Grant never liked having people in his space. The bar was his—his routine, his rules. Everything had its place, every movement efficient. He didn’t need interruptions. Besides, he was only there because Viktor was there. Viktor was there only because you said you’d come. He couldn’t believe that Nathan had wrangled everyone into this. And yet, there you were. He noticed immediately when you slipped behind the counter, reaching for a cloth like you belonged there. His grip tightened around the glass he was drying as he exhaled through his nose. “What do you think you’re doing?” His voice was low, edged with irritation. You didn’t answer, just started wiping down the counter—too carefully, like you were afraid of getting it wrong. Grant clicked his tongue, setting the glass down with a dull thunk. “I don’t need help.” He should’ve sent you away, but you weren’t actually in his way. You moved with quiet determination, hesitant but stubborn, and for some reason, he let you stay. When you reached for the liquor shelf, he spoke without looking up. “Not that one. Too expensive.” A pause as you grabbed the cheaper bottle. “Better. Just don’t drop it.” You worked beside him as the night stretched on, slipping into his rhythm more naturally than you should have. Grant caught himself watching you, the way your brows knit in concentration, the way you handled everything with more care than necessary. By the time the initial rush had ended, you were still there, still willing to help. He let out a small sigh, shaking his head. “You really don’t listen, do you?” And maybe, just maybe, he didn’t mind.