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“Don’t bother talking to the bartender at the Sea and Cellar Bar,” her colleagues had warned. “He’s gorgeous, but he gives off such a bad vibe.”
“‘Cause he’s a former SAS soldier. The elite air service. Counter-terrorism, I heard. Seen serious shit, that’s why he has to sit behind the bar and why he’s missing fingers. He’s done gross shit, I bet. Probably killed people.”
“Why are all the pretty ones so nasty? And why work in a bar? There must be something wrong with him. Alcoholic, I bet.”
“He can basically make any drink you want; like, just say a vibe, and he’ll mix something up.” Cool, cool: that was what made Hange curious enough to venture there after work despite the warnings.
“But yeah, he’s a weirdo. Don’t bother talking to him.” That was a challenge that Hange had accepted.
“He won’t bother talking to you.” But he did.
And the more they talked, the more she learned about him. Weirdo? Kind of. Slightly neurotic? Maybe. But that was expected, given his former job.
He was normal enough for her. Normal enough that his flat was always tidy. One stop away on the tube and decorated tastefully – plants, fluffy rugs, cosy lamps. The towels in his bathroom always smelled good, like crisp cut roses. His bedsheets like late summer lavender.
Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. She tilted her head to get a better view of him. He was so fucking good to look at like this. Sweat glistening over the scars on his body. Hair plastered to his forehead. Rosy red in the right places. What did his past matter? He was muscles and gorgeous and she couldn’t think straight. Nice nose, perfect lips, like a fucking angel if you looked past the frown. Who cared that he didn’t smile? Who cared about the bad knee and missing fingers?
She reached out, eyes heavy. He hadn’t even bothered to take off his shirt tonight. Her fingertips pushed at the hem. She grazed his abdomen, slick with sweat, following the hair until it reached where his body joined with hers. He was going so hard that his whole body rocked, and the shirt flapped pathetically. It was almost too much, but he’d asked what she wanted, and this was it. Hard and hot, so she could forget everything.
He wasn’t weird at all. You just had to get to know him.
“You did well today,” Erwin said, coming up from the cellar, folder in hand. “Let’s see what kind of review this critic publishes next week.”
“Hmm,” Levi mumbled from his seat behind the bar. “See you tomorrow?”
Erwin checked his watch as he manoeuvred into his coat. “Yeah, sorry to go so quickly. Night tube’s got funny hours this week.” He scanned the bar, searching all the dark corners. “No one’s here, so don’t stay up. Or…” he grinned. “Are you waiting for her?”
Levi rolled his eyes. “Just go.”
Erwin turned the ‘open’ sign on the front door around so that the bar was officially closed, then he left, but not without a tiny snort, into the damp, rainy night.
Finally. He was alone. Levi turned off the dull music, dimmed the lights, then carefully wiped down the bar surface. Gently, he aligned the liquor bottles behind the counter perfectly straight. He liked when their edges lined up squarely and the light from the low-hanging sconces shone through the coloured glass. It was like a shelf of rich jewels.
In his solitude, he let himself limp. He pottered around the bar, tucked in every stool, wiped down every table. He had half a mind to start mopping, but as the grandfather clock struck midnight, he stopped. She’d be here soon. It was time to make her a drink.
It wasn’t hard to predict what mood she’d be in – she was always tense and stressed when she finished working this late. Digestifs were typically welcome after a long day of work; the sweet kind, a dessert to wash down whatever shitty takeaway she’d wolfed down at work.
He perched on the stool to rest his leg and ran his fingers along the jewel bottles. Which digestif for tonight? What would she fancy? Learning her flavour profile had taken a few weeks. The fact that she liked the outdoors dominated it – not flowers and beaches but hiking and camping. Soggy wet woodlands, dried mud on walking boots, the smell of sudden rain on parched concrete roads. If she ever invited him on such a trip, he’d probably turn her down. His fucking leg wouldn’t let him go very far anyway.
Or actually, he could try it just once. She’d probably be patient enough to let him go at his own pace. It could be fun.
