Julie

A yawn shouldn't be able to startle patrons of a popular bar, or so Peter had said years ago. But tonight was a crowd going against the rule. No baseball game, no football game, and no hockey game meant no one would be coming apart from the regulars and the depressed. Christmas had come and gone as had New Years leaving the depression the grey days January brought. He braced himself for the worst and couldn't stop smirking when the best case scenario walked in mumbling about the damn Christmas decorations still being up.

Walt came in just about every week since Peter and his brother, Christopher, had opened the bar. C&P had a good following in the community and Walt was their good luck charm, or so Christopher always quipped. He walked in on the first day, drank his beer, told a story or two, picked the best barstool and became a permanent fixture at the bar.

While Walt would steadily nurse a pint, Peter generally would be treated with the most amazing stories of Walt's colorful past. Peter figured he was getting a little lonely at home. Walt's wife had died about a year and a half ago and he was rapidly approaching sixty all alone. So the number of social visits to the bar had begun to increase just to keep tabs on his favorite barkeep.

"Hey, Old Man." Peter poured a pint of Walt's favorite beer and placed it at his usual barstool. "How's life?"

"For an old man, life is good. You get to sit in the park and look at the pretty ladies without getting arrested, discounts for all your favorite vices, and enough stories to drive an insomniac to his bed. How is life on the other side of the bar?" Walt began his long ritual of nursing his drink and munching on the free peanuts.

"Okay. Chris is off tonight and I haven't much to do." Peter gestured at the ten or so occupants quietly indulging in solitude. "And Chris was talking the other day about hiring some help for the crazy amount of people that come here." Somehow Walt found this amusing and was cackling his old-man laugh when the door to the bar opened.

The wind swept in as Peter spotted a young woman and a man come in. They looked around and grabbed a small table. She carried a large black book and he seemed to be familiar with her as he began chatting gaily. Her blonde hair hung around her shoulders in a natural, unkempt way almost as if she were hiding from someone while her clothes made a statement. It screamed "Sexy in pajamas" to Peter.

"I'm so glad you decided to do something I told you to – it shows some type of respect for my judgment that I find so endearing." The man smiled roguishly.

"Don't give yourself so much credit. Maybe I just want to avoid talking to you," she countered.

Peter looked at the girl and forgot to breathe for he didn't know how long. She seemed so sad but the melancholy expression did nothing to mar her pretty features or distract Peter from gazing at the rest of her body appreciatively. Strangely he couldn't help but dislike the man she was sitting with – they must have come here for a business meeting and/or a quick date. Tall, dark, and handsome was the summation.

Either she is unattainable or I'm going to have some competition.

Just then, Walt began to cackle again, jarring Peter out of his reverie.

"You might want to ask if she wants something to drink, young man. You might not get another chance."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. Seeing things again, Old Man?" Peter refilled the peanut bowl nonchalantly. This was met with another jovial cackle. Peter shrugged and walked around the bar to the two. "Can I help you?"

She muttered a reply after looking into his eyes. "Long Island iced tea, please." Those hazel eyes piqued Peter's interest; the gold flecks appeared to be impossible to actually exist in real-life. To Peter it seemed like a movie special effect come alive. Her voice matched her demeanor: quiet, shy, and sad. But Peter found himself unable to wait to hear more of it. Each feature of hers, Peter tried to store in his memory for all time: her golden hair, pink sensual lips, the slope of her elegant neck leading down to --

"A Sam and do you have anything to eat here?" said the man across from her, breaking Peter's concentration.

"Uh, chips, nachos, and – if you're a cheapskate - the peanuts are complimentary."

Nachos were soon decided on and Peter was never so thankful that he was all alone working in the bar; with all the preparation, he would have to walk to and from their table at least three more times.

Maybe I'll get to look into those hazel eyes some more.

But he did not get his wish; the woman refused to look at him the rest of the night. Peter was not so selective and constantly found his eyes wandering her way, hoping in vain to meet hers. Her gaze fell only on the man with her, the sketchbook she showed the man, and her drink. From what Peter could see, at least three quarters of the thick book was filled with black and white drawing which he couldn't quite make out.

"I can't understand why you keep saying no to me. You've got such talent that I don't think I trust anyone else to work with me, Julie." The man with the light brown hair was sincere in his address, Peter supposed. But he couldn't help but get a thrill at hearing the girl's name as her date raised the volume of his voice.

Apparently Peter had an odd look on his face and was met with more laughter.

"What are you laughing at, Walt?"

After a few more chuckles, Walt said, "You look like a man who just saw someone drop a twenty and kept walking away. A name does all that for you?"

An eye-roll later and Walt's good humor continued unabated. In fact, Walt generally didn't stay above an hour sipping his beer but was still in his stool ninety minutes later. He had even ordered another pint so he could watch the rest of "the show."

Nothing happened after that, though. The two ordered a few more drinks, looked critically at some sketches, and paid their check without much notice for Peter or anyone else.

Once the couple had left, Walt got up and pulled on his coat. "Until the next episode."

Peter cracked a smile at that. "Same bat time, same bat channel."

***

She just didn't get it. Julie had been staring at her feet while Matthew rattled off something about work which she didn't pay attention to. What caught her attention were the feet that wandered into her view and the strong voice which posed, "Can I help you?" Her heart leapt into her throat as she raised her eyes to meet the stranger's; they were so dark brown they might as well have been black. Somehow his hair matched his eyes and went to his shoulders and Julie didn't know whether to run away or jump him – she feared both instincts. He looked at her expectantly and she stammered out her drink order. "I haven't felt that stupid for a while. He must think I'm such a ninny."

Stumbling into her apartment a little while later, she couldn't help but laugh. "I am a ninny." She locked the door and got ready for another night of sleep. "I'm a ninny that talks to herself."

Matthew had dropped her off, asking once again for her acceptance to his offer. He was again denied very curtly. The drinks made her smile at his discomfort and at his resolve at making her agree.

But she had to admit, her brother was starting to interest her with the hints at his idea for a project. As children he had told her the best stories and read books to her. It was like a return to a safe harbor. Even when indulging in the odd book at the ripe age of twenty six she heard Matt's voice reading animatedly to her.

She slipped under her comforter with a few things in mind to get the story out of Matthew. But the last image she saw before she completely drifted off was a pair of dark, warm eyes.