at the bar: Open
There was a sway in Lia's steps as she emerged from one of the doorways marked "Employees Only," where she'd been giving the arrangements for Kami's cake and candles a final review. She was dressed to the nines for 1963: a pink sheath dress that clung to every dip and curve of her figure, perfectly tailored to her hourglass shape; nude, seamed stockings; period-perfect heels; even a gold pen necklace. The piece de resistance, of course, was a red wig, perfectly styled in a mini-beehive, the shade chosen as the best match for Lia's skin tone. With it, the effect was complete: tonight, she was Joan Holloway.
Lia's costume had turned out to be more appropriate than she'd anticipated. She'd arrived early to ensure the surprise went off without a hitch, and she was letting the DJ know his cues when she noticed Samuel approaching Kami.
She froze. Almost absently, she finished up with the DJ, her eyes never leaving the couple as Kami preened and bounced and Samuel watched with a clear appreciation. Though she couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, Lia credited herself with being quite fluent in body language, and the teasing flirtation between the two left her lips slightly parted. Her throat seemed to close up, and when she closed her mouth, her jaw clenched.
It was fine. It took a moment to convince her body to behave so, but in the end, it cooperated. With easy grace and an effortless smile, she walked over to the bar, never missing a beat, and ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio. Somehow, though, she couldn't keep her gaze entirely away from the pair.