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ysonesse(First appeared on Runaway Tales: Pink Lemonade #1)
Allyson stepped along the concrete, hands crammed into her pockets. Here she was on another cold Friday night wandering through downtown instead of going home. But she couldn’t relax during savasana because her mind wouldn’t stop racing…
She was thirty-five. Time had rushed forward into days, months, then years, all stacked upon each other from her teens until she reached the halfway point toward forty. Another year passed with unfulfilled wishes and the perpetual nagging of lost dreams.
Allyson was caught between here, somewhere, and where-in-the-hell? But there was little time for contemplation of her static life. By day she was a legal admin, at night she transformed into a yoga instructor. What else defined her existence in stunning two-dimensional monochrome? One useless English degree, a studio apartment crammed with plastic storage boxes full of books and ballet flats. Not much to show for a quarter century plus ten years on Earth.
Allyson stopped at the corner of Albany and Cumberland. A new bar…no, pub, apparently opened up in the last week…or maybe it was newish. She often passed along this intersection, but didn’t pay attention to its ever-changing scenery.
A sharp gust of wind pushed against her back. Maybe she needed a refuge from December’s bite. But could she find something to pass one hour in a pub? Allyson wasn’t a huge drinker; the last bit of alcohol she gulped was Two Buck Chuck Merlot in a plastic cup at her sister’s bachelorette party. Would getting buzzed help shove away her constant sense of boredom?
There were moments designed for introspection, and there were other times when action minus thought was the way to go. She reached for the door, then saw the pub’s name: The Unicorn and Rose. Was this an American version of a theoretical English pub, or just good marketing?
Allyson shrugged, then went inside…
***
“Hello?! Beer!” The yob held a crumpled twenty near Jamie’s left hand. “Two Stella Artois, that so hard?”
Jamie grabbed two bottles from the cooler, and set them in front of the yob and his arm candy. “There you go.” He turned away from the idiots. At least his Friday regulars were blessed with patience and ignored the queue jumpers. Now he could settle into his nightly routine with the usual drinks and faces─
─Until a beautiful stranger entered the Unicorn and Rose. There went another standard Friday…the unexpected temptation adopted a cautious watching post underneath the reproduction Louis Quatorze mirror. She looked overwhelmed, like a visitor from another planet. Clearly this young woman didn’t frequent bars.
It had been a long time since Jamie found any woman attractive. Two years away from dating had passed quickly while he focused upon booze and business plans. Life moved on, and now the pub was open, so his attention could wander down another fresh road.
Jamie looked at his T-shirt: faded red, stretched-to-its-last-thread cotton, with a distinct irregular wet circle just above the navel. At some point the shirt came into contact with a puddle on the bar. That wasn’t presentable; the first intriguing woman to cross his path, and he just decided to wear his crappiest shirt. Maybe he could run into the back and switch…
The stranger moved up to his bar. “I don’t know what brought me here.”
He smiled. “Call us a haven for lost souls.”
“I’m not lost. I just have no idea where I’m supposed to be right now.”
“Doesn’t that mean you’re lost?”
“Fine, the cold brought me in. Is that better?”
“It’s good for business.”
“Cold or hot weather, there’s never a bad time for a pub.”
“Except closing time.”
“That’s actually good, because the staff gets a break.”
She laughed. “Even bartenders need to sleep.”
He grinned. “Bartenders and owners both need their beauty rest.”
The stranger frowned. “I just made a stupid assumption.”
Jamie shrugged. “Understandable, considering my shabby appearance.” He pulled on the raggedy shirt. “Right now I’m a cross between a workman and his lunch.”
“Oh, you’re fine,” she replied with a quick smile and lowered eyes.
Jamie suspected a potential flirtatious undertone in her voice. But any man who automatically suspected every woman thought he was “hot” was a proper arse.
“Is there anything you can recommend?”
“Pardon?”
“I can’t stand here wasting space.”
“How often do you go near alcohol?”
“Rarely.”
“Then I recommend water.”
“That goes against your trade.”
“People who suddenly decide to enter a pub yet hardly drink usually wind up incapacitated.”
The stranger placed her elbows on the slick black bar surface. “You sound like my grandmother.”
“Afraid I’m not quite that old.”
“How old are you?”
“Young enough to be nice, old enough to be naughty.”
The stranger raised her eyebrows. “That’s good?”
“I think so.”
“Well, then it must be true.” She reached her arm across the bar. “Allyson Randolph.”
He smiled again, then grasped her hand. “James Kennan. But I prefer Jamie.”
