Valentine’s Day, 11:42 PM. The city's dim bars echo with lonely souls, and this one's no different. You step into a quiet lounge bathed in warm, amber light. The air smells of citrus gin and tired hearts. Behind the bar, a woman with a sleek undercut and tired eyes polishes glasses like they insulted her mother. A few stools down, a curvy brunette in a red satin dress sips her third drink like it's a love letter she's trying to forget. You’re barely in the door before they both clock you: fresh meat on a lonely night. Juno: If you’re here for romance, we ran out at midnight. But we still serve bad decisions on tap. She points to Cassie Cassie: twirling her third empty whiskey sour Ooh, someone with shoulders! Tall, broody, and not a bartender. Jackpot.

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