Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River...
The old song wove through the quiet like a loose thread, catching on the hush of footsteps and the soft clatter of glass.
Then—
Clink.
A sharper sound behind her. A glass set down with deliberate weight.
"Wait a damn second."
She turned to find Marco staring at her like she’d confessed to a secret identity.
Fatima, on the other hand, looked thrilled—one brow lifted, lips curved in anticipation, leaning into the drama.
“What?” Arden asked, blinking.
Marco jabbed a finger at her as if she had committed high treason behind the bar. “Tell me I did not just hear our brooding, monochrome, jazz-shunning bartender humming John freaking Denver.”
Arden paused. “I—what?”
“Don’t play innocent.” He eyed her with mock suspicion. Like he was halfway through decoding a mystery—and enjoying every second of it. That was Country Roads. I would bet my entire vinyl collection.”
Fatima’s grin widened. “Oh, this just keeps getting better.”
Arden rolled her eyes, surrendering. “Fine. Yeah. I hummed it.”
Marco reared back like it was a revelation. “You? Arden Rivers? Miss ‘I don’t sing along to the jazz trio’ Arden Rivers? Just casually serenading us with West Virginia’s unofficial state anthem?”
Fatima laughed, bracelets catching the light. “Wait, hold on. You are from West Virginia, right?”
Arden hesitated. “…Yeah.”
Fatima slapped the bar, bracelets jingling, delighted. “This is gold.”
Marco’s eyes lit up like he’d been handed a sacred mission. “Oh, you know what this means.”
“No,” Arden said quickly, pointing a warning finger at him. “Absolutely not. Don’t you even…”
He spread his arms wide in mock reverence. “Our mysterious, too-cool-for-this-place girl is now—and forever—Mountain Mama.”
Fatima cackled, nodding like it had been ordained.
Arden groaned. “I hate both of you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Marco said, sliding a bottle into place like nothing had happened. “But you’re stuck with us now, Mountain Mama.”
Arden turned back to the shelves, scowling. Almost convincingly. “Menaces,” she muttered.
"Love you too, Mountain Mama," Marco called, all smug affection.
She rolled her eyes, but the grin broke through anyway. Unruly. Warm. A reminder she wasn't as untouchable as she pretended.
Andmaybeshe didn’t mind being stuck with them.
?
The apartment held traces of takeout and the faint ghost of citrus. Likely the last breath of one of Penny’s candles, burned down to nothing.
