Page 4 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

Chapter Two

VAL

“In Russia it is legal to make your own vodka, from whatever you want, for personal consumption. Keyword, personal consumption.”

The following Sunday arrives.

A storm rages outside of Pianissimo with unrelenting fury. The oppressive heat is finally pushed aside by the torrential rain, which lashes against the windows and drums a chaotic rhythm on the rooftop. Thunder booms in the distance, shaking the ground beneath my feet.

Despite my best efforts to stay dry, I’m drenched as I make my way into the back office to hang up my jacket, my hair plastered to my face and my clothes sticking uncomfortably to my skin.

Yet, even through the discomfort, there’s a sense of relief and renewal in the air, as if the storm has washed away all my worries and troubles with its cleansing downpour. I have always loved the rain .

Stepping back into the bar area, I steel my nerves and decide to approach Isabella at the hostess stand to ask about my mystery girl.

Maybe she worked during the two nights I was off this week…

But before I can even take a step away from the bar, she materializes as if summoned by my thoughts.

There, my girl stands by the entrance to the main bar’s cocktail lounge.

She’s shaking out a bright, hot pink umbrella adorned with multicolored tulips.

Her red hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, resembling a dark waterfall as she tries to scrunch the damp strands with her fingers.

Her outfit consists of a form-fitting black hoodie that fits snugly, paired with sleek black tights that accentuate her long legs.

She’s also wearing black tennis shoes with the edges of hot pink socks peeking out just above the tops, adding another playful splash of color to her otherwise dark ensemble, It gives her look a quirky and approachable vibe.

Her fashion is also reminiscent of the current Moscow street style—effortlessly edgy, combining oversized layers with fitted pieces, and a mix of comfort and bold, statement-making accessories that exude both confidence and casually cool.

She’s so similar to the photos my mom sends me from back home that a wave of nostalgia hits me, making my chest tighten with a bittersweet ache.

Fuck me, she ’ s so damn beautiful.

I can’t help but laugh loudly, catching the attention of her gorgeous, bright gray, not as much blue tonight eyes as she looks my way in confused amusement. They sparkle against her dark ensemble.

I want to kiss each one of her eyelids before I kiss lower to those red lips of hers.

I almost comment on her red lipstick, but I push the thought aside and say, “Hey,” stepping around the back of the bar with practiced ease, letting my confidence take over, “I was hoping you’d be back.”

She looks up, her gray eyes sparkle with bright blue flecks as they meet mine.

There’s a flicker of confusion, her brows knitting slightly as though trying to place me.

Then, recognition softens her expression as she realizes I’m just another worker here, and finally, a smile spreads across her face, warm and disarming, as if it were meant just for me.

I’m done for. That smile.

“Well, here I am,” she says, her voice as raspy and magnetic as I remember. “Are you my boss for the evening?”

I almost choke and have to clear my throat.

The way she asks if I’m her boss sends heat straight to my groin. Especially when that gaze looks me up and down, almost undressing me as she analyzes what she sees.

“No, I’m just a bartender. I’m Val,” I say, extending my hand. “Nice to officially meet you.”

She grins. “Nice name. Like Val Kilmer?” she teases, slipping her cool hand into mine. I give her hand a gentle squeeze, shaking it firmly and not letting go.

“No, it’s short for Va-lehr-rey,” I correct, enunciating all three syllables correctly, holding her gaze longer than I should. “But I’ll be your Iceman.”

She laughs—a soft, melodic sound that sends a thrill through me. “Well, Valerie,” she says each syllable slowly, deliberately, incorrectly, with a glint of mischievousness lighting up her eyes, her tone daring me to correct her. “I guess I’ll just have to be Maverick, but where is Goose?”

I laugh, loving that she picked up on my Top Gun reference. “Well, not sure where Goose is, but I’m glad you’re here tonight. Did you work earlier this week?”

"No, ‘Valerie not Kilmer’, this is my second shift. Technically, my first real one. I was an emergency call-in last time. Tony must’ve thought I was worth a second shot even though I don't think he likes the songs I want to sing.”

“That’s good. He’s tough but fair…mostly.” I pause. “And just so you know, it’s Va-lehr-REY, not Val-er-rie. Common mistake.”

Her brow lifts playfully. “You act like I’m going to mess it up again.” She shrugs. “Nothing wrong with Valerie. I knew a girl with that name growing up.” She mumbles under her breath, “Must be a Northern thing.”

