Elie was more adrift than ever tonight, if such a thing was even possible.

A combination of extra shifts he’d picked up at the neighborhood bar, plus some heavier after-hours drinking, had mostly helped numb the emptiness after his fiancé recently cut ties with him, mere weeks before the wedding. But those coping methods could only do so much. Deep down, Elie had known all along that this split was probably the right call, which only added guilty relief to his complicated feelings of loss, though it didn’t change the fact that he suddenly felt marooned on a level he never had before. Nothing in this nebulous season of his life, even that likely-toxic relationship with his domineering girlfriend, had brought the thirty-four-year-old much joy. At best, he could keep the malaise temporarily at bay by skillfully mixing drinks for his friendly regulars, and then it was right back to staring into the same void of an unknown future – with no discernible way to crawl out of this directionless hole, plus a frustrating inability to even name whatever might actually make him happy, let alone attain it.

            The Chicagoan bar had turned quiet much sooner than usual tonight. It was crowded before with jovial patrons, offering Elie tips and distraction aplenty from his troubles, but then just like that, it was almost dead. He had half a mind to close up shop early, if not for the fact that he would surely feel even more alone at home, sinking into a drunken stupor and wondering what missed opportunity might’ve brought him to this purgatorial state. When it appeared he might be finished serving for the night, Elie busied himself in the solitude by re-swabbing the same patch of the bar, getting unhealthily lost in the same inescapable mental loop. Yet even when he had the surface polished to a mirror-shine, his own reflection remained curiously faint while he stared it down. As if he might abruptly discover meaning behind his own barely-recognizable countenance. Much clearer to Elie, however, was another face that appeared suddenly in his peripheral as though from across a narrow river.

Looking up with a start, he realized he was no longer alone in the place. In fact, he must’ve gotten so stuck in his own cloudy headspace that he hadn’t even noticed the woman come in. Yet strangely Elie’s awareness felt unaffected, as if she had really been in here all along with him, and he was only just now consciously acknowledging her. It was none other than Rebecca: a new face in the bar who’d quickly become a regular, always choosing the same spot in the corner and gently seeking conversation with Elie whenever he had a moment to spare. She was undeniably lovely, with striking features, sun-dusky complexion, and the most hypnotically piercing metal-blue eyes that seemed to capture his sightline even from across a crowded bar with bullseye accuracy. Long rigidly-sleek black hair draped over her shoulders, and her svelte physique was always attentively perched upon that stool with the effortless balance of a lifelong athlete. Tonight she was garbed in heavy leather boots, an offbeat yet elegant dark-green blouse textured like pine fibers, and complemented by a fur-ruffled scarf wrapped down one arm.

Yet as objectively attractive as Elie found Rebecca, it was her presence itself – her gracious behavior, her soft-spoken tenor, and that oddly magnetic aura – which both compelled him toward her and also made him resist following the lure. What’s more, it increasingly seemed that his interest wasn’t one-sided, since the woman had begun dropping larger hints that she returned this hidden fascination. As Elie powerlessly watched his actual relationship deteriorate, he’d repeatedly felt the temptation to enjoy some emotional solace by indulging in Rebecca’s cheerful sometimes-flirtatious attention, but so far had refused to let himself go down that road. Even though he’d felt a bizarre kinship with this new bar patron from the first night she showed up, and through their every conversation was stricken by a pleasant surge of homey déjà vu, he’d denied it to himself over and over, deciding that this was only a selfish form of escapism on his part. There wasn’t really a connection with Rebecca, he internally affirmed: no matter how unspeakably “correct” it felt whenever her voice lilted into his ear or her fingers brushed his while he passed her a fresh libation.

“Sorry,” Elie said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“No trouble. I don’t mind waiting for you,” Rebecca answered with a sincere smile. She cocked her head slightly, while that oceanic gaze bore into his, as if she had something else entirely on the tip of her tongue, but then kept it to herself anyway. “Am I… intruding?”

“Not at all. Everyone’s always welcome here. And I could use the company. Not to mention, we have to keep the lights on somehow. What can I get you?”

“You know, I’m not sure. Would you mind choosing one for me? I’m sure I’ll like it, whatever it is.”

Elie nodded, coming the closest he’d been to feeling upbeat lately. Though he didn’t always advertise it, his talent for concoction behind the bar also included a preternatural sense for doling out the perfect beverage to the right person, even after barely meeting them. Looking back at Rebecca, who was resting her cheek upon her palm and peering thirstily at Elie across the countertop, the answer occurred to him automatically. A few minutes later, riskily blending several rarely-combined acquired-taste ingredients, he placed the unorthodox elixir in front of her. It was a drink he couldn’t even recall making for anyone else in the bar before, yet somehow nothing else would’ve been proper for Rebecca. He felt his heartrate accelerating as she raised the glass to her lips and took a drink, but relaxed again when her expression basked even brighter than before.