Levi pulled out an Italian liqueur, infused with fennel and pine. Not unusual, but the herbal notes sang to her outdoorsy spirit. She had mentioned once that her favourite part of Christmas was decorating a real Christmas tree, and she wished she had the space in her tiny flat for one now. He popped the lid off, then paused.
The rain, the chill, it was halfway to payday and also a Wednesday. Midweek shittiness. Maybe less alcohol? She did say last night that she was exhausted over managing a new team. So maybe no alcohol and something to nurture sleep instead. He put the Italian liqueur back on the shelf.
“Thank god you’re still here.” She burst in a few minutes later despite the sign on the door reading ‘closed.’ The wind had churned her hair, and her glasses were rain-streaked. “I’ve had a shit–”
“A shit day?” Levi asked.
“Yeah.” She plonked on the barstool across the counter from him, swiped the rain off her glasses, then spotted the mug waiting for her. Her face cracked a grin. She picked up the drink, complete with a mound of whipped cream. “Ooh, is this hot chocolate?”
Levi remained quiet, eyes fixed on her, waiting for that first sip.
She took it. A quick purse of the lips. Her glasses steamed, so he couldn’t see her raw reaction. He tensed, his hand balling on his bad knee. The anticipation to see if someone liked his drinks did this to him. Hange especially so.
As the silence grew, so did his nerves. The low lighting drew out the flush on her cheeks, the droplets of rain still on her hair. Gradually, the condensation cleared from her glasses. Her eyes were closed. Content? Then she breathed a low sigh.
“Hmm, chocolate and cherry. Did you use real chocolate?”
He nodded. A thrill shocking through his spine at her satisfaction.
She smiled. “A kind of cherry liqueur?”
He shook his head. “Juice and syrup. Non-alcoholic.”
“There was something else in there, though.”
“I used lemongrass chocolate.”
“Ooh, I knew there was something different in there! I love it!”
He knew she would.
“So, tell me about your day?” she said after another hearty sip. “Did that reviewer stop by earlier?”
He didn’t really want to talk about it, but she was eager to hear. She always asked about his day like this. It wasn’t small talk; she actually cared to know. So, he told her all about the silly, bright-eyed reviewer. He wasn’t even paying attention to what was coming out of his mouth. He just spoke and trusted that she listened.
Somewhere during his monologue, the tip of her long nose had become smeared with whipped cream. She didn’t notice. He battled in his head whether or not he should reach out and wipe it off. His hands had been all over her, his tongue had traced over her hot skin, his fingers drawn out inside of her… but wiping food off her nose? That shit was too cliché.
“Well, I can’t wait to read the review,” she said. “And I’m glad that your work is going better than mine.” She laughed under her breath. “I’m tired of these late nights. I keep having to hand hold my new colleague.” She shook her head, yawning. “I feel like shit. Don’t want to trek all the way back home.”
“Well, you know you’ve always got a place to sleep at mine,” he said.
Of course she knew that. It’s where she slept half the week.
“Thanks, Levi, you know I appreciate it.” She paused for a moment, eyes on the counter. “Think I’ll take you up on that offer tonight, if that’s alright?”
Of course it was alright. He reached out and wiped the cream off her nose. She smiled. He wouldn’t want her getting the tube at this hour, going all the way across London on her own. It made perfect sense that she came back to his.
And she did. She yawned and dozed on the ride to his place, but she wasn’t so tired when they arrived.
He didn’t get the chance to turn on the light. He kissed her urgently, tasting chocolate cherry, and she responded feverishly, stumbling in the dark towards his bedroom. Like they were younger than their years and their chemistry was unbearable, like they were married for a hundred years and no other could compare.
He pulled away for a second to turn on the lamp.
“Hurry up.” She fell onto his bed, breathless, pulling off her trousers. “I’ve been waiting for this all day.”
So had he. His fingers lagged behind his brain as he unbuckled his belt. The phantom feeling of his missing fingers didn’t help either.
“Quick.”
Her heavy breathing triggered something in his brain. That thrill. He whipped his belt off and slid his trousers down. Ah. He forgot he had his knee brace on.
“Your knee okay?” Hange whispered when she saw him freeze.
“Might keep it on, if that’s okay?” It was playing up but didn’t affect his ability to thrust. He was fine.
