Had I eaten lunch?
I couldn’t remember.
I clicked on the location tag and Google Maps opened, showing me that Barbacks was four blocks from my office.
Easy walking distance.
I thought I heard angels sing.
The stack of documents on my desk taunted me. The Henderson settlement still needed review, the Morrison deposition prep still needed to be finished, and a dozen other client emails still needed responses.
I hadsomuch work to finish before I could even think about going home.
But I also had a meeting at 9 a.m. tomorrow where I’d need to be coherent. That would be impossible if I passed out from hunger in the middle of the conference room.
“Food first, then work,” I grumbled aloud.
I loosened my tie—it had been choking me for the last six hours—and gathered the Henderson documents into what I optimistically called a “stack” but was more of a controlled disaster waiting to happen.After a moment’s thought, I added the Morrison file on top.
Then I turned off my desk lamp and left the office before I could talk myself out of it.
The walk to Barbacks took seven minutes, which I knew because I checked my phone three times to calculate how much work time I was losing by doing something as ridiculous as eating dinner.
The bar was on a corner. A giant banner fluttered in the breeze above the door that read, “GRAND OPENING.” Tall, two-story windows faced the street. I peered through them and saw, well, only a handful of people.
That seemed low for a grand opening on a Friday night in the party heart of town, but then again, I had no idea what made up a successful bar opening. And honestly, fewer people meant I was less likely to be bothered while I tried to work.
I pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The first thing that hit me was the smell of actual food, not the frozen-and-microwaved smell of most bars. I had no clue what was simmering in the kitchen, but the aromas were so savory and delicious they made my stomach growl again.
The second thing I noticed was the general vibe.
It was . . . nice. Comfortable, even.
The TVs were showing a post-game wrap-up. TheLightning had won, according to the talking head who prattled on despite being muted on most of the screens. The lighting hanging from the towering ceiling was warm without being too dim. Booths lined one wall, while high-top tables stood near the windows. A long bar held court in the center with dozens of bottles backlit behind it.
The Insta post had been honest. This felt like a real neighborhood bar, the kind of place you could relax in without dance music blaring or drugged-up men trying to grab body parts they had no business touching without permission.
One group of loud guys at the bar seemed to know each other. A couple talked quietly in a booth. They were leaned forward and staring like two dogs about to eat the same strand of spaghetti. A few solo drinkers watched one TV or another, occasionally glancing about as though unsure how to handle the scene. It wasn’t packed, but it wasn’t empty either.
I thought the sports theme was a little odd for a gay bar, but somehow it worked. It made it feel less like a typical gay bar and more like a “bar that happened to be gay.” It was what I needed after the day I’d had—correction, was still having.
I scanned the room for an out-of-the-way spot and found a booth in the corner. I could order food and get work done without the fluorescent lights ofthe office making my eyes bleed.
I made my way over, slid into the booth, and began spreading documents across the table. The Henderson settlement went on the left, the Morrison deposition prep on the right, and my legal pad in the middle for notes. After a quick scan, I straightened my legal pad, making sure it was perpendicular with the edge of the table.
My pen was somewhere . . . I fumbled through one stack of papers, trying to remember where I’d—
“Welcome to Barbacks.”
The voice wrapped around me like a hug I hadn’t known I needed. The accent was Irish—definitely Irish. It lilted at the edges, making even a simple introduction sound musical.
“I’m Finn.”
I found my pen and looked up.
And couldn’t stop blinking.
