The bar was warm.
That was the first thing Arianne noticed when she stepped inside. The cool evening air slid off her shoulders, replaced by low light and the smell of polished wood. The narrow brick building looked ordinary from the street—easy to miss between the restaurant and the gallery. But inside, it was theirs.
Nate stood behind the bar, a white towel draped over his shoulder, polishing a glass like he'd been waiting for her.
"About time."
Julian turned on his stool. "There she is."
Gilbert sat two seats away, a tall glass of mineral water in front of him. Franz stood beside him, one arm resting against the counter.
Arianne crossed toward them. Her heels were quiet against the floor. The bar was built for sound to settle, not echo.
Nate didn't ask what she wanted. He just reached for a bottle.
"You're late."
"I had a meeting."
"That's disappointing." He poured. "I was hoping you'd get here early enough to help me convince Julian to pay for everyone's drinks."
