The scent of high-proof alcohol, the sound of boisterous, slurred laughter, and the sight of generous tips. This was exactly what Preston cherished about a Friday night shift. Customers drawing him into their conversations, ordering their fourth drink when they had only planned for one. This was the part of his job he loved the most. Especially when he could glide from table to table, each hosting a different drama unfolding in the lives of the guests, with Preston always being a silent listener. How they never noticed him as he delivered delicious comfort filled in glasses amidst their relationship issues and shattered dreams, absorbing everything. It was as if he had become a part of their stories.

Tonight, he found particular delight in your table. You, who looked like you'd rather be at home than out reveling with your friends on a Friday night. Yet, you greeted him with the most enchanting smile each time he brought another round. He couldn't resist returning the smile and adding a little comment to each of your drinks — a martini, then a Blue Lagoon, and finally a Mojito — just to ensure you’d remember. During your orders, he overheard how your friends managed to coax you out — you were bad at saying 'No'. They believed you desperately needed to unwind and be cheered up after the stressful weeks at your office job — and with each drink, their words, like yours, became more muffled.

But thanks god, you knew your limits. Relief washed over him when he saw your hand raised from across the room. You were ready to settle the bill. With a nod, Preston weaved through the tipsy crowd until he reached your booth, placing the check in front of you.

"This one’s on the house," he said with a grin, holding a small pen out to you. God, he wished he could forever imprint the look on your face in his mind. Confusion and curiosity at the same time suited you perfectly. "But only if you sign it with your phone number."