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I sip my wine, chuckling as I do, taking this opportunity to calm my nerves.
“Want to get something to eat? I’m starving.” Delfi grabs the menu and looks through it, her eyes perusing the items, lip tucked between her teeth as she does.
“Whatever you want is fine,” I say agreeably.
“Hey T, can we get some calamari and the crostini, please?” she calls out. “You want anything else?” she asks me.
“Get the truffle fries. I want something snackier.”
“You got it,” T says, walking away to put the order in.
Agostina makes her rounds along the bar, checking on the patrons. A couple orders some appetizers, a lone bar guest asks for another bourbon. She brings Delfi her mojito, icy and refreshing in a tall glass, a bright green sprig of mint sticking out of the top. The parties have started to trickle in, making the space louder, laughter and chatter bouncing off the walls. But I’m acutely aware of Logan on the other side of the bar, his presence its own sort of pleasant heaviness.
“How are you doing over here?” Agostina asks Logan. He looks like he’s debating whether to get another drink.
“We’ll take another round,” he decides. “Thank you.”
“Oh, the cute ones are out tonight,” Delfi mumbles under her breath beside me. It smells like mint and citrus.
“He’s taken,” I blurt, and sip my wine.
“He is? How do you know?”
Just then Tara sits back down from wherever she was, adjusting in the stool, smiling wide as T brings their drinks over.
“Oh. She’s pretty,” Delfi says with a sigh.
“Yep.”
She turns on her stool then to face me, gripping my arm lightly. “So, tell me about the shoes! I’ve been freaking out since Monday, and you’ve barely answered my texts.”
Right. The shoes.Theshoes. “I’ve been busy,” I reason. “Besides, nothing to tell.”
“Are you kidding? Did you try them on? Tell me you tried them on.”
I sigh. “They fit like a glove.”
“Oh my God, I knew it! This is so amazing!”
“Anybody ever tell you that you speak in exclamation points?”
“All the time.” She smiles wide, unfazed.
“What’s all the screeching over here?” T chimes in, back in front of us to bring the truffle fries.
“The shoes!” Delfi says in response.
“Oh damn, that’s right. How are they? They probably fit you like a glove, don’t they?”
“Perhaps,” I eye her, shoving fries into my mouth.
“What are you going to do with them?”
“I haven’t thought about it yet,” I lie.
“You have to dance with them!” Delfi says loudly beside me, resolute in her idea. I can only imagine the looks we’re getting now from the professional dancers across the bar that I am actively trying to avoid.
“You should dance with them,” T says in agreement, vigorously shaking a cocktail shaker above her shoulder.
