I probably should have known that the day Cobalt opened its doors would be a strange day.

When a customer mentioned Cobalt to me for the first time, I was barely even paying attention. There was way too much going on to begin with—it was the afternoon at my bar, which meant it was time to begin changing over my store from the morning shift to night. The espresso machine had to be cleaned, cash in the registers needed to be counted, and it was time to change over the lighting and music in the front of the café. Morning was over, and the people of Rose Falls would soon be looking for alcohol instead of caffeine as their vice of choice.

And the setting sun also meant that it was getting closer and closer to when Cobalt was set to have its grand opening.

“They’re saying it’s going to be the hottest bar in town by next month!” Dennis, a craggy old regular, said as he walked up to the front counter to pay for his usual decaf cup of coffee. “Have you heard of it yet, Patrick?”

I kept my eyes downcast as I counted through the quarters and nickels he’d passed to me. “Yep,” I said finally, “of course I have. Place has been under construction two doors down ever since before Christmas.”

“Did you know tonight is opening night?”

I closed the cash register and slid the paper cup over the bar toward Dennis, meeting his eyes. “I’ve been trying to forget.”

“I’ll bet you have.”

“Come on, Dennis,” I said, smiling politely. “Do you really think a place like that is going to make any difference to me? Sure, Cobalt might be slick and modern, but… it seems so impersonal. I know the name of almost every customer that comes through these doors. I reminded a customer that it was her mother’s birthday the other day. A huge place like Cobalt couldn’t do that even if they tried.”

He tipped his head to one side. “Well, nowhere else could be just like Brew for You, that’s for sure.”

Brew for You was a coffee bar by day, a beer bar by night, and always my pride and joy. I had opened the bar two years ago and had been pouring my heart and soul into it ever since. We certainly weren’t the most popular place in the whole town, but I had been happy with our growth. We weren’t in the busy downtown Rose Falls Promenade where rent was highest, but I liked the sleepy little side street we occupied. It was just us, Rose’s Mini-Mart, a couple takeout restaurants, and not much else. We had our fair share of locals and regular customers, and that was all I needed.

And then a few months back, construction on Cobalt began. Gossip started to spread about the new bar that was set to take Rose Falls by storm. It was supposed to be hip, trendy, and big—everything my little café wasn’t.

I had been trying my best to ignore the existence of the new bar, to pretend it wasn’t there, to put it completely out of my mind. But last week, my only night waitress, Alexis, had quit to go work at Cobalt instead. And today I had hoped that people would have the decency to stay quiet about the opening. But when the second—and then the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth customer came strolling through my door that day talking about Cobalt, I gave up.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about Cobalt, though,” Dennis said. “Guy who owns it is supposed to be a stickler for making sure his employees are friendly as can be. Has a long training program for all the bartenders, all that stuff. I read about him in the paper this morning.”

“Must have missed that article,” I said.

Dennis laughed, the wrinkles around his eyes bunching up. “You’ve got a good attitude, Patrick, and don’t let anyone tell you different. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then, Dennis.”

He nodded and headed out the front door. I turned to the back of the bar, watching as Emmett cleaned up, restocking cups and lids. Emmett had become a much better and happier employee ever since he started pursuing his own hobbies more outside of work—I knew I could count on him, not only as a worker but as a friend.

“So, Patrick,” he said, eyeing me with a mischievous grin on his face, “have you heard of this new bar called Cobalt opening tonight down the street? I hear they have really great cocktails….”

“Oh, come on,” I said, leaning against the back counter next to him. “The way people are talking about it, you’d think Cobalt was just a big iron wrecking ball set to destroy Brew for You the second someone flips a switch. Do they have no confidence in my ability to run my bar?”

Emmett leaned over the front counter, looking out the big front windows. “Well,” he said, squinting as he looked out, “have you… seen what’s going on out there?”

