the corner of her eye.
Soon enough a chilled martini glass was placed before her, perched atop a square napkin. Careful to hold the glass by the stem, she lifted it in greetings, "Claire Novak,"
she replied in turn, then took a sip.
She glanced at his vodka, and waited, curious and patient to note the sort of expression to cross his face as he sampled the liquor. Whether the crystal blue of his eyes would harden or wince, or whether they would absorb the severe, eighty proof russian liquid without recognition. There was much to this man she instinctively did not trust, though that did not mean she was not intrigued. "What do you wish of me, Giovanni?"
She finally asked, "I have my own stressors to care for, and have never taken an interest in these sorts of projects."