Rebecca Caruso

It was a hard bargain, but the traditionalist agreed to be patient with me—though I could still see the hurt lingering in his eyes.

Christopher had always been the one with clear plans for our future: house, wife, kids, the whole picture neatly laid out. But this "third time's a charm" proposal rejection seemed to have shaken him in a way he couldn't quite put into words.

We silently agreed to carry on as if nothing had happened, but the tension between us was palpable, the weight of his unspoken disappointment hanging in the air. I could feel it in the way he avoided my gaze, in the stiff silence that replaced our usual easy conversations. It was a delicate balance, as we both tried to navigate our feelings.

He broke the silence, blatantly asking, "You got everything?"

"Yeah," I said, my voice trailing off as I hesitated behind him. Glancing at my phone, I saw it was 7:09 PM. "But, um, I think I'm gonna stay," I added awkwardly, struggling to find a reason that didn't seem too out of place. I was desperate to escape the uncomfortable silence and momentarily forget what had just happened. "I read that Buddy Guy's performing tonight."

"Who?" Christopher's doubt was evident.

I couldn't help but roll my eyes, tucking my phone away in my pocket. It was becoming clear just how little research Christopher had put into choosing this place. At least the complimentary appetizers were a silver lining.

"A famous jazz player," I bantered playfully, raising my voice slightly to be heard above the bustling kitchen staff. "He's the Godfather of blues."

"You want me to stick around?" he asked, and it irked me.

Why did doing something together always feel obligatory? It would have been nice if he genuinely wanted to stay, instead of constantly focusing on the state of our relationship. A simple, enjoyable date would have been much more pleasurable.

"Nah, you're good. You can go," Time off was a rarity for him, and when we did have it, it was usually spent on relaxation and catching up on sleep. So, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I often did. "It's all right."

"Are you sure? I can stay if you want," he offered, adding that infamous 'if you want' clause.

I want you to want to...

"We're good," I lied, mustering a smile. "I'll just take a cab home."

Sometimes, I craved more than just the comfort of staying indoors. Being out in the bustling city was invigorating, full of life and adventure. One of the perks of his job as a police officer was the opportunity to experience and explore the city firsthand.

"'Kay, see you, Beck," he said, his voice clipped as he pulled his car keys from his coat pocket. "Text me when you leave." We parted in the same way we had arrived—separately, without the comfort of familiar routines. There were no probing questions, no arguments, no kiss to soften the farewell. Just a tacit acknowledgment of the awkwardness between us, an unspoken understanding of the situation.

As I made my way toward the stage, the awkwardness—no, guilt—from earlier still clung to me. My thoughts were preoccupied, and the emotional distance between Christopher and me seemed to stretch endlessly. The dissatisfaction that had settled in my chest refused to lift.

When I spotted the familiar man from earlier, still ensconced in the bar area, lost in his thoughts as he nursed a drink, I felt a twinge of relief. Here was a distraction from the heavy weight of my emotions. I approached him cautiously, the residual discomfort from the earlier events making my steps feel awkward. I took a seat beside him, trying to push past the lingering tension.

"I never got a chance to thank you," I murmured, my voice steadying as I settled onto the stool next to him. "You know, for what happened earlier with the creepy bartender dude."

He looked up slowly, a spark of recognition lighting up his brown eyes. "Oh, that. With Frank's nonsense. Sorry, you had to see that."

"Not many strangers go out of their way to help," I said, straightening up as I prepared to leave. "It doesn't go unnoticed. Thanks again."

He gave a faint smile, then asked, "How was the view from the upper floor lounge?"

I paused, suddenly recalling his earlier intervention and the authority it implied. "Please tell me this isn't your club?" I asked, genuinely surprised. He seemed too out of place at the bar to be a manager, yet his actions hinted at a different role.

"Nope, not my club," he reassured me, raising his clear glass and catching the attention of the bartender. "Hey Eve, can we get two Glen Milseans, please? One for me and one for my clearly dissatisfied friend here."

Before I could decline his offer, the new bartender nodded and went to fetch our drinks.

"Excuse me?" I questioned, trying to understand what he meant. "I had a great time, thank you very much."

He adjusted his posture, sitting up straighter. "Your date lasted what? An hour, right? You didn't leave with the guy, and now you're here thanking a shabby, distraught drunk like me for his kindness. Yup, 'dissatisfied' definitely comes to mind."

"I'm starting to regret thanking the shabby, distraught drunk." I retorted, taking the shot that was placed in front of me while maintaining direct eye contact with his brown eyes.

He chuckled softly and shook his head. "Well, in all fairness, I'd rather not have been called to empty out my office last minute for a regular dinner event."

"You said this wasn't your club," I sighed, feeling a burning sensation as the strong whiskey made its way down my throat.

He nodded slightly. "It's not," he admitted. Then, with a hint of sadness, he added, "It's my father's. And if it makes you feel any better, I was just going to sulk there for the night—moping at the bar doesn't exactly attract customers."

I remained silent for a moment, processing his words.

"And, respectfully," he continued, leaning back on his elbows and resting his head on the bar, "I wasn't prying. I was genuinely hoping that someone like you could teach a heartbroken, cheated-on, distraught drunk like me the secret to maintaining relationships. Because apparently... I know jack, fucking, shit."

His eyes were glassy, and his face was flushed—the image of a man who had either had too much to drink or had experienced a moment of self-realization.

"Sorry...I don't-- forget it," he said, his gaze intensifying and his voice becoming more fervent. "No need to bother yourself. I don't mean to ruin your night. Sorry. I, um...yeah, you should go check out the stage. We got a great lineup tonight."

"Yeah, I should...," I replied, my voice faltering slightly as I struggled with my own conflicting feelings. "I should probably head over there..." I had initially been eager to enjoy the music and watch the bands, but as often happened, my inner conflict and sense of obligation took over, wrecking my life yet again.

Fuck.

A few moments of conversation might be just the distraction I needed. I walked over and took a seat on the other side of the lonesome stranger, feeling a mix of apprehension and hope.

"I'm Rebecca," I said, extending my hand with a friendly smile. "And that, quote-unquote, date was me turning down a complicated marriage proposal."

He turned his head toward me, his expression shifting between surprise and curiosity as he took in my words.

"Oh," he said, his eyes reflecting an understanding of the sincerity in my voice. "Nice to meet you, Rebecca," he added, offering a warm handshake that felt unexpectedly comforting. "I'm Marco."

"Pleasure," I replied, leaning closer to the bar table. "But honestly, you might want to stop sulking. It doesn't quite suit you."

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, you're probably right. I guess I'm not cut out for the brooding type."

I studied him for a moment, then added with a wry smile, "Best guess, you're just dealing with a classic case of gold-digger syndrome."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Excuse me?"

I couldn't help but laugh softly, crossing my arms as I watched his reaction. "Well, you know how it is. Some people see a bar owner's son and immediately think of free drinks, VIP access, and all that jazz."

He considered this for a moment, then nodded, a thoughtful smile crossing his face. "Hmm, you could be right on that one."

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