The wind howls, and despite my thick woolen knit, cuts to the bone. I didn't think that spring could be this cold, but in ever spent a spring in the highlands before.
Hurriedly I walk down the graveled path. The lead lined window in the door, soft glazed like morning frost, lets me see the light and movement on the other side. Taking hold of the handle, brass, cold and smooth from wear, a lions head carved there, faded from time. As I tug, I am surprised by the weight, though I shouldn't be, things here are made to last.
The door, with its' slow arc, allows a wave of sensations to hit me, all at once. The glare from the fire place, the smell of pipe smoke, a bevy of little sounds, glasses put to table top, mixed conversations, the chatter, the murmurs, even the sound of a dart missing its' mark and the colorful vocabulary of its' thrower.
Now with a room of eyes on me, I enter. A moment of silence passes. They are wary of new comers as well as curious, but to show interest just wouldn't do.....for most that is.
After making my way to the bar, I take a seat. The bar itself is a magnificent piece of work. Solid
and strong, oak with a dark stain, a mix of browns and the deepest of reds, likes the shade of sweet wines. I marvel at the smoothness...undoubtedly caused by many a year of use, endless supply of drink passed over her, patrons dating before the century leaning against the rail.
Realizing at this point, that there is in fact someone standing opposite me, behind the bar. Raising my eyes slowly, in doing so, I first find a lovely set of bosom, causing me to blush. Perhaps it was that I may have lingered at this point too much, but I was committed.
Going past a delicate neckline, coming to the tip of her chin, feeling my face flush, following the lines and contours of the outline of her face, curved cheeks, full lips, a dainty nose and a set of eyes that take my breath away.
If I had a chill before, it was now long forgotten. What is more pleasing ...I think ...is her own reaction is not unlike my own. Both of us, captivated in each others stare.
Now I should hear what is going on around me, but I am now deaf. It is only when someone bumps in to me do I snap out of my reverie. It's when she breaks from hers.
By this point there are quite a few thirsty lads at the bar, vying for her attention, be it for drink or otherwise.
I sit there and watch, how she moves confidently around the bar, her hands reaching out, not looking but finding whatever she needs, effortlessly mixing drinks, pouring pints, keeping three or four conversations going on at once, even telling a quick joke. All this time declining the certain interests of the patrons in a rather polite manner.
I observe her professionalism, but my feelings take
in so much more. Wondering what those long legs look like, noting the curve of her bottom, though her hair is up, tied back, I have images of her in a more relaxed state.
Every so often, she turns back her head to take a quick glance, followed by a little grin, even a friendly wink.