Allyson stepped along the concrete, hands crammed into her pockets. Here she was on another cold Friday night wandering through downtown instead of going home. But she couldn’t relax during savasana because her mind wouldn’t stop racing…
She was thirty-five. Time had rushed forward into days, months, then years, all stacked upon each other from her teens until she reached the halfway point toward forty. Another year passed with unfulfilled wishes and the perpetual nagging of lost dreams.
Allyson was caught between here, somewhere, and where-in-the-hell? But there was little time for contemplation of her static life. By day she was a legal admin, at night she transformed into a yoga instructor. What else defined her existence in stunning two-dimensional monochrome? One useless English degree, a studio apartment crammed with plastic storage boxes full of books and ballet flats. Not much to show for a quarter century plus ten years on Earth.
Allyson stopped at the corner of Albany and Cumberland. A new bar…no, pub, apparently opened up in the last week…or maybe it was newish. She often passed along this intersection, but didn’t pay attention to its ever-changing scenery.
A sharp gust of wind pushed against her back. Maybe she needed a refuge from December’s bite. But could she find something to pass one hour in a pub? Allyson wasn’t a huge drinker; the last bit of alcohol she gulped was Two Buck Chuck Merlot in a plastic cup at her sister’s bachelorette party. Would getting buzzed help shove away her constant sense of boredom?
There were moments designed for introspection, and there were other times when action minus thought was the way to go. She reached for the door, then saw the pub’s name: The Unicorn and Rose. Was this an American version of a theoretical English pub, or just good marketing?
Allyson shrugged, then went inside…
***
“Hello?! Beer!” The yob held a crumpled twenty near Jamie’s left hand. “Two Stella Artois, that so hard?”
Jamie grabbed two bottles from the cooler, and set them in front of the yob and his arm candy. “There you go.” He turned away from the idiots. At least his Friday regulars were blessed with patience and ignored the queue jumpers. Now he could settle into his nightly routine with the usual drinks and faces─
─Until a beautiful stranger entered the Unicorn and Rose. There went another standard Friday…the unexpected temptation adopted a cautious watching post underneath the reproduction Louis Quatorze mirror. She looked overwhelmed, like a visitor from another planet. Clearly this young woman didn’t frequent bars.
It had been a long time since Jamie found any woman attractive. Two years away from dating had passed quickly while he focused upon booze and business plans. Life moved on, and now the pub was open, so his attention could wander down another fresh road.
Jamie looked at his T-shirt: faded red, stretched-to-its-last-thread cotton, with a distinct irregular wet circle just above the navel. At some point the shirt came into contact with a puddle on the bar. That wasn’t presentable; the first intriguing woman to cross his path, and he just decided to wear his crappiest shirt. Maybe he could run into the back and switch…
The stranger moved up to his bar. “I don’t know what brought me here.”
He smiled. “Call us a haven for lost souls.”
“I’m not lost. I just have no idea where I’m supposed to be right now.”
“Doesn’t that mean you’re lost?”
“Fine, the cold brought me in. Is that better?”
“It’s good for business.”
“Cold or hot weather, there’s never a bad time for a pub.”
“Except closing time.”
“That’s actually good, because the staff gets a break.”
She laughed. “Even bartenders need to sleep.”
He grinned. “Bartenders and owners both need their beauty rest.”
The stranger frowned. “I just made a stupid assumption.”
Jamie shrugged. “Understandable, considering my shabby appearance.” He pulled on the raggedy shirt. “Right now I’m a cross between a workman and his lunch.”
“Oh, you’re fine,” she replied with a quick smile and lowered eyes.
Jamie suspected a potential flirtatious undertone in her voice. But any man who automatically suspected every woman thought he was “hot” was a proper arse.
“Is there anything you can recommend?”
“Pardon?”
“I can’t stand here wasting space.”
“How often do you go near alcohol?”
“Rarely.”
“Then I recommend water.”
“That goes against your trade.”
“People who suddenly decide to enter a pub yet hardly drink usually wind up incapacitated.”
The stranger placed her elbows on the slick black bar surface. “You sound like my grandmother.”
“Afraid I’m not quite that old.”
“How old are you?”
“Young enough to be nice, old enough to be naughty.”
The stranger raised her eyebrows. “That’s good?”
“I think so.”
“Well, then it must be true.” She reached her arm across the bar. “Allyson Randolph.”
He smiled again, then grasped her hand. “James Kennan. But I prefer Jamie.”