“Yes, Levi.” She sat up, resting on her elbows. The lamplight did that thing he loved, turning her skin into smooth honey, and all he craved was feeling it. She hummed. “Get the protection.”
He knelt on the bed and crawled towards the bedside drawers, slowly, in the hope that he looked seductive and wasn’t desperately avoiding hurting himself. He grabbed a condom and went back to her, kneeling above her as he slid it on.
She sat up, eye to eye with his chest. “You forgot your shirt again,” she whispered. “I don’t mind if you keep it on, but…” Her deft fingers wove through the buttons with ease, removing the shirt and exposing him fully. “I kind of like the view.”
Her hands glided over his chest, over his scars. He relished the feeling. “Sorry to skip foreplay,” she snorted. “I just get so…” Her eyes settled on his.
Softly, he pushed her down. With care, he straightened his legs and positioned himself between hers.
“What do you want?” he whispered in her ear, running his two fingers through her hair. He always asked, even though he knew what she liked. This was different from making her a drink. He didn’t want to take any chances.
“I want you like this.” She pulled him down so his body was flush against her. They kissed. Relaxed and at ease with each other. He’d never had such warm familiarity with someone like this. Sometimes they were soft, other times hard and fast. Tonight, she needed his comfort. He pushed in gently, and she relaxed into the sheets with that content sigh he couldn’t get enough of.
“‘Tucked away in the ribs of the city high rises, the Sea and Cellar is easy to miss but hard to beat. Former SAS soldier Erwin Smith traded leading dangerous rescue missions abroad and teamed up with ex-colleague Levi Ackerman to offer a warm retreat from the glass and steel of London life. Levi is the magician behind the counter. A face like an angel but stuck in a perpetual frown, don’t be fooled by the man’s demeanour – he makes a mean drink.’”
Hange guffawed, the magazine right at her nose. “Angel face. I see it.”
“Please, do go on, extend my suffering,” Levi rolled his eyes and turned his back to her, skimming along the shelf of drinks for the right spirit to mix with the measure of rose petal gin already waiting in his brass cocktail shaker.
“‘It’s rare to highlight bartenders, but something has to be said when fresh talent appears. We were greeted by Erwin and seated in a cosy corner by a wooden bookcase laden with dusty tomes, lit by old-fashioned sconces. The menu boasted a selection from local breweries and distilleries, no- and low- alcohol spirits, and a snack menu with bar grub more refined than the usual. Snacking cheese, anyone? But then, Erwin offered something unusual.’”
“Ooh, building the tension,” Hange mocked.
Levi selected a delicate white Crème de Cacao and poured it into the shaker, then topped it off with a splash of fresh cream and two ice cubes.
“‘It was a gimmick we’d seen before. A bartender who could mix us something on the spot, no questions asked. What better way to test a new bar than this? We were pleasantly surprised by what he delivered. Somehow, he ascertained that we had travelled to Mexico last year and served a delightful tequila-and-mezcal-based concoction.’ How did you guess that?”
Levi snorted. “He had a Mexican flag sticker on his phone. Sometimes, it’s not that hard.”
Hange giggled, then continued. “‘Forced to sit behind the bar due to an old army injury, Levi does away with theatrics – there was no smoke, no melting chocolate, no bells and whistles, just spirits and liquid in the right glass.’”
Levi appreciated that part. Fuck the theatrics.
“‘Humble talents are well received. And although we’re beyond the days of Craddock, Coley, and Degroff, Smith and Ackerman give them a run for their money.’”
“Who are all those people?” Hange said, finally putting the godforsaken magazine down.
“Mixologists.”
“Do you like them?” she asked.
“Well, yes. Henry Craddock in particular. One of the great mixologists of the modern era,” Levi said, finishing the drink with a single drop of ruby red grenadine. “Half the cocktails in the world were invented by him.”
“Oh, really? I didn’t realise that cocktails were like, invented. Just thought they were always around.”
“Hmm.” Levi shook the shaker, relishing in the sound of the ice cubes as they twanged against the sides. He then poured the now pale pink liquid into a shapely balloon glass. Ensuring the sides were clean, he slid it across the counter so it was next to the other drink he had made.
