I watched her say something to the kid, bending slightly as the girl shoved what looked like a dirt-covered earthworm into her hand. She didn’t flinch, but grinned and accepted the gift, wiping it off with the hem of her shirt.
I couldn’t stop the smile stretching across my face.
My mystery woman is a mother.
It hadn’t beena night I’d expected to remember.
The bar was tucked off a narrow side street in a town I didn’t know well—jazz humming through cracked windows, the kind of place that smelled like old wood, burned sugar, and red wine someone had spilled years ago but never really cleaned up. Everything glowed amber in the low light. Intimate. A little timeless.
I spotted her the second I walked in.
I’d seen the woman around town a few times over the summer. At the farmers’ market once, dragging a wagon full of peaches. Walking out of the library with a tote bag full of hardbacks and a look that said she didn’t have time for anyone’sbullshit. I’d asked someone once—maybe Cal—what her name was.
Selene.
It suited her. Sharp and soft at the same time. I knew it was her but hadn’t found the right moment to approach her.
She was sitting alone at the corner of the bar, perched on a high stool like she’d been carved there—back straight, legs crossed, fingers curled around a sweating glass of berry-colored wine. Her hair was loose, a wild mess of soft brown waves that caught the light every time she turned her head. She wasn’t watching the band.
She was watching the exits.
There was something about the way she scanned the room—sharp, assessing, like she was waiting for someone and hoping they wouldn’t show up.
I posted against the bar and ordered a drink. Whiskey, neat.
After making eyes at each other for a while, I tried to act casual as I slid onto the stool beside her. I made some ridiculous comment about the trumpet player’s hat. She didn’t laugh, but she looked at me—really looked at me—and gave me this half smile that cracked something low in my ribs.
“Aren’t you too young for jazz?” she asked, her voice smooth as the rim of her glass.
I grinned. “I’m too old for cartoons.”
She snorted, took another sip, and didn’t move away.
We talked. Nothing deep. Teasing, mostly. We realized we both actuallyhatedjazz, which allowed us to share a laugh over another drink. The woman was sharp—quick with her words but soft with her eyes, like she hadn’t decided yet whether I was worth her time.
She asked how old I was. I told her—twenty-eight.
She hummed. “Still a baby.”
I leaned in a little. “I’m no baby, ma’am. I can promise you that I’m old enough to buy you another drink, if you’ll allow it.”
That earned me a genuine smile and the prettiest flush of her cheeks. Sure, she may have been a few years older than me, but I didn’t care. She was cool and mysterious, and we had enough in common that we laughed and the conversation was easy.
She didn’t tell me her name, and she said knowing would ruin the magic. Though I’d known her name, I let her take the lead.
“You really want to know it?” she asked, tilting her head.
I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Only if you want me to remember you.”
She looked down at her glass with a soft laugh. “I don’t.”
Selene finished her wine and slid off the stool without a word. I watched her walk toward the front door, not sure whether I was supposed to follow or simply watch her slip into the darkness.
She glanced back once, and that was all it took.
Outside, the air was thick with summer heat, crickets singing in the trees. She said she needed air. I offered to walk with her.
We didn’t say much, but she didn’t pull away when my fingers tangled with hers.