I chuckle and gently stroke the back of her hand with my thumb, marveling at how such a small touch can feel so grounding. It’s as if this connection is both a question and an answer, a fragile bridge between curiosity and something far deeper I’m almost afraid to name.

She notices, our gazes locking when she looks up.

"What is?"

“Hmmm?" she asks, her hand still in mine.

"What is a Northern thing?

Her cheeks flush on cue. “You heard that?”

"Yeah. I did, so tell me," I emphasize by tickling her palm with my fingers.

She giggles, pulling her hand away.

Instantly, I feel the cold return, the warmth lingering only where her skin had touched mine.

"Just that, I'm silly, is all. And it just seems that everyone I meet here in New York doesn't have my sense of humor. Instead, everyone is just trying to correct me," she explains as she looks down at her umbrella that's dripping on the floor.

“I wouldn’t mind correcting you,” I say softly, reaching out to grab her umbrella.

I take it and pull it behind the bar, “just to see you blush again.

Here, this can hang out back here and dry while you work.

Don't want to give Tony a reason to yell about a few water drops.

Besides," I continue now that her eyes are tracking my movements, "I’ve been wanting to meet you since I heard your audition.”

"You heard that, too, then.” Her blush deepens. “I know I’m here to perform and wait tables, but auditions always make me nervous.”

“Yeah. You were incredible—the way you commanded the piano.” A wide grin spreads across my face at the memory. "Your playing was unforgettable—so much control and passion."

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her smile tugging at one corner of her lips.

“I’m glad you are back. Tony can be an ass but he has moments,” I begin to say but then I stop. Who gives a fuck about Tony when I have her attention.

I smile and nod toward the bar. I wink at her before asking, “How about a quick shot of vodka before the night shift kicks in? I could use a little warmth.”

“Why not,” she agrees, following me behind the bar. The familiar clink of bottles and glasses fills the air as I reach for the vodka. I pour us each a shot, the clear liquid catching the dim light of the room.

“To a good night,” I toast, raising my glass.

She clicks her glass against mine, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “To a good night,” she echoes, and we both down our shots.

The vodka burns a warm path down my throat, a contrast to the sudden coolness outside brought by the rain.

Or maybe it's still the loss of her hand in mine.

I steal a glance at her as she sets her glass down.

Her red hair is a vibrant waterfall of copper waves tonight pulled back behind her head.

It looks like she just had it highlighted.

The curls falling from her ponytail frame a face that’s both delicate and strong.

Her skin is like Karelian snow. Fairer than the tale of Snow White with a splatter of darker freckles across her nose, cheeks, and just a few peppering the corners of her lips.

I look down at the small parts of her neck, chest, and arms that are exposed and see more freckles peeking back at me.

I start to ask her if she’s made of constellations, but my sunshine interrupts me.

Like a planet stuck in her orbit, I listen as she sounds my name out slowly, “So, uh, Va-lehr-rey,” she says, and I savor each consonant and syllable, “do you always pour shots for your co-workers before a shift?” she teases, leaning against the counter.

“Please, just call me Val,” I tell her, my dark brown eyes never leaving hers. “And only the interesting ones. You’ve definitely caught my curiosity. What’s your story, dorogoiya?”

She smiles, a hint of mystery in her expression. “Well, Val. I’m just a girl with a song, looking for a place to play. The piano bar seemed like a good spot to start.”

“That explains so much,” I say, nodding. “Do you often answer cryptically?”

“Maybe,” she admits. “Do you find all your coworkers interesting?”

“No. Just you. So, how was your first shift?”

“So far, so good, I guess. I’m still getting my bearings. Do you like bartending here?”

“Well, I’ve been watching you. Like I said, you’ve got talent. And yes, I do. I make a lot of money and I get to hear beautiful siren’s who mysteriously appear. But seriously, you have real talent? Why play here?”

“Thanks so much,” she smiles brightly up at me. Her simple words send a surge of excitement through me. “I’m really just playing for fun to make some extra college money. I love music, but it's not my end goal. I have other aspirations with my life. ”

As she stands at the bar, her hair slightly damp from the rain, I realize I can’t let her work in the cold AC like this. I hand her a towel from behind the bar, offering a small smile. “That’s cool. Where do you attend? Here, dry off. You look like you’ve been caught in a hurricane.”