A Chance Encounter

REBECCA

I jumped off the bus just after half past five, weaving my way through Seattle’s streets toward Carmine’s Café. Marco and I had been together for two to three years, and this had always been his go-to spot for a quick pick-me-up. The kind of place that smelled like roasted beans and cinnamon rolls, where the baristas knew his order without needing to ask.

The plan had been simple: an hour together before my shift at Gustav’s, just the two of us. Nothing extravagant, nothing complicated.

Just time.

Lately, however, we’ve been seeing less of each other due to his work schedule, and this was our time to reconnect.

Time was the rarest thing between us.

I had been looking forward to it all day, hence the spring in my step, the small smile tugging at my lips as I imagined sliding into the worn leather booth across from him, watching him pretend not to check his phone every three minutes, then softening as he finally met my eyes.

But, just as I stepped onto the sidewalk, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out, thumb swiping over the screen.

Marco: Hey, babe. Something came up at work. Won’t make it tonight. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.

I stopped mid-step.

I stared at the message for a second. The excitement simmering in my chest flickering and fading like a fire doused with cold water. My lips parted, then pressed together again as the words sank in.

Marco worked in finance, and his schedule was relentless. I had learned, over time, that his world was different—high-powered meetings, networking events that seemed more important than having dinner with me. Obligations that stretched far beyond anything I could relate to.

I wasn’t mad. Not really.

Just... disappointed.

Sighing, I tucked my phone into my back pocket and continued walking slower this time, the lively hum of the city filling the space where anticipation had once been.

Seattle buzzed with its usual rhythm. Laughter spilling from open doorways, the scent of roasted coffee and rain-damp pavements curling into the air. The early evening sky was a muted grey, mirroring my emotions.

The city's heartbeat thrummed beneath my feet, steady but unrelenting.

As I walked my curly, copper-brown hair bounced with each step. Normally that spring felt like part of me—playful, full of quiet energy. Tonight though the eagerness I'd felt earlier had long since dulled, fading into something quieter, heavier.

The fitted pink T-shirt and dark blue jeans I wore hugged my curves just right, their softness a contrast against my warm brown skin usually making me feel confident. But tonight, it was just fabric. Just another layer between me and the world.

Ahead, the café’s neon sign flickered—mocking, a whisper of what was supposed to be. A place meant for two, now just for one. The weight of that fact settled in, pressing against my ribs.

I hesitated.

A beat.

One breath.

Then, I turned in the opposite direction.

There was no point in waiting.

I still had time before work. Might as well keep moving.

The city carried on—oblivious, indifferent. A street vendor called out as I passed, his table overflowing with handcrafted jewellery, each delicate piece catching in the glow of the streetlights. I lingered for a second, fingers brushing over a silver ring shaped like twisted vines. Too delicate for the way I lived. Too impractical for bar shifts and late nights.

Another vendor waved a steaming carton of grilled skewers under a passer-by's nose, the aroma thick with spices. It tangled with the crisp scent of rain-soaked pavement, sharp and comforting all at once. My stomach tightened, though I wasn’t sure if it was hunger or something else entirely.

I inhaled deeply, savouring the way everything blended—the sharp bite of sizzling meat, the hum of traffic, the static energy of people moving about their evening. Seattle felt alive.

And yet, here I was, adrift.

Seattle’s rhythm pressed on, steady and indifferent, but my pulse had slowed, lagging behind. Each footstep felt deliberate, as if it were dragging against the weight of something unresolved.

I turned the corner onto 3rd Avenue, passing storefronts with glowing window displays—bookshops, bakeries, and boutiques with carefully arranged outfits on mannequins that stood poised and unbothered. Their stillness contrasted with the constant movement around them. I envied that—being untouched by disappointment, immune to the chaos of a shift in plans.

My reflection glanced back at me from the glass of a boutique window. Brown skin, soft but shadowed with fatigue. Hair wild but tamed enough for public. Eyes carrying just enough brightness to hide the dull ache behind them. I tilted my head, studying her for a beat before looking away.

One thing about this city, it had a way of pulling you along whether you were ready or not. And tonight I allowed it to.

I turned the corner onto 3rd Avenue, passing storefronts with glowing window displays—bookshops, bakeries, and boutiques with carefully arranged outfits on mannequins that stood poised and unbothered. Their stillness contrasted with the movement around them. I envied that—being untouched by the chaos of a shifting evening.

