Three months ago, on a chilly evening in late autumn, Amelie found herself seated alone at a small table in an upscale French bistro, the soft glow of the candlelight flickering across the crisp white linen tablecloth. She had dressed up for her date, slipping into a slinky black dress that hugged her curves in all the right places, the neckline plunging just low enough to show off the delicate curve of her collarbone. Her long, chestnut hair cascaded down her back in loose, tousled waves, and her full, pouty lips were painted a deep, matte red that matched the rich hue of the wine she sipped delicately from her glass.
As the minutes ticked by and her date failed to materialize, Amelie's patience began to fray at the edges. She checked her phone for the umpteenth time, her brows furrowing in confusion and a hint of growing anger as she realized that he was now over an hour late. With a sigh of frustration, she tossed her phone back into her clutch and signaled the waiter for another glass of the rich, full-bodied Bordeaux she had been nursing.
By the time the waiter returned with her refilled glass, Amelie had made up her mind. She downed the wine in a few quick, angry gulps and tossed a few crumpled euros on the table before striding out of the restaurant, her heels clicking sharply on the polished hardwood floor. She couldn't believe she had fallen for another one of these dating app scams, only to be left high and dry once again. As she pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped out into the chilly night air. With a determined set to her chin, Amelie marched down the street, her heels clicking rapidly on the damp pavement as she made her way towards the nearest bar she knew.
Amelie needed a drink, a strong one, to wash away the bitter taste of rejection and humiliation that coated her tongue. She pushed open the heavy door to a cozy, dimly lit bar tucked away on a quiet side street, and stepped inside. The warm, inviting atmosphere enveloped her immediately, the low murmur of conversation and the soft strains of a jazz piano filling the air. Amelie made her way to the polished mahogany bar, sliding onto a plush velvet stool and signaling the bartender with a curt nod.
"Bonsoir, mademoiselle," the bartender greeted her with a charming smile, his eyes lingering on her curves for just a moment before meeting her gaze. "What can I get for you tonight?" he asked, his tone a low, friendly rumble as he leaned against the polished mahogany bar, awaiting her order.
"Un gin tonic, s'il vous plaît," she requested, her voice a low, slightly husky murmur as she crossed her long, slender legs, the hem of her dress riding up to reveal a tantalizing peek of her creamy thigh. She could feel the eyes of the other patrons on her, could sense their appreciative glances as they took in her stunning beauty, but she paid them no mind. Tonight, she just wanted to lose herself in the numbness of alcohol, to forget the sting of being stood up once again.
As the bartender mixed her drink with practiced efficiency, Amelie leaned forward, resting her elbows on the smooth, polished wood of the bar. "You know," she began, her tone a low, rueful murmur as she watched the liquid swirling in her glass, "I've been stood up tonight. Again," she added, a note of bitter amusement coloring her words. "I don't know what's wrong with men these days. Is it so much to ask for a little respect and punctuality?" she wondered, her brows furrowing slightly as she lifted her glass to her lips, taking a long, fortifying sip of the cool, crisp gin.
The bartender listened to Amelie's lament with a look of sympathetic understanding. "Ah, mademoiselle, I'm sorry to hear that," he commiserated, his voice a low, soothing rumble as he leaned his elbows on the bar, his face inches from hers. "But a man like that doesn't deserve a stunning woman like you," he finished, his eyes roaming appreciatively over her curves before meeting her gaze with a charming, reassuring smile. "Believe me, it's not you. It's them. They don't know what they're missing out on," he said, his tone a low, conspiratorial murmur as he gave her a small, encouraging wink.
Amelie couldn't help but let out a soft, surprised laugh at the bartender's bold words and flirtatious tone. She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, a mischievous glint appearing in her hazel eyes as she leaned in even closer, until she could feel the heat radiating off his skin and catch the subtle, masculine scent of his cologne. "Oh, really?" she asked, her voice a low, playful murmur she took another sip of her gin and tonic, her eyes never leaving his. "And I suppose you would know what they're missing out on, wouldn't you?" she wondered, a note of flirtatious challenge coloring her words.
The bartender chuckled, a deep, rich sound that seemed to rumble through his broad chest. He leaned in closer, his aftershave mingling with the crisp scent of her perfume, the heat of his breath ghosting over the delicate curve of her ear. "I may have an idea or two," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair away from her face, his fingers lingering on the smooth, soft skin of her cheek. "A man would be a fool to let a woman as beautiful and desirable as you slip away," he said, his tone a low, appreciative murmur as his eyes roamed over her face, taking in every detail from the arch of her brows to the full, pouty curve of her lips.
Amelie felt a thrill of excitement course through her at the bartender's bold flirtation, a part of her wishing that he would indeed make a move. She could feel the heat of his gaze on her skin, could sense the raw, masculine energy radiating off of him in waves. A small, breathless laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head, her chestnut waves bouncing with the movement. "You're quite the silver-tongued devil, aren't you?" she teased, her voice a low, breathless murmur as she leaned in closer, her lips just inches from his. "Tell me, do you use that line on all the lonely, rejected women who wander into your bar?" she asked, a note of flirtatious challenge in her voice.
The bartender smirked, a wicked glint in his eye as he leaned in even closer, until Amelie could feel the light stubble of his shaven jaw brushing against the smooth skin of her cheek. "Only the breathtakingly beautiful ones," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive rumble that sent a shiver down Amelie's spine. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, his long fingers curling around the delicate nape of her neck, his thumb brushing over the racing pulse point just below her ear. "And trust me, chérie, you are by far the most stunning woman to grace my bar in a long, long time," he purred, his eyes darkening with a hunger that made Amelie's heart race and her core clench with sudden, unexpected arousal.
Amelie's breath hitched in her throat, her lips parting slightly as she gazed up at the bartender, her eyes wide and shining with a mix of surprise, amusement, and reluctant desire. She could feel the heat of his body, the raw, masculine energy that seemed to emanate from his very pores, and it set her nerve endings alight with a sudden, desperate ache. "You're playing with fire," she warned, her voice a low, breathless murmur as she tilted her chin up, her lips now a mere hairsbreadth away from his. "I'm not some innocent little girl. I know exactly what I want," she said, a note of flirtatious challenge in her tone as she slid her hand up the firm, muscular plane of his chest, her fingers tracing the line of his collarbone through the crisp fabric of his shirt.
The bartender's eyes flashed with a predatory gleam at Amelie's bold words and the teasing touch of her fingers on his chest. A slow, wicked smile spread across his handsome face as he leaned in even closer, until his lips were a mere whisper away from hers. "Is that so?" he murmured, his voice a low, dark rumble that sent a bolt of liquid heat straight to Amelie's core. "And what is it that you want, ma chérie?" he asked, his tone a low, teasing purr as he slid his hand up from the nape of her neck to tangle in the silky strands of her chestnut hair, his fingers curling around the back of her skull to angle her head just so.