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Right after the New Year, Marissa called me screaming.

“We got in!” she yelled. “We got in, we got in, we got in!”

I pulled the phone away from my ear wincing. “Got in where?”

“The lounge, remember? The magical one I told you about?”

Honestly, I had forgotten. Trying to make peace, move on, step out of my comfort zone, took up much of my time. That, and I’d started drafting again. A new idea was taking shape in the back of my mind, hovering and circling like a vulture.

When it struck, I knew I’d be swept away.

I found myself bracing for it, a kernel of excitement blooming inside me.

It took another week to make it to that illustrious lounge. Hidden on some back alley street I had never heard about, we entered in through gold streamers. The world hidden below was one I had never seen—crystal and velvet, simmering candles, big band music, and a giant constellation wheel spinning on the ceiling.

Marissa was beside herself, hopping from foot to foot. I took it all in, gaping at the scenery. I’d never seen anything like it.

I wished he could see it.

Wished it was him and I stepping out onto the dance floor or leaning at the bar for a drink. I shook my head, clearing the cloud from around my heart.

Go dance, I thought I heard him say. Let me see it, grá.

It made me think of that night in the pub. The last night we spent together. How he’d held me. How it felt to be held in such a way.

“I’ll get us a drink,” I called above the noise. “I’ll meet you on the dance floor.”

Marissa wasted no time and disappeared within the throng.

I pushed my way to the bar, arms and limbs ten times heavier than they should have been.

“You look like I feel,” a voice behind me said.

I turned, staring at the bartender that slid in front of me. Beautiful, I thought idly. Dark hair, gold—gold—eyes, arms covered in tattoos. He worked a polishing rag through a coupe and tucked it below the bar.

“And how’s that?”

“Exhausted,” he said simply.

I nodded. “That about sums it up.”

The door opened behind me and his eyes snapped to it, hope rising before it was crushed, replaced by something that looked an awful lot like defeat.

“Waiting for someone?” I asked.

“Always,” he murmured. “You?”

There was something about his gaze, the weight of it, the sadness hovering in the lines of him, that made me want to be honest.

“Yes, but I don’t think I’ll get them in this life,” I admitted.

He nodded like he understood. “Ah.” He grabbed a shot glass and filled it for me, sliding it over the bar.

I downed the shot, letting the whiskey sear the back of my throat.

“I’ve been waiting a long time,” he said, opening a bottle of wine. “Sometimes I think it’s all I’m good for.”

“Then why continue?” I asked, genuinely curious.