Hange started spinning on the bar stool. “Okay, Levi. Riddle me this.”
“What?”
“I’ve known you, what, four months?”
“Seven.”
“Oh wow, time flies. Well, anyway, I’ve wondered what, why, when, and how on earth a man like you ended up in a job like this?”
Levi flushed. He tutted. “Huh?”
“I mean, you don’t even drink that much. Actually, I’ve never seen you have one of your own drinks.”
“So? Because I work in a bar, I’m supposed to get drunk every night?” He laughed. “Does that mean a doctor is supposed to get sick? It’s my job. Why does anyone do a job? It’s just some shit we all fall into.”
Hange looked to the ceiling, musing. The low lights glistened in her glasses, making her look weirdly angelic. “Well, I didn’t ‘fall’ into my work. I worked hard to get here. I worked so hard that I didn’t have time for a life. I mean, look at me: I’m almost 40, single, living in a shit flat, and I spend all my nights here with you.” She stopped spinning in the chair and met Levi’s eyes. “But I love my line of work.”
He scoffed. How was he supposed to tell Hange that he was medically discharged from army service and just wanted meaning in his life? That, somehow, he found it helping Erwin in his shitty new venture, serving over-tired bankers nightcaps and rich twenty-somethings party drinks?
It wasn’t getting people drunk that he liked. It was reading people. Figuring out what made them tick and putting it into a glass. Granting them a short respite from their lives in the form of a drink that was made just for them. A highlight to their night, or simply blending into the background of it.
But he wasn’t sure how to put that into words. “Well. A couple of years ago, I was a captain who got his platoon killed.” He nodded over his shoulder to where Erwin was in the backroom. “My general lost his arm in the aftermath, and we all got shipped home. Erwin’s weird like you and couldn’t just take the therapy and sit still. He had to do something. That’s how this bar started. My uncle gave me a cocktail recipe book before he kicked the bucket, so I figured, why not?”
She stilled, her mouth a perfect ‘o’.
“Anyway, are you done intruding on my personal life with dumb questions?”
She snorted and leaned on the bar, chin in hand. “So we’re allowed to put our mouths on each other’s genitalia, but you think a simple question is ‘intruding on your personal life?’ Damn, Levi, I thought we had something.”
He immediately reddened. “Shut up, Four Eyes, or I’ll bar you.”
A grin cracked over her face. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Levi ignored her teasing. He gestured to the two drinks glistening in front of him. “Okay, I need you to concentrate now.”
She straightened her back, her face serious. The reviewer, as kind as he was, had been so impressed by the bar and Levi’s drinks that he was eager for more to write about. He was coming back in a week, and this time, he wanted to see what Levi could do with preparation. The challenge: three custom cocktails that reflected himself.
Not one to turn down a challenge, Erwin accepted on Levi’s behalf.
Hange put her palms on the bar, happy to help. “Okay, what am I looking at?”
“Got that same reviewer coming back in a couple of weeks. He wants me to do what I do for customers… for myself. Three drinks. I just need you to try these two and tell me what you think.”
She pushed her glasses up her nose and lowered down to the countertop. “You mean, if you were to come to the bar as a customer, what would you make that suits you?”
“Yes. Can you just try them? It’s not that deep.”
Running her fingers up the stem of the balloon glass, she picked it up elegantly, like it was the most important task she’d ever done. Her lips touched the rim. She made eye contact.
“Just drink it.” Levi rolled his eyes. She did. Then placed the glass down. Levi’s bad leg started dancing with nerves. That stupid anticipation that he couldn’t shake.
“It was good. I enjoyed it. It was like… a Turkish delight milkshake.”
His stomach fell at that. Not that it wasn’t valid, she obviously didn’t have perfect technical vocabulary, but it wasn’t quite what he was trying to capture. He’d modelled the drink off the memory of his mother. The rose hand cream she’d used. The Victoria sponges she’d baked with strawberry rose jam. The times she’d bought bouquets of petrol station roses, pink, yellow and orange.
“Hmm…”
“What?”
