Happy Hour (A Romantic Comedy)

Chapter 11

When my alarm goes off the next morning, I groan. My mouth feels like something crawled into it and died during the night. My head is thudding dully. My stomach feels twisted in knots.

I can't believe I have to work today.

I lie there trying to calculate how much we drank last night. Considering it was a school night for all three of us (literally for Cara) I can't believe we've ended up staying out past midnight. It seemed like a good idea at the time though. 

It always does until the next morning. 

I must drift back off while I'm lying there thinking as it's my emergency alarm that jolts me back into consciousness. 

Shit.

My emergency alarm is set for quarter to nine and I've never had to use it before. It immediately makes me sit bolt upright in bed, panicking. 

If I turned up late at the gift shop by a couple of minutes it would probably not be a big deal, and rarely do any customers come in before half nine. But I make a point of always being on time for everything in my professional life so I can't stand for that myself. It's against my own rules to be late.

Plus I'm always convinced if I am a minute late I'll be caught out somehow.

It takes me seven minutes to walk to the shop so I have roughly eight to get ready. I wriggle into my jeans and throw on an oversized knitted jumper. It's not my best look but it'll do. I sweep a handful of make-up into my bag - I'll have to fix my face in the shop- and pull my hair up into a messy top-knot. I glance at my watch again as I try to slide my trainers on without unlacing them, and realise I don't even have time to put my contact lenses in. 

I grab my back-up glasses instead. I don't particularly mind wearing them, they're oversize tortoiseshell frames and I think I look alright in them, but I'm used to wearing contacts most of the time so it's always a bit weird when I wear them outside for the first time in a while. I need them to see though, so I slip them on, thinking I'll swap them out for my lenses at some point during the day. 

It's only when I've been in the shop for an hour or so that I remember I left my contacts in the bathroom in the flat. I won't make it back between my two jobs so it's going to have to be a glasses day for me. I spend a bit of time between customers sticking more eye make up on than usual to make up for my otherwise quite scruffy appearance. I laugh to myself at the contrast between my polished look last night and how I look today. 

I close the shop for fifteen minutes while I nip across the road for a sandwich and, to my still hungover body, it feels like the best sandwich I've ever eaten. I glug down a bottle of water in record time, followed by an ice cold can of Diet Irn Bru, then devour a bar of Galaxy. By that point I seem to have pushed the hangover out of my body thankfully and from then on I feel far brighter.

The pub I work in is only another ten minute walk away from the shop so between shifts I devour a portion of chips and cheese in the park. I'm usually a bit more organised than this and have my own meals prepared, especially when I have to jump from one job to another, but let's blame the hangover again for that. 

Although I was dreading the long day I've found my second wind now and actually the first couple of hours of the pub shift fly in. It's the middle of the month, far away from most folk's payday so it's slightly quieter than it might usually be on  Friday night. Those are my favourite shifts, busy enough to keep me busy, but not so crowded that I end up stressed out. 

The pub is hipster enough that my outfit still thankfully passes muster. I look like I'm being scruffy ironically rather than by accident. Plus it's largely table service and I'm behind the bar tonight so I'm mostly just making up drinks orders and keeping myself to myself. The way I prefer it, to be honest.

It gets to quarter to eight and I'm at the far end of the bar, having a quick breather and a glass of lemonade when I freeze. That prickly feeling I've mentioned before has suddenly invaded my body again. I try to shake it off but I can't, it feels like it's actually growing stronger.

I put my glass down before my suddenly shaking hands drop it and glance over towards the door. I don't see anything out of turn at first. My boss Calum is standing there chatting to another guy who has his back to me. He's tall and lean and sandy haired and of course we all know who it bloody is, don't we?

Chris.

As if on instinct I duck behind the bar. What is wrong with me? To be honest, this time it's not the same panic that drove me to hide behind the hedge a week and a half ago; this time I just don't want Chris to see me looking a hungover wreck. 

My heart is pounding as I wonder if there's any chance I can actually avoid him but it seems unlikely. If he is staying and sits on the opposite side of the pub and doesn't come up to the bar I might be safe. But then the bathrooms are on this side of the pub so if he needs the loo I'm screwed.

Of course, I reflect ruefully, glancing down at myself, he might not recognise me anyway. 

"Emilia!" Calum calls, rounding the side of the bar and heading towards me. I pretend I'm searching for a specific glass, staying crouched down but unless some miracle has happened, I think my number is about to be well and truly up. "Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," I say in my brightest voice.

"I just want to introduce you to someone," he says, as I reluctantly straighten up, fixing a smile onto my face.

"This is Chris." I look attentively at Calum although I know there's someone standing on the other side of the bar directly opposite me. "He's our new colleague."

I stifle a gasp at this unexpected piece of information, and involuntarily turn to face my former nemesis/crush. He is looking me straight in the eye, and there's absolutely no doubt now that he recognises me. 

His mouth quirks at the corner. "Small world," he says coolly, reaching out to shake my hand. "Hi Em. Looks like we'll be working together."