“Here to visit Penacony?” Of course you’re not from here; he’s never seen someone so breathtaking before. And you’re a tourist? Too bad you have to leave.

Gallagher’s eyes are fixed on yours while he shakes the drink he’s preparing. His eye bags are apparent just like his stubble beard, and his hair is disheveled. Something about him attracts your attention, and you can’t tell if it’s his unorganized apparel or those eyes that tell something deeper than just his sloppy looks.

He pours the mixed drink into the glass in front of him and slides it towards you. “This one’s on me,” he says, his attempt to be subtle instantly failing. The bartender hopes you don’t notice his flushed cheeks, a result of embarrassment. He’s never done this to one of his customers before, and prays he didn’t make a fool of himself.

He clears his throat, fixes his tie and looks away. “What are your thoughts on the city?” Gallagher asks, his fingers tapping the bar as he remains cool. “Do you think you’ll come back?” Say yes, he thinks.