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Tomorrow. He’d call her tomorrow. Yeah.

For a split second, he thought about not going. Just saying fuck it, staying home and ordering takeout while watching a movie with Teddy.

She’d love that.

Unfortunately for him, it just wasn't an option. He could already hear Joyce pestering him about it on Monday. Plus, he remembered the pit in his stomach when he’d looked at Jake’s empty office. Just like that, poof, Joyce’s words echoed in his mind.

Ethan looked at Teddy sprawled across his bed, blissfully unaware of the simple life she lived. Honestly, he was jealous.

“Alright, I’m going out for a bit.” He scratched the spot between her ears as she purred in appreciation. “It’s going to be fine. I’ll be fine…right?” he asked.

Teddy stared back blankly while licking her paw, completely unbothered by his internal crisis as she flicked her tail back and forth.

Perfect. Thanks, Teddy.

Ethan sighed, glancing in the mirror for one final check. He ran his fingers through his hair before grabbing his coat and making his way out into the mist-covered streets of downtown.

One drink. Say hello to someone. I can do this.

The Gray Gull was tucked down an alley near the waterfront, across from Pier 57. He'd spent an embarrassing amount of time online last night, searching for the best place for young, single people to socialize. This had been the top result, so he took his chances.

Ethan looked up at the glowing neon lights of the Seattle Great Wheel as they shone down onto the building, illuminating the front entrance. The air smelled like salt and rain, and droplets of mist clung to his skin as he approached the large wooden doors. They looked like something salvaged from an old ship, the kind his Dad used to point out in books when Ethan was a kid.

As he pulled open the doors, the nerves in his stomach bubbled their way back up to the surface.

Stepping inside, the smell of expensive alcohol, firewood, and something faintly sweet flooded his senses.

The hostess smiled at him as he approached, her uniform crisp and opulent. It quickly became apparent how much more high-end this place was than Ethan expected, and his face flushed as he second-guessed his outfit.

Great start, Ethan.

“Hi,” she said, smiling politely as her eyes grazed over him. “How many are joining you tonight?” She nodded toward the door, as if waiting for others to trickle in behind him.

“Oh, uh... It's just me.” Ethan forced an awkward smile. “Can I sit at the bar?” The thought of sitting alone at a table was enough to churn his insides.

He half expected her to say no.

“Sure, you can seat yourself,” she said, pointing toward the bar area.

Ethan nodded and thanked her as he made his way through the arched entrance into the main room.

It was packed—more than he'd expected—and his pulse quickened at the sea of attractive patrons in front of him. Fighting against the screaming self-doubt, he made his way toward the bar.

Voices ebbed and flowed, crashing over one another like the waves below him, mixing with the clinking of expensive glassware. The energy of the room was tangible, and Ethan hoped some of it might seep into him as well.

He slid into the wooden stool at the far end of the bar, a good enough view but far enough from the majority of the chaos.

Smooth jazz played throughout the room, antiquated and scratchy, like it was being piped from an old saxophone. Nautical decor covered the walls: oars, brass lanterns, framed maps of Puget Sound. It was nice, and Ethan felt like he’d been transported somewhere else, as if stepping right inside an 18th-century ship.

The thought of being anywhere else but here brought him a sense of comfort, and for a moment, he thought about pretending to be someone else.

Someone who was confident, extroverted, and not worried that their heart might burst out of their chest at any moment.

Ethan’s gaze was drawn to the back of the bar, past the rows of tables littered with diners. Huge bay windows covered the back wall, overlooking the water. A brick fireplace stretched to the ceiling beside them, its warmth fogging the glass. The purple and blue neon hues of the pier bled through the windows, bathing the people seated nearby in a shifting light.

This is nice. Cozy. I can do this.

Resting his hands on the counter, his fingers ran along the wood-grain surface, worn and rough. He scanned the area closest to him, observing the people, pretending that he belonged here just as much as they did.