Towards the back, a small dance floor gleams under soft, shifting lights, and in the centre of the room sits a pool table, surrounded by groups of people leaning against stools, laughing, and chatting between shots.
Missy tugs me to the left, towards the bar, where bodies press together in easy conversation, and drinks clink under the hum of country music. It’s busy, but of course it is. It’s Friday night.
As Missy and I approach the bar, a couple of guys vacate their stools, giving us the perfect opportunity to slide onto them. She greets the bartender like an old friend, her voice light and familiar, before grabbing a cocktail menu and sliding it between us. "Okay, so I’m normally a whiskey drinker," she says, flipping it open and scanning the list. "But tonight, I’m in the mood for a cocktail. What do you think?"
I lean in, glancing at the menu.
"Well, I’ve never had whiskey before, so cocktails sound good to me. I usually like a …"
"Wait." Missy cuts me off, eyes snapping to mine in disbelief. "You’re telling me you’ve never tried whiskey before?"
I laugh.
"No, I haven’t. It’s just not something I’ve ever thought to try."
Her expression morphs into mock offence, hand pressed to her chest like I’ve just insulted her entire existence.
"Well, that’s about to change."
She turns toward the bartender with a dramatic flourish.
"James, two of your best whiskeys, please … this girl here’s never tried the stuff."
James laughs and grabs a bottle, pouring two shots of something amber and rich over ice before sliding them toward us. Missy lifts her glass, beaming.
"To Stormy and her newfound love for whiskey!"
I clink my glass against hers and take a breath before tilting the liquid into my mouth. And it’s ... awful. The taste is sharp, deep, far too strong. It burns all the way down, my throat protesting the assault. I cough until I’m spluttering, barely suppressing the grimace that stretches across my face. Missy watches me with an unreadable expression for half a second, then she bursts into laughter, clutching her stomach and I can’t help but join her.
"Okay, okay,” She wheezes, still grinning as she slides the menu back to me. “Let’s stick to cocktails then."
After a moment of deliberation, we settle on a Cosmopolitan—my favourite. The first sip is a delightful burst of tart sweetness, a refreshing contrast to the sharp, lingering bitterness of whiskey. I don’t think I’ll ever understand the appeal, that burn, the heaviness. But Missy downs bothour drinks in swift succession, before signalling to the bartender for our cocktails.
We watch as James moves with practised ease, crafting our drinks with the precision of an artist, the cocktail shaker’s rhythmic rattle echoing through the space between us. His movements are hypnotic, each flick of his wrist sending ripples through the deep crimson liquid. He slides us our freshly made drinks and I take a sip savouring the taste.
Then, my bag vibrates.
Another Instagram notification probably. My phone has been buzzing all evening. The response to my latest post about the book I’d just finished has been overwhelming. I love these moments—the way stories connect strangers, how words bridge worlds. But as I pull my phone from my pocket, my stomach sinks. The name on the screen …Sam.
A text. And the first words cut through me like a blade:
Sam: Stormy, ring me now…
I want to throw up. A chill creeps up my spine, the warmth of my Cosmo abruptly overshadowed by the weight of his words. Missy notices immediately and she rests her hand gently against my lap, grounding me, her voice laced with concern.
"You okay?"
I swallow hard, forcing the oxygen back into my lungs. My expression shifts, a practised reassuring smile smoothing over my features as I meet her stare head on.
"Yeah, I’m alright."
Without another thought, I delete the message, and the phone disappears into my bag like it never existed.
"You sure?" she presses, eyes scanning my face.
Instead of answering, I grab my drink and toss it back in one go, the liquid burning just enough to silence the thoughts. Setting the glass down with a deliberate tap, I turn to her, my grin widening.
"Another drink?"
