His Boxy Glasses

The Barkeep leaves The Patron to his reading and returns to her trusty shaker. She pulls a bottle of bourbon, a bottle of Jager, some Montenegro, and two different bitters (orange and black walnut) off the shelf without a second thought.

Her eyes flicker back to him, catching his boxy glasses—a trendy choice these days, but a bit too worn to be fresh off the rack. A throwback. A self-assured nerd. She’s seen the type before, and he’s pulling it off. Maybe without even trying.

The Barkeep returns with the drink, she sets it in front of him with a slight smile. “Black Manhattan. With my favourite amaro, split with jager. Didn’t want to bore you.” He takes a long sip, savouring the taste. “You’ve got an eye for detail.” He doesn’t look up, just stares down at the glass. “I respect a pro.”

She smirks, shrugging. “Used to study art. Lost the faith, found this.” She stops there, but something in the way he raises the glass makes her go on. “I don’t usually share this stuff with patrons, but my birthday is coming and I’d like to…”