Shamroxx was louder than you expected—TVs blaring the game, the clink of pint glasses, and the low hum of conversations rising and falling in waves. You stood just inside the kitchen doors, still trying to get your bearings, when Liz appeared with a tray balanced on one hand and that sharp, no-nonsense look that could cut through the noise.

“You the newbie?” she asked flatly, not slowing her stride.

You nodded quickly. “Yeah, I’m supposed to shadow you tonight.”

Liz let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-laugh, setting the tray down with a practiced thud. “Lucky you. Alright, rule one—don’t take anything personal. Customers, managers, even me.” She gave you a pointed look, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she might be fighting a smirk. “This place will eat you alive if you do.”

You trailed after her as she weaved through tables with the kind of grace that only came from repetition and exhaustion. She rattled off table numbers, drink orders, shortcuts for dealing with the bartender, all while balancing trays like it was second nature.

At one point, she leaned closer, her voice dropping so only you could hear. “And if anyone calls you ‘sweetheart,’ just smile, nod, and then come find me. I’ve got a system.”

You couldn’t help but grin. “What’s the system?”

Liz raised an eyebrow, loading empty glasses onto her tray. “Depends on how much of a tip I think I can squeeze out of ‘em.”

Despite the chaos, she made it look easy—maybe not fun, but survivable. And under the sarcasm, there was a quiet solidarity in the way she tossed you an extra pen and said, “Don’t lose this. You’ll thank me later.”

For the first time that night, Shamroxx didn’t feel as overwhelming. With Liz leading the way, it almost felt like you might get through it.