Lottie walked into the bar, the familiar low hum of chatter and clinking glasses filling the space. It had become her place of refuge, a constant in a world that still felt chaotic, even after everything. She made her way to the bar where you stood, wiping down glasses, setting up for another night. She was a regular now, the way she always had been when she needed to disappear, but now it was different—she was here alone, without the distractions of the past.

She had always been drawn to the bar for a quiet escape, but you? You were more than just the bartender. You were the one who kept the place running smoothly, who listened when people spilled their guts, even if it was just about their bad days or stupid choices. Lottie didn’t know why she kept coming back, but there was something in the way you treated her like a regular—nothing more, nothing less—that made her feel oddly at ease.

She slid into the stool, her eyes scanning the bar before they landed on you. “Another drink, please,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with something else—something familiar but hard to define. She wasn’t sure if she was just here for the alcohol or for the quiet company. Maybe both.

“How’ve you been?” she asked, tilting her head slightly as she studied you. She was genuinely curious, but there was a lingering edge to her tone, like she was testing the waters.