Chapter 3: White Russian

The man sitting at the bar had a bright expression and warm hazel eyes. His deep brown hair was buzzed short, and he wore a black hoodie that made him easy to look past in the dim room.

He looked at Luke expectantly.

"Oh—" Luke cleared his throat, but still his voice came out wooden as he asked, "How can I help you?"

"Can I get a white Russian?" he asked.

Luke glanced over, but saw that Miss R wasn't at the counter any longer. "Yeah," he said hesitantly. "Yes, just give me a second."

The patron nodded, a knowing smile turning his lips and dimples denting his cheeks.

Luke's jaw flexed and he turned away from him. The wall of alcohol and mixers made his eyes want to roll back in his skull, and there wasn't a single brain cell in his head dedicated to knowing what went into a white Russian.

A grimy little stapled booklet at the corner of the shelf acted as Luke's saving grace: on the third page of the handwritten recipes was a white Russian.

Unconfidently, wishing every moment that Miss R would come to his rescue, Luke mixed the drink. It was only three ingredients, so there was no way that he could mess it up that badly. Without meeting his eye, Luke set it in front of the patron.

"You're new, right?" the patron asked, his lips twitching at a smile, both hands around the glass.

Luke grimaced. "Yeah."

"What's your name?" he asked, raising the glass to his lips without breaking eye contact.

"Luke," he said, trying not to watch him take a drink, though anticipation gripped him.

The patron took a sip and covered his mouth, his nose wrinkling and his shoulders shaking with a laugh. He slid the glass towards Luke. "Try this, Luke."

Hearing him say his name made Luke's stomach trill despite his reaction to the drink. Curiosity overtook him, mixed with the exhilaration of defying The Faith, and he tentatively took the glass. He took a tiny sip, his heart racing because he'd never had alcohol and he'd never shared a drink with a stranger, but he shuddered upon tasting it. "Ugh," he said, face screwing up as the flavor of bitter milky alcohol covered his tongue.

The patron grinned, his arms crossed on the bar. "Do you have any training as a bartender?"

"No, and apparently I'm bad at reading recipes, too," Luke mumbled, embarrassment blanketing him as he poured the drink down the closest drain.

He laughed, a sound that filled the air around Luke with warmth.

"Sorry about that," Luke said, fidgeting with his hands.

"No worries," the patron said, leaning in a little closer and holding out his hand. "I'm Abel."

"Nice to meet you, Abel," Luke said, shaking his hand. His cheeks felt hot.

"You need something, sir?" Miss R asked, appearing next to Luke so suddenly that he flinched in surprise.

Abel smiled at him, and Luke hid his embarrassed expression by adjusting the hem of his sweater. "Yeah, just a white Russian, please."

"Got it," she said, and gestured for Luke to watch her make it.

It was so simple that Luke felt the embarrassment a second time over, even stronger this time around. He covered his face with his hand.

"What?" Miss R asked, glancing over.

"Nothing," Luke said, shaking his head.

"Give this to the customer." She handed over the glass and attended to another few guys at the bar calling for her.

"Here," Luke said, setting the glass in front of Abel.

"Thank you," Abel said, and took a drink. He smiled and gave a satisfied nod.

"Better than mine?" Luke asked, lightheartedly petulant.

He gave an emphatic nod. "Much better."

Luke laughed despite himself.

"Want to try?" Abel asked.

Luke glanced over at Miss R and wondered if he should. He didn't know anything about bars, but it probably wasn't professional to share drinks with patrons, right? Seeing the panel of wallpaper beside him torn at the edges reminded him that this wasn't exactly the classiest bar in the world. "Sure."

Abel handed him the glass, and feeling their fingers touch as he took it made Luke jump.

Avoiding Abel's gaze, very aware that he was watching him commit the casual sin, Luke took a sip of the drink. His brows rose as the sweet, creamy coffee flavor filled his mouth, cut with a sharp burn of alcohol that was easy to overlook, even for the inexperienced Luke. "That's really good," he said, setting it in front of Abel again.

Abel nodded and took another drink, smiling around the edge of the glass.

There was something liberating about watching Abel drink; he had no regard for The Faith's strict teachings. He committed the sin of drinking alcohol right in front of Luke without a shred of shame attached to it. He lived freely: he walked into a bar and ordered a drink like it was nothing, and the envy Luke felt for him distanced him even further from The Faith.

Luke looked around at the other patrons unsurely; no one needed his help, least of all Miss R, who darted around the bar with expert efficiency. Luke knew that if he hovered, he would just get in her way, but standing here talking to one guy didn't exactly feel like the right thing to do, either. Only a few more people wandered in since Luke had arrived, and none of them had the light eyes, black hair, and scar above their eyebrow that Luke was supposed to be searching for.

The other problem was that Luke wasn't good at holding conversations with strangers. "Are—uh—are you off for the weekend?" he asked.

"No, I have work after this," Abel said, leaning on the bar again and wrinkling his nose.

"You came to a bar before work?" Luke asked, amused.

"I got called in last-minute to cover someone else's shift. They don't get me at full capacity on a moment's notice," Abel said with a self-satisfied smile.

"Where do you work?"

"At a warehouse a couple of blocks from here," Abel said, swirling the melting ice cube in the glass. "I work security, so I basically sit in front of monitors for a living."

"Sounds boring," Luke said with a wry grin.

Abel laughed, and nerves sprinkled through Luke's veins. "Yeah, it's boring. I took up embroidery, though, so I have something to do while I'm there instead of just taking long naps."

Luke wanted to ask more about embroidery, but Abel spoke up again.

"Actually—" He checked his phone and grimaced. "Yeah, I have to go."

Disappointment filled Luke's chest, and a beat later he scolded himself for his strange reaction.

Abel downed the last of the drink and stood up to hand the empty glass to Luke, expression apologetic. "I'll talk to you later, Luke, thanks for keeping me company."

Luke held the glass and nodded, feeling distant as Abel looked at him from eye level and his dimples framed the corners of his smile and the dim light cast the shadow of his long eyelashes across his cheekbones.

Abel gave a half-wave that Luke barely returned, and then went to pay for the drink.

Luke discarded the dirty glass and watched Abel leave from the corner of his eye. He took a deep breath and pushed away questions of whether or not he would come back again.