Fairy lights are strung through the trees surrounding the building, creating pools of warm golden light against the darkness. More lights wrap around the exterior of the building itself, outlining the modern architecture mixed with rustic wood beams. Music is already thumping from inside, a live band by the sound of it, and people are everywhere on the outside balcony.
“What is this place?” I breathe, staring.
Nina parks the Beetle. “It’s The Timber Den. The locals’ spot. Food during the day, drinks and music and fun at night. Best place to forget your problems.”
We get out, and the cold hits immediately, snow crunching under our boots, breath misting in the air. But the building appears warm and inviting, and I can already feel the energy pulsing from inside.
Nina links her arm through mine as we walk toward the entrance, and I’m grateful for her presence. For this friendship that somehow formed so quickly and seems so solid.
We push through the heavy wooden doors, and the place is even better inside than I imagined.
It’s massive. The ceiling soars overhead with exposed beams crisscrossing, and the entire space is an open concept with different sections flowing into each other. The bar takes up one entire wall, easily fifty feet long, with shelves of bottles lit from below, creating an amber glow. Bartenders are moving about, mixing drinks, and pouring beer.
To the left is a stage, where a live band is playing something upbeat and catchy, and in front of them is a packed dance floor. Bodies moving together, laughing, singing along.
Round standing tables are scattered throughout the main space, all occupied. Beyond that, there are pool tables, at least three of them, and dartboards mounted on the far wall. There are booths along the windows, more traditional seating, and a whole separate section with comfortable couches and low tables.
The place is packed. Easily two hundred people, maybe more, and the energy is infectious.
“This is incredible,” I say, having to raise my voice over the music.
“Right?” Nina is grinning now, some of that earlier pain fading. “Come on. Let’s get drinks.”
We squeeze through the crowd toward the bar, bodies pressing close, the smell of beer and perfume and woodsmoke mixing together. A few guys try to make eye contact, start conversations, but Nina steers us away.
We finally reach the bar, and Nina orders. “Two Timber Specials.”
“What drink is that?” I ask.
“No idea. But they’re strong and delicious, and that’s all that matters.”
The female bartender with sleeve tattoos grins and starts mixing. Within minutes, she’s sliding two cocktails toward us. They’re beautiful—layered colors of orange and pink, garnished with fresh berries and mint.
I take a sip and nearly moan. It’s sweet but not too sweet, with a kick that promises I’ll regret this tomorrow.
“Good, right?” Nina says as she pays, and I will be getting the next round.
“So good.”
We’re turning to find a spot to stand when I notice Nina scanning the crowd more carefully now. Looking for someone. Or looking to avoid someone.
“You okay?” I ask quietly.
“Yeah. Just making sure he’s not here. My ex. I don’t think this is his scene, but…” She trails off, then shakes her head. “You know what? I don’t care. Even if he is here, I’m not letting him ruin my night.”
“That’s the spirit.”
We push deeper into the crowd, past the dance floor, past clusters of people laughing and drinking, and we’re heading toward the back section with the pool tables when I spot Mason and Dylan.
They’re at one of the pool tables, and my breath catches.
Mason is wearing dark jeans and a black long-sleeved T-shirt that fits him perfectly, showing off those broad shoulders and the lean muscles of his arms. His short blond hair is styled casually, messy on top, and even from here, I spot that easy, devastating smile as he’s talking to another guy.
Dylan is in jeans too, with a dark gray long-sleeved shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, showing off tattooed forearms. His long hair is pulled up into a bun on top of his head, the sides freshly shaved, and he’s laughing at something Mason must have said, head thrown back, completely unselfconscious.
They’re both holding pool cues, chalk in hand, clearly about to start a game. Dylan moves to one end and leans over the table, lining up the break shot, while Mason stands back.
“What are they doing here?” I say as Nina bumps into me.
