A Kiss in Costume | Holidays in Heartsbrook #1

One | Alexander (Alex)

Bars have never been my scene. They are loud and crowded and warm and everyone expects me to be social. Which I am not.

But today, I'm armed with sixty-two talking points, etiquette tips I read from Heartsbrook's highest authority, Carmina MacDonald, and the courage of two more drinks than usual. The only thing I need to complete my epic rebound is my trusty wingman. That's what you call them, right?

No. I'm not second-guessing myself. I'm right. I'm waiting for my wingman, Ernesto. But the two pints of beer I've downed are not sitting well, churning in my stomach as the electronic pop music bounces through the room. The women to my left are laughing and drinking something in a tall skinny kind of triangular glass.

The fact that I've never seen them might be surprising in a small town, if it weren't for the fact that I'm currently sitting in the new upscale hotel trying to bill itself as the New York Experience right here in rural Nova Scotia. The presence of these women beautifully dressed up with hair done to perfection might mean it's working.

The fact that I don't know them, probably mixed with the beer, gives me the courage to strike up my first conversation of the evening.

"What are you drinking?" I ask, loud enough to be heard over the music.

Their conversation pauses for a moment and then returns to normal, as though I never spoke at all. I guess that's the sign I should stop. I said something awkward again.

No. That's what the old Alexander would do. New and improved spontaneous Alexander will ask again. Girls like assertive, right?

Gah. Stop questioning yourself and pluck up the courage. You are a catch.

"Those look good ladies. Can I get you another of... what are you drinking?"

One of the women, dressed in a skin-tight bright yellow dress with small blue flowers, turns around to face me, her dark ponytail falling over her shoulder as she does. "We're fine here. Go bother someone else."

Bother? I didn't know I was going to be a bother. Yesterday Debrah said I wasn't exciting or assertive enough and today I'm being called a bother for trying to do just what Debrah said I should. I know people all have different preferences, but how am I supposed to figure out which people want what?

In all my overthinking, I forget to turn away from them. Worse still, I only notice I should have left when the woman huffs and turns back around, joining her friends in a lively discussion about the local high school's most recent football game against the neighbouring town these girls must hail from.

Maybe I'd have more luck if I learned to like football?

I put a quick note into my phone about the failed interaction and spin to face the door. Where is Ernesto?

I'm going to need all the help I can get, and Ernesto is still nowhere to be seen. I scan the crowd of sharply dressed guests just to be sure I haven't missed him in my slightly buzzed state.

The whole room is bustling with activity, music blaring through speakers I can't see, televisions with various sports — and one with darts — lining a few of the walls, and a third wall entirely dedicated to a music video of some kind. The bar is all dark granites and gold accents. White and gold tables and chairs, with red littered here and there to remind us of which hotel we're in.

Perhaps I shouldn't have picked the most upscale bar in Heartsbrook to have this little rebound adventure. People over at The Pint and Piglet are probably more receptive skills of my level. But giving myself a challenge seemed like a really good idea when I conjured it up yesterday.