“Mmmm. Wow. Thank you. It’s… perfect. How did you know this was exactly what I wanted?” she asked, licking her lips.

“Just a feeling, I guess,” Elie bashfully shrugged. Tempted at first to resume the same aimless counter-scrubbing diversion, he instead let himself get drawn closer into Rebecca’s orbit – for the first time, while no one else was present in the bar with them. “And you’re welcome.”

“Oh, wait, what is this song called? Come on. It’s going to kill me if I can’t remember it…” she said, snapping her fingers and pointing above.

Confused for a moment, Elie hadn’t even noticed there was music on. But sure enough, there was indeed a tune wafting from the ceiling speakers. Rebecca closed her eyes in concentration, taking another sip from the drink, then let her head sway along with the melody. Naturally Elie focused in too, even though he usually made a purposeful habit of ignoring the music here.

While he enjoyed it in theory, listening to almost any music for too long – and especially those scant occasions in the past when he himself had tried picking up an instrument – always ended in a sensation of tantalizing catharsis overwhelmed by crushing melancholy that made him immediately retreat again. Yet Rebecca seemed so determined to identify the tune that he couldn’t help but want to assist her. Curiously, it wasn’t the same classic rock or folksy blues that usually crooned over the bar speakers, but instead a beguiling instrumental number, boosted by background throat singing. Elie heard a fiddle, a drum, and maybe even a harp. It was a song that, if forced to guess on the spot, he could’ve sworn he’d never heard before in his life. Nonetheless, he was hit by the same indescribable certainty as Rebecca that he did know it after all. That foreign noise, beautiful and sad and forceful at once, vibrated through his bones like nothing else.

“Lover’s Lament,” Elie breathed aloud before he even knew what he was saying.

“Yes. Of course. That’s what it is,” Rebecca wistfully uttered. She reopened her eyes and pitched forward against the bar, as if she was contemplating mounting the surface and crossing over to join Elie on the other side. “I thought you’d know it. And I was right.”

It occurred to him only now that her flippancy about the drink choice, her satisfaction when she tasted it, and finally her invitation to name the song were all just ploys to flirt with him. This was normally the point in their genial encounters, flattered by Rebecca’s coquettishness and enticed to let her continue, that Elie would always intentionally pour platonic cold water on things by quickly finding something else in need of his attention around the bar. But it was just them here now. There was nothing else within these walls in need of his attention, and nothing else in the world for that matter, but her. And since Elie was freshly dumped, both broken-hearted and yet sure that he was better off for it, there was no longer that moral albatross hung around his neck. He didn’t have to feel shame or cowardice just by giving into an attractive mostly-stranger’s interest for a little while and seeing if it assuaged even a fraction of his lonely gloom. What could be the harm in it now?

“Call it bartender’s intuition,” Elie replied, as he matched Rebecca’s posture by leaning into the counter as well. He even cracked an unlikely smile himself – a rarity these days – and didn’t try to avoid the woman’s persuasive stare. “That’s… not a real thing. I don’t know why I said it.”

“Why can’t it be? I would have believed you, if you stuck to it,” Rebecca laughed. The sound of her cheer activated that same stir in his bones as the music. She took another long pull from her drink, audibly savoring it, then finished off the glass. Before Elie could ask if she wanted another, the woman planted her money down on the counter, including generous gratuity, and steepled her fingers together just inches from where his own hand rested. “There’s something I would like to ask you. But I’m afraid it may be too forward. And I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable. It’s a real dilemma for me.”

“Well, I guess there’s only one way to find out.” Elie’s pulse raced wildly again, realizing he was probably close to a turning point here. “Ask me whatever you want. I can take it.”

“Would you… like to come by my place for a drink? Now?” Rebecca questioned, as her blue gaze only grew more intense, until it was softly holding Elie in near-palpable thrall. “It’s not far from here, and after what you just gave me was so spot-on, it only seems right that I serve you something too. I could even play us some music, so we can see guesses the song first. I have to get one, at least. What do you say?”

Laboring under that old reluctance for one last beat, Elie felt himself slowly relenting. Rebecca was just so pretty, so warm, so welcoming, and so “real” in a way that little else in his day-to-day did. Though he was well-aware that it may just have been residual heartache from his rightfully-broken engagement, Elie nevertheless felt that he’d somehow known this woman for much longer, and on a deeper level than anyone else left in his life. To deny her kind invitation now would just be pointlessly depriving himself of some fleeting joy, all so he could wallow at home in self-pity instead.

“Yes. I’d… like that,” Elie said.

“Good boy,” Rebecca chimed, then winked at him to emphasize her word choice was only lighthearted teasing. “I’m looking forward to it. Come outside when you’re ready.”