Beneath Her Depth

Gentleman

Eliana’s POV

Enjoying her drink like a happy kid with a new favorite toy, Eliana can’t help the subtle smile tugging at her lips. Deep inside, she celebrates.

Across the counter, Rence is busy with his work—eyes sharp, hands smooth and precise. Her smile grows slightly at the thought.

“Such an attentive man.” She rests her chin on her palm, her thoughts trailing. “No wonder they’re all drawn to him—especially her.”

Her gaze shifts toward the woman sitting at the far end of the bar. There’s a softness in her demeanor that makes her look out of place here. Too polished. Too polite. Like she doesn’t belong in a bar like this—and maybe that’s exactly the point.

Eliana’s noticed her. The woman’s been coming for weeks now—always on Saturday nights, never missing a single one.

She keeps watching as the woman finishes her drink and slides her glass toward Rence, cheeks already pink, now visibly darker. Eliana doesn’t need to guess why she keeps showing up.

And yet, the reason himself seems blissfully unaware. That earns a quiet sigh from her.

She brings her own glass to her lips, savoring another sip, then picks up a napkin to dab at her mouth. But as she places it down, her eyes catch something scribbled in the corner—and she remembers.

That’s right.

She still hasn’t answered Rence about breakfast.

Eliana pauses, weighing her options. Where should I take him for brunch tomorrow?

“I guess this is fine,” she murmurs to herself, tapping her phone to start typing a reply.

Taking the last sip of her drink, Eliana taps her phone and sends the message she typed. A satisfied smile forms on her lips as she straightens herself, ready to leave.

She glances one last time at Rence, who’s currently chatting with another customer. Without a word, she leaves her payment in the usual discreet way and turns to go.

“Why did I say that time? That’s way too early for my day off,” she mumbles to herself, a small pout forming inwardly.

But then, a wide smile spreads across her face. She throws a quick glance over her shoulder—just in time to catch Rence frowning, eyes locked on her as she makes her way to the door.

With a playful spark, she sticks out the tip of her tongue at him, subtle and teasing, before turning her head back and walking straight out.

The soft whoosh of the door closing

RENCE’S POV

Rence watches her slip into the night, the soft clink of her heels echoing in the quiet that follows her departure. His eyes linger on the door for a moment longer, catching the briefest flash of her glance over her shoulder.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Of course, she had to do that—the little gesture of sticking out her tongue, just enough to ruffle his calm. He chuckles quietly to himself, shaking his head. It’s always something with her, yet it’s impossible not to be charmed.

“Catch you later,” he murmurs to the empty space, knowing full well she can’t hear him.

Six months. Six months of Saturday nights at this bar, with her coming in like clockwork. It’s become a rhythm he’s learned to anticipate. There’s a predictability to her visits now, but it’s the kind that keeps him hooked—always a new spark, always a bit of something unexpected.

His thoughts drift back to the way she left tonight, her lips curving into a playful pout before she shot him that mischievous look over her shoulder. Carefree. That’s the thing about her—she’s carefree in a way that makes everything feel lighter. Maybe that’s what he enjoys most about these nights. With her, the world doesn’t feel so heavy.

Because he himself gets to unwind for a few moments with her company without too many words.

Another chuckle escapes him, and he refocuses on the beer he’s pouring, letting the steady buzz of the bar envelop him. Maybe he could use a little more of that easygoing energy, he thinks.

The night continues around him, the conversation and laughter flowing, but his mind remains in the here and now. This kind of pace he enjoys every Saturday night.

As the night grows old, just like every other night, the bar starts to clear out. One by one, the crowd thins. And when everyone is finally gone—just like every other Saturday—Rence doesn’t feel the exhaustion he probably should.

“Take a shot before anything else,” says the bar owner as he walks over to him and their only other coworker.

Rence nods in agreement, settling onto a stool, eyes scanning the bottles in front of him. While he’s still deciding, the other guy’s already halfway through his beer.

“Why not try what she used to drink?” the coworker says out of the blue.

Rence turns his head, catching the serious look on the man leaning across the counter.

“What? It’s not like you haven’t already,” the coworker shrugs, reading his expression.

Rence tilts his head slightly, eyes landing on the bottles of Jack. He shakes his head without a word.

The coworker just chuckles, while Rence keeps his gaze locked on the familiar labels.

I never liked whiskey. If I had to choose, I’m more of a rum guy, he thinks.

There are two choices in front of him—the classic Jack and Gentleman Jack.

Now that I think about it, I never even asked her which one she actually liked. I’ve been using Gentleman for her since forever. She never said a word about it.

He grabs the Gentleman and mixes himself a drink.

Once done, he takes a seat at the counter, glass in hand.

Without realizing it, he mimics something he’s only seen twice—including tonight. It only hits him after he does it.

He holds the glass, gives it a slow swirl, takes in the scent, and then—just like her—takes that first sip.

A smile curls at the edge of his lips, the glass still close.

Am I catching some kind of virus? he wonders as the taste hits.

Another smirk follows.

Why am I so good? No wonder she keeps drinking this stuff.

Finally, he pulls out his phone. A few taps, a quick check. And then the one message that straightens his expression:

“11 tomorrow at my place. Bring the food.”

He puts down the glass, eyes lingering on the screen.

The sender: Nana.

He stares at the message for a while, thumb hovering over the screen but not pressing anything.

“Her place,” he mutters under his breath.

He looks up with a face full of wonder, but a smile creeps across his lips and stays there as he takes the last sip of his Gentleman.

“New direction of air, huh?” he murmurs.

“What?” his coworker asks, catching part of it.

“Nothing,” Rence replies, already moving to close up shop—still smiling, giddily finishing his tasks with a soft hum under his breath.

A few moments later, they’re heading out together, the last lights switched off, the door locking behind them with a click. Just as he’s securing the lock, his coworker throws a glance his way.

“You sure seem excited over nothing, huh?”

Rence doesn’t answer right away, but that smile is still there—calm, amused, maybe a little intrigued.

Maybe it is nothing.

Maybe it isn’t.

Are his only thoughts looking at his co-worker.