“I’m just trying to figure out what part of your personality this reflects. Or like, is this how you see yourself? Rosy?”
It had been years since Levi had found safety in someone. Beyond Erwin, beyond the battlefield, beyond the blood and tears and fear. This strange person that he felt safe enough to invite back to his bed, to show his scars to. He didn’t need to worry about what she thought.
“Not me. My mother. I still think about her when I smell roses.”
Her mouth turned into that small ‘o’ again. “You’ve never mentioned her. Do you see her often?”
“She’s dead.”
This time, her mouth cracked into a laugh. “Oh god, walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
Hange tried the next drink, smacking her lips as she considered it. “I know this one, is it an Old Fashioned?”
“Sort of. I made a few tweaks. What do you think?”
“It’s nice and sweet, but then you get the whiskey kick, and it’s bitter. And there’s something else in it, too. It reminds of like, late nights in a pub. I’m thinking this one’s inspired by an older male relative, perhaps. Or maybe a mentor of some kind.”
Uncle Kenny’s drink. Hit the nail on the head.
Hange continued sipping. “This drink doesn’t feel very you, though. It’s all leathery. Is that what you’re doing then, going through everyone in your life? So you don’t plan on making a drink that’s truly just… you?”
His eyes pricked up; she was staring at him, intensely. No, he wasn’t going to make a drink that was just ‘him’.
“How many are you planning on mixing?” she asked.
“One more,” he said.
“And what, do you think you’ll do it based on someone else in your life, or will it actually be you?”
And that was where he had hit a wall. Before he could think of a reply, the door to the back room opened. Erwin appeared wrapped in his coat.
“Oh, hello. Nice to see you again, Hange. I hope Levi’s not charging you,” he said completely sincerely.
She laughed. “I’m being his taste tester tonight. Congrats on the good review, by the way.”
“We dedicate ourselves to service. You good to lock up, Levi? Don’t stay too late, get some rest.”
A strange silence hung between them when he left.
Avoiding making eye contact, Hange swilled the rest of Kenny’s cocktail, then knocked it back.
“I better go, too,” she said, quietly. “I haven’t been home for more than five minutes this week. My bed’s missing me.”
Levi perked up, readying his usual script that ensured they spent the night together, but she swivelled round the bar stool and hopped off before he could. “There’s loads of stuff going on at work, so I might not see you much next week,” she said. She pulled on her own coat tightly, chin tucked close. “Good luck with making that last drink, I hope you find someone for inspiration!”
Hange was one who kept her word. She didn’t show up at the bar all week.
It was humbling in a way. He got so used to waiting for her at the bar, had adjusted to having her in his life, serving her drinks, falling asleep next to her, that he was perplexed at the space she left when she wasn’t there. What even was this feeling? Did he miss her? Whatever it was didn’t matter. He reverted to being the sour-tempered bartender with the missing fingers and bad leg.
Did he care? Not really. It was funny to see groups of people cautiously approaching the bar for their weekday post-work drinks. He knew what they were all thinking – they just wanted a fun, personalised drink from the bartender, but he looks like he’s going to bite their fucking heads off. What did that review write about him again? Face like a fucking angel? Humiliating.
And the week was made all the more worse as he couldn’t conjure up the final cocktail for the shitty reviewer. He tried to draw inspiration from people in his life: old friends, old colleagues – dead and alive – even Erwin, and while the feelings were strong enough to inspire new drinks, none of them felt good enough to present for critique.
Hange’s point stuck in his brain like cement. He couldn’t just do something based on himself. He didn’t know what he was. His life had been pieced together by other people, how he beheld them and how they shaped him. And that pissed him off because then he’d start thinking about Hange. About her laugh, her eyes, her energy. That safety she offered him when they were alone in this bar and in his bed.
And then she came into the bar at the end of the week on a Friday night.
But she didn’t even come up to order. The man accompanying her did.
“What you got on tap?” he asked.
Levi raised a brow and folded his arms.
The man scratched his head, oblivious.
Who the fuck was he? A colleague? A date? Whoever it was clearly didn’t know about this bar’s selling point, and Hange clearly hadn’t told him either.
“Er, just whatever’s on tap for me, and just a G and T for my colleague.”
