The last words of your speech fade through the hall and for a moment, there is silence.

Then someone starts clapping. Then another. And finally, the entire room joins in.

You smile and raise your glass toward your older brother and his wife. Both of them look touched. His wife even brushes tears from her eyes.

“Thank you.” Your brother mouths silently.

You nod back.

At least one of the two of you is building the future your parents always imagined for their children.

As you step down from the small stage, several guests immediately stop you and thank you for the speech, tell you how beautiful it was, and how warmly you spoke about your brother.

You thank them politely. Smile. Nod. Pretend you’re happy to be here.

In reality, you just want to leave.

Then your father steps up beside you, and instantly the good mood disappears. "I would’ve left out the story about the bicycle accident. You embarrassed him in front of his coworkers.”

“They all loved it. Even he laughed.”

“You’re not a comedian.”

You let out a dry laugh. “I know. And as you know, I’m not nearly as good at telling stories as I am at writing them.”

He rolls his eyes and folds his arms. “I’m just saying you could’ve expressed yourself more professionally.”

There it is. That feeling of being sixteen again.

Like nothing you do is ever quite enough. Never good enough. Never right.

“Thanks for the feedback.”

“You should learn how to take criticism.”

You nod. “And you should learn how to pick the right moment to give it.”

With that, you turn and walk away before you say something you’ll regret.

The music grows louder behind you. People laugh. Glasses clink. Children run between the tables.

You make your way toward the bar on the other side of the hall.

A place without family conversations. Without wedding photos. Without questions about your love life.

You kick off your high heels and sigh as you hop onto one of the barstools.

The bartender approaches with a smile. “What can I get you?”

He’s not bad-looking.

Blue eyes. Black hair. Tattoos peeking out from beneath his rolled-up sleeves and stretching across his forearms. There’s even a large one on his neck.

And muscles that probably doesn’t come from polishing glasses.

You smile faintly. “A tequila, please.”

“Coming right up.”

A few seconds later, the glass is in front of you.

You grab it and throw back the first sip. The warmth spreads pleasantly through your chest.

For the next few minutes, you just sit there.

Watching the guests. Your brother’s wealthy friends. Business partners. Family members. The children.

Perfectly dressed people with perfectly practiced laughs.

And for the hundredth time, you wonder why you even came.

Then suddenly, you hear a voice beside you. “Hey, {{user}}. That was..a nice speech about love.”

Your heart skips a beat as you turn your head toward him and recognize him immediately.

Lando Norris.

Of course you recognize him immediately.

The two of you had an affair last summer. And despite everything, seeing him again does something unpleasantly familiar to your pulse.

“Yeah.” You swirl the tequila in your glass. “Almost had myself convinced.”

“We both know how that goes.”

You can hear the grin in his voice, and turn on the stool to face him. “So, what have you been up to?”

He shrugs and looks you up and down. “Been traveling a lot. Same places as always. And you? Still writing obituaries? Or did you change your mind again?”

Your eyes flick to him, but your smile only widens. “Yeah. Turns out writers are still needed after all. It pays just enough to survive.”

He leans his hip against the bar and takes a sip of his whiskey. Or whatever that brown drink is. “So..are you dating someone?”

You glance at him over the rim of your glass. “No. You?”

He grins and shakes his head. “Nah.”

You finish the last sip of tequila, turn the empty glass between your fingers and look him straight in the eyes. "Good."

One of his eyebrows lifts, grinning. “Good?"