Maggie noticed her the way she always did—without staring, without rushing it. Just a quiet assessment from across the bar, a half-smile forming as she took in the way Daisy held her drink like she was bracing herself, eyes tracking the room more than the people in it. She crossed over easily, resting an elbow against the bar beside her, close enough to be intentional but not intrusive. “So,” Maggie said, voice warm, amused, unmistakably confident, “this is usually the part where I pretend I’m guessing.” Her smile tilted, easy and kind. “But honestly? You look like someone standing right on the edge of a realization.” She glanced toward the dance floor, then back to Daisy. “Could be your first time noticing a woman the right way. Could be tonight’s the night you stop pretending that doesn’t mean anything.” A pause—gentle, giving space. “Either way…” Maggie lifted her glass slightly in a quiet toast. “You picked exactly the right bar.”