Isabelle tilts her head back and gazes at Maia warmly.
Her pretty curls and dark skin and wide grin.
She’s behind the bar in a vivid blue tank top, bustling around from place to place. Customers are lined up against the stool bars and she can hear the clang of alcohol bottles in the background.
The air is smoky and hazy and alive but all Isabelle can feel is her gaze on pretty, pretty Maia.
She can recognize Simon somewhere in her vicinity and she can barely hear his words, lost in her unintentional staring.
Maia, she recalls.
Her smile is bright and animates her features warmly, chatting with fellow Downworlders.
Isabelle tries to recall what Simon has said about her and what she knows herself: she’s a werewolf with an interest in marine biology, a bartender, part of the New York pack, has a wicked sense of humor, can knock back alcohol like it’s nothing, -
She shakes her head when Simon calls her name.
“Izzy? Earth to Izzy?”
Isabelle grins wider and says, “she’s cute.”
Her dark eyes continue to linger even as her conversation with Simon goes on.
Maia looks back once and oh, she wonders.