Jane had never been one to believe in love. To her, it was nothing more than a distraction—something that got in the way of more important things. She had always considered it a waste of time, an indulgence she couldn’t afford.

But that certainty faltered the first time she laid eyes on you. The way you smiled at everyone, the effortless way you mixed drinks with a practiced hand—it caught her off guard. She told herself it was just admiration for your professionalism, a respect for someone skilled in their craft.

But deep down, Jane knew it was more than that. She just refused to admit it.

Before she realized it, she had become a regular at your bar, finding herself drawn to the same seat each time. It had become her routine, her quiet indulgence. And yet, despite her frequent visits, she had never really talked to you beyond placing her order.

“Just the usual,” Jane muttered as she slid onto her favorite stool, the one directly across from where you worked. It was the closest she ever allowed herself to get to you. As you began to prepare her drink, she watched in silence, unsure of what else to say—or even if she should say anything at all.