Page 52 of Dark Rover's Luck

As they rounded a bend in the path, Fenella caught sight of their destination and stopped in her tracks, a delighted laugh escaping her. "Oh my God, it actually looks like a hobbit hole!"

The Hobbit Bar was built into the side of a gentle hill, its façade covered in lush grass and wildflowers. A perfectly round wooden door, painted a cheerful green, served as the entrance, with a brass knob positioned exactly in the center. Small round windows peeked out from the hillside, warm light glowing invitingly from within.

"I've never seen anything like it," Fenella said.

"I think it was Syssi's idea to build it, but I'm not sure."

As they neared the round door, Fenella's anticipation mounted. This place looked magical, a fantasy brought to life. For the first time since arriving in the village, she felt like she might actually put down roots here, at least for a little while.

Din pushed the door open, and they stepped into a space that could have been lifted directly from the pages of Tolkien's imagination. The doorway was low, forcing Din to duck slightly, though Fenella had no such issues with her height. Wooden beams crossed overhead, from which hung bundles of dried herbs and lanterns that cast a warm, golden glow throughout the space.

The bar itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship—a curved, polished oak counter that stretched along one wall, with shelves behind it holding an impressive array of bottles. Barrels served as tables, each surrounded by wooden stools that were sized just a bit smaller than standard to maintain the illusion of this being an actual hobbit establishment.

Atzil was already there, wiping down the counter that didn't need wiping.

He looked up at them, a smile breaking across his face. "Welcome to my humble establishment," he said, setting aside his cloth and coming to greet them. "What do you think, Fenella?"

"It's bloody brilliant," she said honestly. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I wish it were my idea, but it wasn't. It was Syssi's. I only offered to run the place. We can seat about seventy when it's full, which it usually is on weekends." He gestured around the space. "It's not large, but that's part of the charm."

Fenella moved toward the bar, running her fingers along the polished wood. "The craftsmanship is incredible."

"Thank you," Atzil said.

As Atzil went on to describe the things he'd built to Din, Fenella only half-listened to their conversation, her attention captured by the bar setup. The bottles were arranged by type and quality, and the glassware was sparkling clean and organized by style. It was a bartender's dream—efficient, well-stocked, and aesthetically pleasing.

"Ready to show me what you can do?" Atzil asked.

She grinned, rolling up her sleeves. "Absolutely."

"The bar is fully stocked," Atzil said, moving behind the counter and gesturing for her to join him. "Surprise me with three different drinks—one classic, one modern, and one of your own creation."

Din settled onto a barstool. "This should be entertaining."

Fenella walked behind the bar, feeling at home in the familiar territory even though it had been ages since the last time she'd bartended. She surveyed the bottles, cataloging what was available in her mind. The selection was impressive—top-shelf spirits from around the world, artisanal bitters, and there were also fresh fruits and herbs in refrigerated drawers beneath the counter.

"Right then," she said, cracking her knuckles. "Let's start with a classic."

She selected a bottle of rye whiskey, vermouth, and Angostura bitters. Filling a mixing glass with ice, she added the spirits and bitters and then stirred with a long bar spoon. After straining the amber liquid into a chilled glass, she expressed an orange peel over the surface and rubbed it around the rim before dropping it in.

"Manhattan," she announced, sliding the glass toward Atzil. "Classic, elegant, and simple. Too many bartenders rush the stirring and end up with a watery mess."

Atzil lifted the glass, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. His eyebrows rose appreciatively. "Perfect dilution and temperature."

Fenella was already moving on to her second creation. This time she reached for gin, St-Germain elderflower liqueur, fresh cucumber, lime juice, and mint. She combined the cucumber and mint, added ice and the liquid ingredients, shook vigorously, and double-strained into a tall glass, garnishing with a cucumber ribbon and a mint sprig.

"Garden Party," she said. "A modern take on the classic gin smash, with elderflower for complexity and cucumber for refreshing crispness."

Din accepted the glass, taking a sip. "That's remarkable," he said, looking impressed. "I'm not typically a gin drinker, but this is balanced and refreshing."

"For my final offering," Fenella said, feeling a surge of confidence, "a creation of my own."

She selected a bottle of mezcal, along with Aperol, yellow chartreuse, lime juice, and a house-made ginger syrup she'd discovered in the refrigerated drawer. She combined the ingredients in a shaker with ice, shook vigorously, and strained the resulting coral-colored liquid into a rocks glass over a large ice cube. A final spritz of orange blossom water and a dried lime wheel garnish completed the presentation.

"I call this The Rover," she said, sliding the glass toward Atzil. "Named after my wandering lifestyle. The smokiness of the mezcal represents the fires I've warmed myself by in strange places, the bitterness of Aperol is for the hard lessons learned, the chartreuse adds mystery, and the ginger and lime bring brightness and hope."

Atzil took a thoughtful sip, his eyes widening. "The balance is impeccable. The progression of flavors tells a story. First smoke and bitterness, then herbal complexity, finishing with bright, spicy notes." He took another sip, nodding to himself. "You're hired."

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