He tilts his head, something flickering across his face. “You’re the oldest, aren’t you?”
“That obvious?”
“My captain back in Boston has the same energy.” A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Alright then. I appreciate it.”
“Good.” I grab my jacket from the back of my chair. “Calvin’s usually at The Black Lantern on Tuesday nights. But he has no idea about any of this, and I can’t tell you how he’s going to take it.”
“That’s fair,” Mateo says. He picks up the duffel with his good hand. “I appreciate this. You don’t have to do it.”
I hold the door. “Let’s go.”
The Black Lantern is warm and loud when we push through the door, with conversations layered on top of each other, someone’s laugh carrying from a back booth, glasses clinking, and music playing just underneath it all.
It’s a Tuesday night crowd, which means half the town is here pretending they don’t have work tomorrow. The string lights that Maren hung along the exposed beams cast the whole room in that amber glow that makes people stay longer than they planned, order one more drink, linger at their tables.
Mateo stops just inside the doorway, scanning the room. “So Calvin and Maren own the place?”
“Just Maren.” I steer us toward the bar, weaving between tables and nodding at a few familiar faces. Old Eddie raises his Rainier in greeting from his usual corner spot, and I lift my chin back. “She bought it from our mom almost a decade ago when Mom retired. But Calvin spends a lot of his time here and helps out behind the bar when it’s busy.”
“This place is nice. Your mom owned it?” He follows as I guide us to a couple of empty stools at the quieter end of the bar.
I look around, but I don’t see Maren or Calvin anywhere. Just the usual chaos.
“Yeah, she did back in the day.” I settle onto a stool, the wood familiar under me after years of sitting in this exact spot. “It’s always been a family kind of place. Trivia nights and board games and kids running around. But Maren’s taken it up a notch since she took over.”
Mateo’s eyes move around the room, lingering on the framed photos behind the bar. “She must be proud. Your mom, I mean. Seeing it do so well.”
“She was.” I pause. “She passed a few years ago, but yeah. She loved what Maren did with the place.”
“I’m sorry.” Mateo’s quiet for a moment. “I knew about your dad after looking Calvin up, but I hadn’t realized she was gone too.”
The grief flickers up the way it still does sometimes all these years later, unexpected and unwelcome. I glance over at Mateo and am relieved to see no pity in his face, not like some peopleget when they hear about it. But there’s an expression there that makes me think he might know a bit about grief himself.
“Thanks,” I say. “She was something else.”
Mateo settles onto the stool beside me, his eyes still moving around the room. “So Calvin’s a writer, right?”
“Yeah.” I keep an eye on the door to the back. “They’re both writers, actually. Calvin teaches boxing at the gym a few days a week, plus some creative writing classes at the community college. Mostly he’s working on his second book though. And Maren writes poetry when she’s not running this place.”
Mateo’s mouth twitches. “Sounds nice.”
“It is.” I drum my fingers on the bar, the wood smooth and familiar under my knuckles. Mom used to stand on the other side of this thing, pouring drinks and holding court and knowing everyone’s name and everyone’s business.
A second later Maren pushes through the door from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She’s smiling when she spots me, but the smile shifts when her gaze lands on Mateo. Her eyebrows pull together slightly, confusion flickering across her face before she smooths it over.
“Hey Dom, wasn’t expecting you tonight.” She moves toward us, reaching for a rocks glass without asking because she’s had my order memorized since before she and Calvin even started dating. Her gaze flicks between me and Mateo. “Who’s your friend?”
“Mateo Navarro,” I say. “The guy from the car wreck.”
Mateo reaches out with his good arm. “Hi, nice to meet you, Maren,” he says. “Really nice place you’ve got here.”
“Thanks, and nice to meet you too,” she says, and her eyes linger on his face in a way that tells me she’s seeing it too. I can practically see the questions stacking up behind her smile. She pours my bourbon and slides it across the bar, the amberliquid catching the glow from the string lights, then turns back to Mateo. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“Ah, no thanks,” he says, shifting on the stool. “I uh... I’m good.”
“Mateo needs to see Calvin,” I say. “Is he here?”
“No, he just stepped out but should be back any minute,” she says, her eyes darting to Mateo and then back to me. “Dom, what’s going on?”
