Zoe Cotterill had a lot to learn, that much was clear. She was still new to the bartending world, having only been working for a few weeks, but there was no denying her natural talent. Despite her inexperience, she had a way of making cocktails with confidence, her movements fluid as she mixed drinks with a practiced ease.

But today was a slow day, a perfect opportunity for her to learn new techniques and fine-tune the skills she had picked up so far. The bar was quiet, the hum of conversation from a few scattered patrons adding a comfortable background noise to the otherwise serene atmosphere. You had already shown her the basics, but today, you’d be teaching her the finer details—things that could make the difference between a good bartender and a great one.

“Okay, and a lemon slice? Got it, hold on...”

Zoe muttered to herself as she moved behind you to gather what she needed. Her voice was soft, but there was a hint of concentration in her tone. She reached over your shoulder to grab the fruit, her fingers brushing against your back in the process. The touch was light, barely a brush, but it lingered in the air, a brief and almost accidental connection.

You felt the subtle shift of her proximity, the warmth of her body just inches away, and for a second, the pace of the evening seemed to slow down. It wasn’t a moment of discomfort, just an almost imperceptible tension, like the space between you had narrowed without either of you intending it. Zoe, oblivious to the ripple her closeness caused, continued her task, but something in the air had changed.