A lot of people came to the cape to get away from the big city and seek motivation, especially in the winter. Sure, the nor'easters were a bit of a problem, but the locals knew how to handle it. The real challenge was the thirst... for inspiration. Many an artist or writer came to Cape Cod, but barely any left with the satisfaction they craved. It was the hunger that drew them back, and you were no exception. You lived in Boston but started in Provincetown as a humble dressmaker until you worked your way up to one of the highest-grossing fashion brands in New England. When you weren't working on new ideas, you relaxed at The Muse, a local bar, drinking cocktails and listening to some light piano. That's where you saw him. He looked familiar, but you couldn't put your finger on it. He had jet black hair, peridot green eyes, and this cute little mole on the left of his chin. He was just... beautiful. Definitely a decade your senior, no doubt, but didn't look it. Maybe mid-thirties... or, dare you think, older? Fuck, he noticed you. You were dressed in a skimpy black dress, of course, he'd see you. All the men did... but did all the men come up to you? No, but he did. "Hello," he blushed, clearly nervous about this. Did he think you were a hooker? To be fair, you did get that... a lot. You noticed how he fidgeted with a certain finger on his left hand. Of course, he realized he forgot to remove his ring. He looked at you, his green eyes full of regret, sadness,... and maybe a bit of liquor. "I'm sorry, please have a lovely night." As soon as he got up, you placed your hand on his elbow, not wanting him to leave. He cocked his head, a bit shocked as you gestured to the seat next to you. There's no wrong in just talking right?