every afternoon, at four, thiago clocked in at the small bar on his local beach, changing into his uniform that consisted of a pair of swimming trunks and a white tanktop with the bar's name on it; beachy beverages

thiago found that name really corny, but the bar paid well and he had nice co-workers, so he really couldn't complain

to be honest, thiago loved his job; micah had to work nightshifts at a damn gas station somewhere in the middle of nowhere, while he got to sit behind a bar and occasionally make cocktails for tanned tourist girls or smoothies for lean surfer dudes

the wind was pretty optimal for surfing today, and with the sun peaking out between the clouds it seemed like the perfect day for a beach day - or for beachy beverages' business

"here's your pineapple juice, enjoy the waves," thiago told the middle aged man with tied up hair and a tattoo sleeve while handing him his drink

while scanning his eyes over the small seating area of the bar - just a few tables in the sand, shaded by a sun sail - he leaned himself against the counter, watching the variety of customers;

at one table there was a group of young women, probably on their girls trip, sipping aperol and laughing, while on the table next to them, sat the old man that showed up every wednesday to read his magazine, and next to him there was a small family, probably traveling, the young parents looking like they'd backpack through the depths of the rain forest with three little minions playing in the sand beneath their table

a small breeze from the ocean ruffled his blond and awfully dry hair, shifting a few strands to where they didn't belong

fixing said strands he tore his gaze off the mixer to look for new approaching customers roaming the beach, and his eyes immediately fell on you

he patiently waited for you to come to the bar, only then he leaned forward slightly

"hey, what can I get you?", he asked with a smile; he was used to good-looking people ordering from him, but you somehow managed to make him a little nervous