I sighed, crossing over to the front of the room and glancing out. There was a sizeable line of people outside already, waiting for the new bar to open. It was half past four o’clock, and Cobalt wasn’t even opening its doors until five.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” I said, waving a hand as I came back around the counter. “Any time there’s somewhere new to go in Rose Falls, people go nuts. I’m sure the hype will die down in no time. A place like Cobalt belongs in the city, not in our small town.”

I wasn’t even sure if I believed what I was saying. It was probably more like wishful thinking. I needed Brew for You to do well. I had poured all of my savings into it, accepted a sizable loan from my parents, and quit a better-paying job to open this bar.

Everyone had told me I was crazy. My parents still acted as if Brew for You was some wacky experiment or phase I was going through—they didn’t see it as a legitimate career and investment, and for the first time in my life, I could feel them judging me for every decision I made. I had to prove Brew for You could do well, if not for myself, then for my family and friends who still doubted me. And to whom I still owed thousands of dollars.

Emmett eyed me as he cleaned the back bar. “Well, I read that article in the paper today—Cobalt’s owner apparently did open two bars already in Washington, D.C. This is his third bar. He threw out a bunch of buzzwords about mixology and said he was eager to bring a ‘fresh vibe’ to Rose Falls.”

I shook my head. “When I walked by it this week, it felt so sterile, somehow. I bet the inside looks more like a museum than a comfortable bar.”

Emmett arched an eyebrow. “Have you actually looked inside?”

I shrugged. “No. Not really.”

“Patrick,” Emmett said, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You should go. Tonight. Even if you think it’s ridiculous, even if you only go for ten minutes, you’ve got to make an appearance. Welcome Taran to the neighborhood.”

“Who’s Taran?” I asked, reaching onto the back bar and discarding a stray straw wrapper.

“Wow, you really haven’t read anything about Cobalt, have you?”

“Sure haven’t.”

“Taran Vallas is the owner. At the very least, he is some spectacular eye candy. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind that.”

Emmett was taking advantage of my weakness, and he knew full well he was doing it. He knew that it had been ages since I’d been with another guy. In the past two years since I’d opened Brew for You, I had been woefully attached to the job—other than a one-week fling with a tourist last summer, I hadn’t really gotten any action since Brew for You became my entire life.

When Emmett had been single, we had commiserated together, joking that we’d be single until we were eighty years old. But then he’d met Ryan late last year, and now more than ever, I was hyperaware of still being alone at age thirty. I couldn’t pretend anymore.

So even a passing comment—like Emmett saying the owner of Cobalt was “eye candy”—was enough to perk my ears up. Some part of me wanted to go to Cobalt just to meet him.

But as quickly as that thought came, reality hit me in the face: I remembered that I couldn’t leave the bar.

“Emmett, you know I can’t leave. Alexis isn’t here anymore, and I’m not going to close the bar tonight just because there’s no one but me here to watch over it—”

“I knew this was about Alexis,” Emmett said, clearly exasperated. “Patrick, she wasn’t even a good waitress! You said it yourself. She was more interested in her phone than any customer that came here.”

“But did she have to leave to go to Cobalt?” I asked, sighing. “The sad part is, when she came to my office to talk to me, I thought she was going to be asking for a raise. I was all prepared to give it to her—give her a talk about responsibilities and another dollar an hour. But instead she told me she was leaving.”

“It happens,” Emmett said with a small shrug.

“I mean, I get it. I do. The tips will be better there. It’s not her fault. But that’s just one more reason I shouldn’t want to meet this… Taran guy. What kind of a name is Taran, anyway?”

“I think it’s a perfectly lovely name,” Emmett said. “And admit it, you totally wanna go meet Rose Falls’ newest hot bachelor.”

I sighed. “You know, ever since you fell in love, your optimism has reached thoroughly annoying levels.”