That was a relief. Probably the shitty colleague she had told him about. He pulled a beer for the man and poured a dry gin for her. He stared at the clear liquid, swilling it around. Ordering a drink like that for someone like her? It was laughable. No. He wouldn’t be dishonouring himself serving her a boring drink; it would be a dishonour to her. Not when he knew her inside out.
Levi spun on his stool and faced the jewelled drink wall, scanning urgently. He’d already poured the gin, so he didn’t want to waste it. A warm amber bottle caught his eye, so he lunged for it. A smooth, oak-aged brandy. Mind whirring, he selected another brandy; its apple and pear notes would complement the spritely juniper gin. Like Hange on one of her woodland walks, the leaf-littered path adorned with fallen apples. Botanical and fruity. That would work. It was a Henry Craddock classic – the Angel Face.
“Oh, excuse me, sorry, I ordered a G and T, not whatever this is,” the man said.
Time to make use of his so-called grumpy face. Levi said nothing, just slid the card machine out.
A flush filled the man’s face. He paid for the drinks and slunk back to the table in the corner by the bookcase where Hange waited, her back to Levi and the rest of the bar.
Levi sat, letting the buzz of chatter wash over him, watching intently. The man passed Hange the glass. Levi squinted, only seeing her profile. Her cheeks raised in a smile as she took in the soft amber drink before her. She would be a fool to think he wouldn’t make something special for her.
The anticipation crept into him. He tapped his fingers, watching and waiting as she brought the glass to her lips. Her cheeks only lifted higher after that first sip. She turned, finding him across the bar.
A smile so bright, a face full of delight. She raised her glass to Levi and winked.
“‘It’s always a thrill to visit Sea and Cellar and be served by Mr. Smith and Mr. Ackerman.’ Hmm, it sure is a delight to be served by Mr. Ackerman indeed,” Hange giggled and smacked Levi’s head with the magazine.
He raised his head from between her legs. “Are you going to read me my review or what?”
Levi put his mouth back to work.
Doing her best to ignore the increasingly intense sensations, she continued reading. “Blah blah blah, something about Erwin’s one arm… okay here we go. ‘It’s like magic watching him work. He threw together three drinks, each representing a deeper side to him. The Rosehopper was his take on the famous Grasshopper cocktail. As the name suggests, it was an uplifting floral bouquet that took us back to our childhoods. A rosy concoction that would surely have Edmund selling out his siblings for another trip to Narnia.’”
Hange’s hips bucked slightly as Levi’s tongue persisted. She threw her head back on the bed, took a shaky breath, and read on. “‘Nothing quite beats an Old Fashioned, but again, Ackerman’s version was tweaked to invoke a smoky den with a hint of tobacco and –’ fuck, Levi.”
A shock of pleasure. He was using his fingers now, too. Her body straightened, and then she twisted, abandoning the magazine as she flung her arm across his bed. Her head turned, her nose buried in his lavender sheets as the pressure built and built until she couldn’t stay silent anymore. Guess she had missed him in the week they’d been apart.
He rested his head on her inner thigh, waiting for her to catch her breath. They stayed like that for a moment, simmering in the quiet, filled with just their breaths.
She fumbled around for the magazine – she had thrown it further than she thought – her voice trembling but constant as she read.
“‘The third drink was a pleasant surprise. A famous if not less popular cocktail: the Angel Face. A classic for veteran bartenders, the crisp apple notes bit through the smooth brandy, proving to be a wonderful warming drink, uplifting when the weather is this dull and grey.’ Hmm that sounds nice. Have you made me something like that before?”
He didn’t answer straight away but traced his fingers over her thigh, relishing in the goosebumps he left behind on her skin. “Probably. I’ve made loads of shit for you.”
“Hmm..” Hange peered down her body and watched him, so at ease with her. She cleared her throat and continued. “‘Speaking to Levi, we learnt that his cocktails were not direct reflections of himself, but inspired by the people that shaped his life; his mother’s love for roses and his uncle’s favourite cigarettes. Although he didn’t reveal who exactly inspired The Angel Face, they are no doubt the apple of his eye.’”