The patchouli and rose perfume somehow made Davis melt into a memory filled with Abuela and kitchen-centered girlhood. He tugged his shirt, feeling the small swell of anxiety bubble back up.

The aroma lingered by the bar, meaning that there was only one of two patrons who could have brought the invasive memories over. There was Jasper who definitely showered once a week, yet had crazy pull with pixie-like men and women. Who knew that a white guy with dreads and delivered for Grubhub would be so popular? Sure, half the time he smelled like the pot shop down the road, but Jasper was never rude. Soft-spoken, charming smile and still with a hint of Connecticut elite he could not shake off in the city.

No, the patchouli came from the blonde at the end of the bar. Some chica, of course. While Jasper was a regular to their little tavern, this blonde was new. Holding onto a dirty martini, it became apparent that there was anxiety brewing at the end. Davis took hold of his cleaning rag and walked downward. Not like there was anything else he had going on. And that glass was starting to look thin.

Davis spritzed a glass of water on the way. “Need hydration?” The french manicure stopped tapping on the surface.

“If you could.” She turned towards him, a smile stopping short. “It’s kinda dead tonight.” With the water in limbo, they took a incredulous look around.

“I mean, it is a Tuesday night.” The blonde shook her head and nodded at the water.

“No excuse. It’s June, people should be hopping around, dancing till they feel their feet fall off.”

That would have been the hope. But this year Davis knew things were going to get ugly out there. He tried writing those letters, going out to marches, calling their reps. The whole damn sheet that the social activists always handed out. It was all starting to mount it’s ugly head over the sanctuary of La Capital. And the dread…

“I wish. The year has been a tough one.” The blonde studied him carefully and nodded her head.

She leaned over the bar. “I’m Lorelei by the way.”

Davis took her hand, the rose rolling back into him. This time the scent pulled out the memory of a hug – warm, safe and soft. He bit his lip to keep the emotion in check. “Davis. I run this here joint.”

Lorelei’s laugh echoed in the glasses. “Nice joint Davis.” They sat there for a moment, taking in the door opening for a regular couple. He waved as they made their way to a further booth. Even with their chatter, Lorelei gave a heavy, loud sigh. “Hell of a year to come out though. I barely can handle all the apps and thought I’d try the old way. Gotta say, it’s not easy and there have been way too many weirdos. Just don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Welcome to the club, he thought. But who was he to dissuade someone from finding even one glitter of hope in a shit-filled year? Davis eyed the clean cut shirt, sleeves rolled back to elbows. No ring, no tats – most of his friends required at least one of those. He looked back up.

“Love never walks through a door. It’s who you find yourself missing at the end of the day. Maybe you need to connect before judging who you think you want. Gotta give people a chance to surprise you.”

Lorelei looked up and hummed. “You have a point. Maybe that’s why you’re a bartender.”

Davis laughed. “Well, one of the reasons why. Did you want anything to eat since you’re out?”

Something flicked in her face. Did he slip that innuendo too hastily? Mierda. “Burgers, tacos, nachos? I’ll get you chips to start you up.”

“Thanks, I’d appreciate that.” He moved to the back. At least someone has to have hope for love. No, he wouldn’t take that away. The aromas welcomed him back with another hug, not so bittersweet this time.

“Yo Kade, get me some chips up here!” La Capital was meant to be a home, and maybe for this Layla as well. Or was is Lorilei?