POV: Florence
The VIP section had its own kind of quiet, even with the same music thumping below us. Leather booth, low table, a bottle I didn't recognize the label of but assumed cost more than my rent used to. The amber liquid caught the dim lights overhead, expensive and untouchable.
He didn't ask what happened to put a woman like me alone at a bar on a Friday night, dressed like she had somewhere to be but nowhere she wanted to go. He just watched me, patient, like he already had all the time in the world and had decided to spend some of it on me specifically. There was something unnerving about being seen that clearly by a stranger.
"You don't talk much," I said, when the silence stretched a beat too long.
"I talk plenty. Just not to fill space." He poured two glasses without aski