Emmett snorted. “Just because Ryan and I fell in love doesn’t make me an optimist. I do love him though… God, you should have seen him last night, I got him this lavender button-up, and it fits so perfectly… but, of course, it’s even better when he’s taking it off—”

“Enough, enough,” I said. “Your shift is about to end, and I need to stay here and man the bar, since my only waitress was poached from me. You can go to Cobalt if you’d like. Have a good night, Emmett.”

I busied about the bar, cleaning and re-cleaning random surfaces, trying to ignore the fact that Emmett was still staring at me, one hand resting on his hip. Finally, I looked up to meet his eyes. “Why are you still here? Your shift is over.”

“You want to go,” Emmett said simply, crossing his arms. “I could use the extra money tonight. I’ll watch the bar. You go to Cobalt.”

“What on Earth makes you think I want to go?”

“Because if you really want to avoid me, you always go in the back office. But when you’re nervous, you stay out here and clean the bar, over and over again. Kind of like you’re doing right now.”

I turned away, trying to hide the smile that was spreading over my face. It was true. Emmett had me figured out, sometimes better than I knew myself. I’d known him since high school, though we were never as close back then. But now more than ever, I was grateful to have him as a friend and coworker.

I turned back around to face him, putting my cleaning rag back into the sanitizer bucket. “If,” I said, holding up a finger, “—and only if—I go to the opening of Cobalt, do you really think you’ll be okay manning the bar for a while?”

He chuckled and rolled his eyes. “No, Patrick, the whole bar will burn down the second you walk out the door.”

“I mean it,” I said. “Are you sure you can stay?”

“You’re here at Brew for You more than you’re in your actual home. You’re here all day, every day. I usually don’t mention it because I know this bar is your baby, and it’s honestly admirable how devoted you are. But you are allowed to take breaks. You’re allowed to take one night off. And I’ve already said I’m okay with it. So go.”

A strange rush ran through me as I realized I might actually go through with it—that I might attend the opening of the bar I’d been dreading for a long time. I realized that some part of me really wanted to go. If we were going to have to be neighbors with Cobalt, I might as well try to bridge the divide, to befriend the competition.

And okay, sure. Maybe I wanted to catch a glimpse of this guy Taran, too. If he already owned three bars in his thirties, there had to be something good about him.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it. I’ll stop by. Might as well see it while it lasts, huh?” I grinned.

Emmett shook his head. “Just enjoy yourself, Patrick. You deserve it. Make a friend or two while you’re there.”

I eyed the stack of local newspapers near the front of the café. For a split second, I considered going over to grab one and reading the article about Taran and Cobalt. Maybe I could try to figure out what the guy was like before potentially meeting him.

At the last minute, I decided against it. May as well go in blind.

What did I have to lose?

* * *

As soon as I stepped inside Cobalt, I felt a strange combination of emotions I never knew could go hand in hand: a mix of creeping unease and total comfort. Because the inside of the bar wasn’t anything like I had assumed it would be.

Cobalt wasn’t slick and modern in a clinical way at all. There were no shiny white surfaces, no metal, no exposed concrete. Instead, the bar felt like it had been constructed and decorated with care. The floor was a rich, dark hardwood, and the booths and seats were all upholstered in a deep burgundy leather. I felt like the atmosphere would better be described as a “lounge” rather than a “bar”—for God’s sake, there were two beautiful fountains that I could see from the entryway, surrounded by lush green plants.

It didn’t feel like coming into a bar, it felt like coming home.

And that’s where my sense of unease and dread began. Because I had been totally wrong: Cobalt seemed like the perfect place for people of Rose Falls to come together and meet for a drink. Suddenly, my mind began indexing all the ways that Brew for You needed to improve. Why didn’t we have beautiful, glowing pendant light fixtures? Why had I never considered hiring an artist to paint a mural as beautiful as the one I now saw on the brick wall at the back of Cobalt? How the hell could I ever compete?

I was already starting to feel like a deflated tire, and I hadn’t even sat down yet.

“Welcome to Cobalt,” a young, dapper man said as I approached the front counter. “You made it just in time—we’ve still got some seats open at the bar and in the dining room. Do you have a preference?”

