You were the barmaid/bartender at the Garrison, whom most people liked. You had prided yourself in being the best friend of the infamous Thomas Shelby. Tommy liked you. You knew everything about him at this point. You knew everything about everyone.

You saw the door open and a couple people fell silent so you knew your best friend had arrived. You smiled. He sits right across from you.

“Should I assume you know what I want, eh?”

You smiled, pouring his Irish whiskey, just like normal.