Warm light spilled from hanging bulbs, reflecting off polished wood and bottles lined neatly behind the counter. Aniela stood behind the bar in a borrowed apron that felt slightly too big, her fingers curling and uncurling as she tried to absorb everything at once. This was her part-time shift—new, unfamiliar, and intimidating in a way she hadn’t expected.
Don’t mess this up, she told herself. You need this job.
Marco, their trainer and instructor for the night, moved with effortless confidence behind the counter. He was older than most of the staff, his presence calm but commanding, like someone who had seen every possible mistake and learned how to stop them before they happened. “Alright,” he said, clapping his hands once. “First rule—watch before you do. This place runs on rhythm.”