I quickly scanned the room, smiling politely at a couple familiar faces I saw in the room. I even saw Alexis, my former employee, and gave her my best attempt at a polite smile. “Bar,” I said, knowing that I needed to avoid any awkward interaction with Alexis if possible.

The young man introduced himself to me properly as he whisked me over to the bar. When I sat down near the end, he gave me a quick tour of the bar menu, which was a short list of specialty cocktails with ingredients I’d never even heard of before. There were at least four people working behind the backlit bar. The last of the day’s sunlight filtered in through a series of skylights above, and for a few minutes I just sat and took in my surroundings, unsure whether I wanted to laugh or panic.

A young woman named Mary came to introduce herself and take my cocktail order soon after. She came back promptly with a drink garnished with a lemon peel, a sprig of rosemary, and a piece of honeycomb on a stick.

“Oh, of course,” I said involuntarily after taking the first sip.

“Is everything alright with your drink?”

I looked up, not even realizing that the bartender had still been in front of me. A concerned look had fallen over her otherwise angelic face.

“What?” I said. “Oh, no, no—I didn’t mean it like that. The drink… the drink is perfect. It might actually be one of the best things I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

A warm smile returned to Mary’s face. “I’m so glad. The Stella Riviera is one of my favorite drinks that we offer. Have you heard of Bittercube bitters before?”

I nodded after taking another sip of the incredible drink. “Of course. That’s all we use at our bar.”

“Oh, you work at a bar, too?” she asked.

“I own a bar, actually. Brew for You, two doors down.”

Her eyes went wide. “Brew for You is your bar?”

I nodded.

“Oh,” she said softly, her smile dropping a little, as if she was thinking of something she wasn’t telling me.

“I was actually wondering if the owner here—Taran?—was around. I’d love to introduce myself. We’re going to be neighbors, after all.”

She gave me a tight-lipped smile and a nod. “Oh, he will definitely be here, but I know he is going to be busy all night. Maybe it would be better if you stopped by on a different night to meet him.”

Usually, I would have thought that her request was perfectly normal—it made sense that he might be too busy tonight, and I understood that. But there was still something in her eyes that worried me. Ever since I’d told her that I was from Brew for You, it was like something had changed.

Maybe it was just because we were the nearby competition, but maybe it was something else. I wondered if Taran had specifically wanted to avoid me.

As more people sat down at the bar, Mary quickly stepped away to attend to the customers. I was looking down, lost in examining the perfect twist that she had achieved with the lemon peel when I heard a faint rumbling outside that soon became a loud revving. A small amount of commotion began in the lounge area as people got up and looked outside.

An older woman that had squeezed near me at the bar leaned close to me. “Is that him?” she whispered.

I craned my neck to try to see over the crowd and through the front windows, but it was useless. “Is that who?” I asked, though I already knew what she had meant.

“Taran!” someone shouted a few moments later as the front door opened, and soon a few cameras started flashing and people erupted into applause.

Actual applause. As if he was some sort of movie star or celebrity and not just a bar owner.

“It is him!” the woman next to me said. “Did you see him on TV last night?”

I shook my head, turning away from the crowd. “No. Was he on the local news or something?”

“Oh no,” she said. “He was on the Food Channel. They did a profile of his two bars in D.C. Really amazing stuff. Just what Rose Falls needs, I think.”

“Wow,” I responded. “No, I had no idea he was that well known.”

Still, I didn’t think any bar owner necessitated the clamor that was currently taking place near the front of the room. It was as if the volume of the bar had been turned up to eleven the second this Taran guy had walked in—how could one guy be worth all the fuss?

It was all a little too much. I hadn’t met Taran yet, but I’d had enough of the overblown atmosphere in the bar.

