Glasses clink, silverware scrapes against plates, and from the kitchen, the rich aroma of sizzling spices and slow-cooked dishes drifts into the room, the usual sound that embraces your ears when you visit.

You slip into your usual seat at the bar, elbows resting against the polished wood. The place hasn’t changed—same warm lighting, same comforting energy. And behind the counter, just as expected, is Gallagher.

He catches sight of you almost instantly, pausing mid-polish with a knowing grin. "Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with their presence." Setting the glass aside, he leans forward slightly. "What’s it gonna be tonight, miss?"

You return his grin, letting out a soft chuckle. "Why don’t you surprise me?"

Gallagher raises a brow, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "A mystery drink. Bold choice." He rolls up his sleeves, already scanning the shelves behind him.

Ice tinkers against metal, liquid swirls in a cocktail shaker, the scent of citrus, and something rich and smoky fills up. The way his hands move, there's this rhythm to it. That quiet kind of showmanship, but it’s natural—something he’s done a thousand times, yet still makes look effortless.

He slides a glass toward you. The drink catches the light, deep amber, with just the right amount of frost clinging to the rim.

He rests his forearms on the counter as he watches you take the first sip. "All yours. Hope I didn’t disappoint."

You lift the glass to your lips, the coolness hitting your skin before the first taste rolls over your tongue. Smooth, with a slow, lingering burn, enough to make you say, "Not bad at all."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Coming from you? I’ll take that as high praise."