I allowed the city to draw me in, the glowing neon sign illuminating my path. Gustav’s Bar and Grill came into focus, a faint hum of music drifting from an open window, its warm glow spilling onto the pavement—laughter, the clink of glasses, and soft music intertwining beneath it all. Gustav’s. Home, in a way very few places were.

Pushing through the double doors, I was immediately hit with the familiar mix of sizzling appetisers, rich bourbon, and the faint hint of citrus from freshly mixed cocktails. The space was alive with patrons leaning in close, sharing stories, their laughter bouncing against polished wooden walls. Pendant lights cast a golden warmth across every surface, softening the edges of the day.

Behind the counter, Gustav stood alongside Sian, holding down the fort. His familiar voice called out just as I reached the door.

“Rebecca! You’re early?”

His grin was wide beneath the thick moustache that twitched when he spoke. The bar was his domain—boisterous, alive, demanding. He doubted me once, thought I’d be overwhelmed. But I had proved him wrong. Respect now sat comfortably between us, unspoken but understood.

I stepped inside, rolling my shoulders like I could shake off the weight of earlier.

"Figured I’d come in before my shift, clear my head," I said, slipping behind the bar.

Gustav chuckled, shaking his head. "That’s a first. What’s got you thinking so hard?"

I grabbed a glass, filling it with water instead of something stronger. The chatter from regulars swirled behind me, laughter punctuated by the clatter of ice in metal shakers.

"Nothing important," I murmured, lifting the glass to my lips.

It wasn’t a lie. Not entirely.

Shrugging off my jacket, I hung it in the back before tying my apron around my waist with fluid precision. The routine was a balm. Muscle memory. A rhythm I could depend on.

“So, how’s it looking tonight?” I asked.

Gustav flicked through the reservation notes on his tablet. “Busy. We’ve got a large party coming in soon—five or six of them.”

“Alright.” I smoothed my palms over the bar’s surface, settling into my station. “I think Amanda and I can handle that. Right, Mands?”

“Sure thing,” Mandy called back without looking up, her hands expertly arranging garnishes on a tray. Mandy took shit from nobody—that’s why we clicked immediately.

I glanced around at the rest of the crew. “Who’s on the floor with us tonight?”

“Savannah, Jax, Rose, and Matt.” Gustav set the tablet down with finality. “I’ll be in the back if you need me.”

“Laters,” I called as he disappeared into the office at the back.

The shift was already in motion—bartenders moving in sync, laughter rising and falling, the occasional call for another round. Slipping fully into the bar space, I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, letting the familiarity settle into me.

For the next few hours, nothing pressing. Nothing unresolved. Just the work.

Rolling my sleeves up, I got to work, my hands moving in seamless motion—pouring, shaking, garnishing with a flick of precision. The scent of freshly drawn beer mingled with the crisp citrus zest from a lime twist cocktail. The soft clink of glasses, the murmur of conversations, the steady hum of city life just beyond the door— all of it blended into a rhythm that was almost comforting.

Then came the unmistakable burst of lively chatter near the entrance.

“So, ladies, are we ready for our girls’ weekend to Vegas?”

Melany. I recognized her instantly. Sleek blonde hair twisted into an intricate updo, the gleam of excitement shimmering in her eyes. She’d made the reservation for table seven—a pre-wedding celebration before, as she’d gleefully put it, all the fun began.

I shook my head slightly, amused, as I grabbed a few glasses. This was just the beginning of the night.

Their laughter bubbled over, bright and carefree, as I led them to their table. Their words spilled fast—weekend plans, designer heels, the best places for pre-wedding mani-pedis. The shimmer of highlighter caught the light on sculpted cheekbones, glossy lips curved into confident grins. They looked effortlessly refined, wrapped in dresses that probably cost more than I made in a week, let alone a day.

They were my age. And yet, somehow, they existed in a different universe—one of privilege, of ease. A world I had only ever observed from the side-lines.

A flicker of envy stirred, sharp and unexpected, before settling into familiar detachment. I pushed it down, smoothing my expression into something practised.

They had their world, and I had mine.

I had never belonged there.

But despite everything, I had carved out my own space—my survival.

While they had likely spent their college years in sorority houses and spring break getaways, I had been working double shifts, cramming in online classes when I could, scraping together every last dollar for tuition—a different kind of education. One built on resilience, on grit.

That grit had gotten me here and kept me moving forward.

And that was my greatest strength.

As I slid the first round of cocktails onto their table with steady hands, I had to remind myself of this.