Within the next few minutes, I finished the rest of my drink. The woman next to me had long since disappeared, going off into the other room in search of the illustrious Taran Vallas. When I was done, I left a healthy cash tip on the bar and grabbed the honeycomb stick out of my empty glass to take with me. I swung my flannel on and made my way to the back of the bar. Every store on our street was required to have a back exit open to the public, and there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be than out of here.

It was an easy escape. The crowd was thinner near the back, and once I got into the long, dark hallway, I was alone. The honeycomb was sweet in my mouth, and now that I was finally leaving, I could appreciate more how incredibly good the cocktail had been. No matter how pretentious the bar might be, I had to admit how amazing the product was. Why hadn’t I ever thought of using honeycomb?

I finally saw the corner where I knew the rear exit would be, and I quickly rounded it. And I ran straight into the broad shoulder of a man—a very tall man—because suddenly all I could see and feel was his body up against mine.

“Shoot—sorry!” I uttered, feeling my cheeks heat a little. The man’s scent surrounded me, and he smelled like what I’d imagine heaven to be like. I saw now that I’d accidentally knocked my honeycomb against his hand, leaving a smear of honey along the back of it. “I’m sorry,” I said again.

He softly put his other hand on my arm as if in apology. “Well, hello there,” he said, his voice deep and soft like velvet. “That was quite a collision.”

I stepped back and saw him for the first time. For as embarrassed as I felt, he sure didn’t seem to care. He was smiling, just slightly, as if he was trying to hold back from full-blown laughing at me.

“Again, I’m sorry—have a nice night,” I said, heading again for the door. I wanted to get out of there, especially now that I’d made a fool of myself in front of what appeared to be some sort of model from a cologne advertisement. His rich brown hair was windswept, either the product of the breeze outside or hours in front of a mirror. Somehow I gathered that this guy probably always looked that perfect.

“How’d you enjoy it?” he asked. When I turned back around to face him, he looked wholly unperturbed, like he hadn’t believed that I was leaving at all. His eyes stayed fixed on me, warm and steady. He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth and neatly licked away the honey I’d left there.

Was he messing with me?

“Enjoy it?” I said with a shocked laugh. “I mean, normally when I knock up against other guys I prefer to do it in bed—I kind of left the dark hallways back in college.”

Wonderful. I had knocked into him, gotten sticky honey on his hand, and now was blathering about having sex with other guys. When I was flustered, my filter tended to become particularly useless, but right now I felt as though it might have disappeared completely. For all I knew, the guy could be a dangerous homophobe.

His eyebrows lifted and then, miraculously, he laughed. “I meant the Stella Riviera.”

“Huh?” I said, dumbfounded again. How did he know what I’d ordered? I was so rarely intimidated by other people, and it was turning my world on its axis to feel so instantly affected by his presence.

“Your drink. The Stella Riviera. It was one of my favorites at the D.C. bars. I think the honeycomb gives just the right little push of sweetness. Better in the drink than on my hand, but… sometimes I like pure honey, too.”

“Oh. Of course,” I said, shaking my head. I realized then that this guy must have been a fan who had come from D.C. to visit the opening of Cobalt. “Yeah, the drink was… excellent, actually. It’s a shame—if I wasn’t so put off by all this ridiculous cult of personality surrounding the owner, I might actually come back to this bar. Wait ‘til you see it. People are fawning over him up front.”

“Fawning over him, huh?”

“Yeah. I didn’t even see him,” I said. “And I’m not sure I care to.”

The guy gave me a strange look before his knowing smile reappeared.

“Sorry,” I continued. “I guess if you came all the way from D.C., you probably enjoy his bars more than I do.” I gave him a sheepish smile, trying not to focus too hard on the intensity of his eyes.

His eyes moved along my body like he was somehow sizing me up. “What’s your name?” he asked, ignoring what I had said before.

“Um,” I said, still surprised that a guy I’d literally bumped into cared enough to ask my name. “I’m Patrick,” I said finally.

He held out his hand to shake mine. “Nice to meet you, Patrick. I’m Taran Vallas.”