Chapter 4 Hannah
Hannah
When I agreed to come in early, I had no idea that I would watch Victoria Blackstone swan dive without a parachute, trusting a net would appear.
Then a guy with a man-bun and tattoos climbed up the steps, mouthing ‘I love you’ as she sobbed into the mic. He crossed the stage, cupped her face, kissed her forehead with a tenderness that made my knees go weak.
I leaned hard against the bar, forgetting every drink order on the rail.
My ex Sebastian used to talk about Victoria Blackstone like she was the template for corporate feminine perfection, flawless and untouchable.
Why can’t you be more like Victoria Blackstone?
he’d ask when I got emotional about work, when I cried after the partners ignored my reports, when I couldn’t just move on like nothing mattered.
Sebastian never would’ve risked looking foolish for love. Hell, when I told him I was moving out, he’d said, “You’re throwing away the best thing you’ve ever had.”
He never asked me to stay. Never apologized.
And here was the woman Sebastian held up as the ideal, choosing to break. Trusting she would be caught so publicly, so gently.
What would it be like to be loved like that?
The final chords faded out, meeting reverent applause. Victoria and Cruz slipped off the stage in a quiet tangle of soft smiles and whispered promises.
I exhaled, gripping the bar, and caught movement at the other end.
Connor standing still in the chaos, eyes fixed on the stage, jaw tight. A silent wipe beneath one eye.
And when he caught me watching him, he blinked like he’d been underwater.
We stared at each other, like we were the only two people in the bar who understood what we’d just witnessed.
I set a clean napkin on the bar, close enough for him to take but far enough not to assume.
He looked down, nodded once, took the napkin and blotted his glassy eyes.
I quickly mixed a drink and placed it in front of him. He didn’t smile, but one corner of his mouth tugged up like he wanted to.
Then he took a sip, and let out a breath like it unraveled something in his chest.
I leaned on the bar. “Must be weird, seeing her let her guard down.”
He looked down at the glass, thumb brushing the condensation. “She’s had a hell of a year. We both have.”
I paused. Did he want me to ask? Was this one of those 'unload your problems on the bartender' situations?
“Connor!” Victoria yelled from a table near the stage, waving him over.
He lifted the glass in gratitude and crossed the room.
Cruz slapped him on the back and Victoria threw her arms around his shoulders, pulling him tight.
When she released him, she took a sip of his drink and sighed in appreciation.
The happy couple left, and Connor sat at the table with their other friends—two women and a man.
Then someone hollered for a beer and I focused on work. Drink orders flew in from all sides, beer taps hissed, wine bottles clanged. The customers returned to their half-hearted debates and half-eaten wings.
The constant motion was a balm on my nerves. Here, nobody was questioning my life decisions or value to the company. Nobody cared who I was as long as I could mix a mojito. I reveled in the constant demand, shrouded by anonymity.
But my thoughts kept drifting back to Connor. Wondering what his year had been like, what had left that haunted expression in his eyes.
Later that night, I found him nearby, elbows leaning on the polished bar, tie tucked into his coat pocket, hair mussed just enough to look like it might be soft underneath all that precision. “Can I close my tab?”
I dried my hands on a towel, leaned over the register. He signed the slip, his pen hovering over the check presenter before sliding it back, then slung his suit jacket over one arm.
“I should go,” he said. “Long day. Longer week.”
I nodded, my lips parting like I was going to say something.
Don't go yet. Talk to me while I close. I’ll make you something on the house. Let me find out if you’re always as careful as you seem, or if tonight rattled something loose in you.
“Sleep well, Connor,” I said instead.
He held my gaze a moment too long. “Thanks again for the perfect drink, Goldilocks.”
Then he walked out and I turned back to the bar, wondering if I’d ever see him again, or how often anyone saw the version of him I saw tonight—unguarded, uncertain, real.
And what it meant that I wanted to.