I lean back in the booth, tapping my fingers lightly on the table. Part of me wants to tell myself to cool it, to take it slow. This isn’t some high school sequel where we pick up right where we left off. Life doesn’t work like that. But the rest of me, the reckless, quietly hopeful part that never quite let him go, wonders if maybe, just maybe, this is what new beginnings are supposed to feel like. Hopeful. Familiar. A little terrifying. I don’t know what comes next. But for the first time in a long time, I want to find out.
Chapter Four
Miles
It’s just past eight when I pull into the lot behind Sleigh Queen, the tires crunching over a thin crust of snow. The sky is that deep winter blue, almost black, and the edges of the roof are outlined in twinkle lights that blink cheerily away despite the cold. The building is a converted warehouse on the outskirts of the main business district, a few blocks off the main drag but still within easy walking distance of most places. I think Uncle Rudy picked it to be intentionally a bit out of the way for the general tourist crowd, to keep the towny bar feel, but close enough that locals would still show up without having to make a whole thing out of it.
I sit in the truck for a minute longer than I should, hands on the wheel, watching my breath fog the windshield. I don’t know why I’m nervous. Well. That’s a lie. I know exactly why. I’ve driven past this place a dozen times already this week. Every time, my chest tightens with something like anticipation, and something like fear.
Because May is in there.
Not Mason. Not the boy I once kissed under the bleachers after one of my football games. Not the one I promised to write letters to and never did. May. The man who texts me memes at midnight and leaves voice notes with stories that make me laugh way too loud, alone in my ridiculously over-the-topgingerbread house cabin that may or may not be totally growing on me the longer I settle in.
He’s different now, more self-possessed, magnetic in a way I don’t think either of us could understand back then. But under all the shimmer and sass, there’s still that familiar spark. The one that made my stomach flip at seventeen. The one that makes me wonder now at forty-three, if maybe some sparks just wait patiently for the right kindling. And I’m here tonight, nerves be damned, because I want to see him shine. Taking one last deep breath, I brace myself, push open the door, and step out before I lose my nerve.
Stepping through the bright, purple-painted door is like stepping into another world. Inside, the warehouse bones are still there: exposed brick, beams overhead, painted concrete floors. That’s where the similarities and anything I recognize stop. A long bar runs most of the left wall, with mirrors and shelves of liquor strategically lit behind it. Light bounces off cut glass and gin bottles, casting tiny rainbows over the shelves. A handful of secluded booths line the wall on the far side of the bar, half-walled and cozy. Above them, the exposed brick glows pink from a custom neon sign that readsSleigh Queenin loopy cursive.
Cafe tables dot the main floor, all angled toward the small but commanding stage at the far end of the room, with an open dance floor between. Everything feels intentional. Playful, sure, but precise. May’s created a place that feels instantly inviting and fun, layered with a heavy dose of glam. And even if I didn’t know it was his, I’d still love every inch of it. The club is already buzzing, full of locals with winter hats stuffed into coat sleeves, laughter bouncing off brick and twinkling lights. A low bassline pulses beneath it all, a soundtrack for people-watching and pre-show cocktails. I scan the room, head for the far corner of the bar near the side wall, and slide onto the last stool with aclear view of the stage. Just as I shrug out of my coat, a voice cuts through the din.
“How’s it hangin’, Mountain Man? You drinking tonight, or just trying to lurk in the shadows?” The voice is friendly but sharp, like someone used to cutting through noise with charm alone. I glance up and meet the silver gaze of the bartender across from me. They’ve got a short magenta undercut and sharp eyeliner that could cut glass, paired with a crisp black vest and rolled sleeves that show off ink trailing down one arm. The effect is impressive.
“Bit of both,” I say. “Depends on how strong the drinks are.”
They grin. “Strong enough to make karaoke seem like a good idea. You want a menu, or should I guess?”
“Bourbon. Neat.”
“Man of conviction,” they say, already moving. “I’m T, by the way. They/them. Let me know if you need a water or a lifeline.”
“Miles,” I offer. “He/him. Appreciate the options.”
They set the glass in front of me with a practiced clink. “Welcome to the Queen, Miles.”
I raise the drink in a small toast. “Glad to be here.”
T leans back against the cooler, leanly muscled arms folded over their chest, shit-kicker boots crossed at the ankles. “If you’re here for the show, you picked a good night. Full cast. Headliner’s kind of a big deal.”
I keep my tone casual, resting my forearms on the bar. “Yeah? What makes them a big deal?”
They grin. “May’s a force of nature. You’ll see.”
That pulls a smile from me. Small, sure, but real. “Looking forward to it.”
T winks and pushes off the cooler. “Good. That bourbon won’t drink itself. Let me know if you want something sweet tochase it with.” They drift off down the bar, leaving me alone with my drink and the steady thud of my heart.
I take a slow sip, letting the heat work its way through me. It’s cozy in here, somehow, even with the exposed beams and industrial edges. Neon glows warm against the brick. The disco ball overhead isn’t even spinning yet, but it still manages to sparkle, like it’s just waiting for permission. The whole room feels like it’s holding its breath. Or maybe that’s just me.
I shift on the stool and let my gaze drift to the small stage at the far end of the room. There’s a hush of expectation in the air. Everyone here is waiting for something. For someone.
I know exactly who I’m waiting for.
It’s wild to think it’s only been a week since that first coffee shop run-in. Wilder still that I’ve seen him, her, twice already…I really need to clarify pronouns next time we talk. Three times, really, if you count the Tuesday “oops, fancy running into you again” moment at The Brew House that neither of us tried very hard to pass off as accidental. That chance meeting turned into three hours of talking, laughing, and falling back into conversation as if the decades between us never happened. I spent the afternoon getting to know the man he’s become, letting him see pieces of who I am now. And I can’t think of a better way I’ve spent a day in my entire life.
It’s only been a handful of days since we bumped into each other at The Brew House, but it feels like something inside me cracked open that morning. Since then, we’ve been texting, half banter, half flirting, full of inside jokes and one-liners that come a little too easily for two people who haven’t seen each other in over a decade. It’s like we picked up a conversation we started in another lifetime and just…kept going. I don’t know what I expected when I came back to Sleighbell Springs. Certainly not this. Not him. Not the part of me that sat quietly for years, suddenly sitting up and paying attention.
He sent me a photo yesterday afternoon of a glittery reindeer lawn ornament with the caption, “On a scale of 1 to 10, how offended would you be if I dressed like this for our next date?” I told him I’d only be offended if he didn’t.
He replied with a voice note, low and amused, the kind of sound that sticks in your chest longer than it should, saying, “Noted. Glitter crotch reindeer: added to cart.”
