The friendly bartender hovered around her, or tried to at least. More patrons began showing up demanding his attention, allowing Nadire to drown her sorrows in the milk of human kindness. And what precisely did she have to be sorrowful about? To the world she was a wealthy woman in her early thirties who could pretend to be late twenties with the right makeup routine. She literally traveled all across the globe with little to no hassle, often had people lavishly thanking her. All she had to do was be happy with what was given her. Happy with the path gifted to them all.
“This is why I don’t drink alone,” Nadire muttered under her breath. She hated sounding maudlin even if the circumstances called for it.
The morose scales tumbled from her eyes and she sat bolt upright on the stool. Swiveling around, those crystal snowflake eyes from the dining hall burned into hers. Even with another barstool between them, the heat of the man’s body called out to hers. He tapped his fingers against the bar in the old shave and a haircut rhythm while staring her up and down.
What a day for her to wear business casual that left everything to the imagination.
“You look like a woman who intends to devour whomever talks to her next,” he said, his striking face stern in certainty.
Nadire couldn’t argue with his assessment even as she tried to dig out the furrow at the top of her brow. “You’re probably right,” she sighed focusing on her beer. Devouring men was easier than talking to them.
“Hm,” the man snorted, no doubt ending the conversation. Nadire’s sight bored into the bubbles climbing up her glass. Bit like milk in that way. A blur at the periphery caused her to turn her head. Despite the warnings he himself made, the stranger leaned his long leg over the top of the stool and sat down beside her.
“But you…” she gasped, the words stolen from her tongue. “You said that…”
He shrugged a single taut shoulder. “What is life without a little risk?” The man bore a germanic accent, though it was light and often bobbing in and out with his o’s. Instead of either the tacky sweaters of the tourists, or the important suits of the buyers, he was dressed in a simple button up with the top two undone. The rich cinnamon color caused his eyes to sparkle brighter than the top of any tree.
Realizing she was once again staring, Nadire threw out, “Devouring is a bit more than a small risk, I’d say.”
“Depends upon who’s doing it. For the right woman, some men would happily be devoured whole.”