I asked the bartender for a drink I couldn't pronounce. She made it anyway. Then wrote her number on the napkin.
A fumbled drink order. A patient smile. A napkin that changed two lives on a slow Tuesday.
I walked into the bar alone.
Tuesday night. Nearly empty.
She was behind the counter cleaning glasses.
Dark hair. Tattoo on her wrist. A look that said impress me.
I picked up the cocktail menu.
Pointed at something French.
Tried to pronounce it.
Failed spectacularly.
She didn't laugh.
She just tilted her head and said close enough.
Made it from memory. Set it down.
I took a sip.
It was perfect.
I said what is this actually called.
She leaned on the bar and said something I still can't repeat.
I said can you teach me.
She said the drink or the French.
Both.
She smiled.
I stayed until close.
She wiped the bar and slid me a napkin. Her number was on it. Under it she wrote: pronunciation lesson. Thursday.