Page 5 of Morning Walks & Midnight Talks

“Wrapped up early. The boss was too busy micromanaging someone else to notice.”

“Lucky.” With a practiced flick of the handle, he stopped the tap just before the glass overflowed and set the beer on the counter to let it settle. “Brian made us taste test a ginger saison that I’m pretty sure burned a hole in my tongue.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I've still got at least four hours until the last round.” He picked up a coaster and the pint, strolling back to me. “Since you like the citrusy stuff, here’s our very own IPA,Hopsomnia.”

I chuckled as he set the fizzy drink in front of me. “Who’s in charge of naming these?”

“Wait until you hear the slogan they came up with.” He stood up straight and puffed out his chest. “Hopsomnia: For nights when your dreams are made of citrus and pine.”

It was over the top, but who cared? “I like it.” I raised my glass toward him. He grabbed a glass of water hidden under the counter, clinking it against my drink before we both took a sip. The slightly bitter yet citrusy taste filled my mouth, reminding me of Matt’s cologne. “Damn. It’s good.”

“There’s more where that came from,” he said, winking and pulling the corners of his mouth into a cheeky smile. Then he nodded toward my empty side. “So, where’s your wingman tonight? I figured Pounce would be here, charming snacks out of strangers and acting like he’s never been fed.”

“Are you kidding me? He couldn’t wait to have the house to himself. He probably has all his friends over by now, throwing the biggest party the neighborhood has ever seen. I wouldn't be surprised if he even invited Sora.”

“Is that so?” Matt grinned. “Well, my girl is very well-behaved and as far as I’m concerned, she's busy eating my shoes upstairs.”

A couple in their late twenties sidled up to the bar. He wore a flannel shirt and a backwards cap. She had a messy bun and a laugh that cut through the room like a chime. The guy tapped the counter. “Two IPAs, please!” Matt glanced at me with an apologetic half-smile before turning to grab clean glasses.

For the next half hour, I nursed myHopsomniawhile watching Matt pour beer after beer for the increasingly crowded bar. Between every drink, he leaned toward me, trying to make small talk. But the closer we got to the start of the trivia game, the shorter our conversations became. “Sorry, once the questions start, I’ll be less occupied. If you want, we can compete together.”

“Deal,” I replied as he headed back to attend to the next guests.

Ten minutes later, the deep voice of a middle-aged man in a plaid button-up shirt echoed through the sound system. “Welcome to the forty-sixth trivia night atHops & Dreams.” As predicted, everyone settled into their seats and focused more on the questions than their drinks, giving Matt enough time to join me for the game.

The questions started out easy—capital cities, movie quotes, and random sports stats—but quickly escalated into obscure niche knowledge.

“In what year did the first documented case of a 'domesticated' raccoon being kept as a White House pet occur, and which president was responsible?”

“Which Shakespearean character compares their love to a dog, saying,‘I am your spaniel; and, Demetrius, the more you beat me, I will fawn on you’?"

“What programming language was famously invented as a joke but now has a fully working compiler, including support for exception handling, lazy evaluation, and even Unicode snowmen?”

At least, I knew the last one.

As I scribbledINTERCALonto our sheet, Matt beamed at me. “I’m still waiting for the beer-related questions.”

The further the evening progressed, the closer Matt leaned in whenever he talked to me. It might have just been to get a good look at the sheet in front of me, but I couldn’t shake off the feeling that he enjoyed being close to me for other reasons, too.

When a question about beer came in—something about the hops-to-water ratio in an obscure Belgian ale—he snatched the pen from my hands and wrote down the answer. Eager to show off his expertise, he turned the paper toward me, grinning in a way that made my stomach do a weird little flip. We said nothingfor a second. But when the host announced the correct answer, which was precisely what he had written down, I clapped my hands together, and he bowed.

“See? I’m good for something after all.”

“Hey, we’re a team. We win or lose together.”

“Life would be easier if everyone saw it that way.” Matt chuckled, but his eyes lingered on mine a moment too long, as if he hadn't meant to say something so real out loud. I wondered if I should ask him about it. But when he stood up straight and reached for a bar towel, absently wiping down the spotless section of counter next to me, I decided not to press him for an explanation.

For thirty more minutes, we shared laughs, discussed some questions heavily, and, every once in a while, he poured drinks for thirsty guests.

In the end, we came in fourth, neither a good nor a bad placing, but enough to earn a high-five from Matt. Once the trivia portion of the evening ended, the bar became crowded again, leaving me to myself. Matt poured another round for some and closed out tabs for others. I settled for sneaking some glances at his butt, but after about twenty minutes, I wondered whether I should head home as well. Pounce was okay with being alone for quite a while. The longest he lasted without me was ten hours, when I was stuck in a traffic accident, but I felt so bad that I made up for it with an extensive visit to the dog park the next day.

As the line of guests broke up and the bar emptied back out to the number of tables that were filled when I arrived, Matt approached me again. “What do you think about getting some fresh air, Cato? I’ll take a break in five. Sora is upstairs, probably pacing by now. How about you say hello and then we take a quick walk together?”

“How long can you take a break?”

His eyes wandered through the room. “It’s quite empty now. Fifteen to twenty minutes, easily. Why?”

I leaned in just enough to make it seem like a secret. “That’s enough time for Sora to meet her boyfriend.”

Matt blinked once, then grinned—slow and bright, like the thought had genuinely caught him off guard. “She’d love that. One thousand percent.”

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