Page 43 of One Room Vacancy
Harry’s is already packed by the time we get there.
That early summer kind of crowd—college kids clinging to their last few nights in town, locals pretending they don’t care the bar’s about to get quiet again. The energy’s buzzy, a little reckless. Like everyone’s trying to squeeze something in before it’s too late.
It’s loud, sticky, humid in that is-the-air-conditioning-broken-or-just-trying-its-best kind of way. The bass from the speakers rattles in my chest, the lights strobe too bright overhead, and someone bumps into me on the way through the door with a slurred apology and a half-spilled drink.
It smells like beer and cheap cologne and vanilla body spray—exactly like it always does. Exactly the way I like it.
Gen and Hannah are already perched at the bar when we walk in, half-finished drinks in front of them, leaning shoulder-to-shoulder and talking fast, as though they’ve just picked up the thread of a story they’ve been waiting all day to tell. They spot us instantly, waving us over.
Savannah beelines for an open stool and orders a ginger ale, while I slide onto the seat beside Hannah.
“Look who decided to show up,” Hannah says, grinning as she throws her arm around my shoulders.
“Look who decided to rejoin society,” I shoot back. “I was starting to think Liam had you locked in a tower.”
“Please. I was willingly locked,” she says, lifting her glass. “And to be fair, I did move in.”
Gen grins. “Yeah, and you haven’t come up for air since.”
“I love a man with snacks and central air,” Hannah says with a dramatic sigh.
We all laugh—because we get it.
“I missed this,” she adds after a beat. “Missed you.”
“I missed you more,” I say, and mean it.
We clink glasses, hers fizzy and pink, mine amber and strong.
For a moment, that’s all there is—us, the noise, the drinks, the familiar rhythm of a night that already feels like a memory before it’s even really started.
We don’t get to do this as much as we used to.
Somewhere between the third round and Gen trying to convince the bartender to play early-2000s throwbacks, we fully lose the plot.
There’s glitter on my arms. I don’t know where it came from.
Savannah’s doubled over laughing at something Hannah said that definitely wasn’t that funny, but it doesn’t matter—we’re all wheezing anyway.
I’m warm in that slow, humming kind of way. Not sloppy. Not out of control. Just…happy.
Hannah nudges me with her shoulder, eyes gleaming. “God, I needed this.”
I nod, then squint at the bottles lining the back bar.
“No,” she says immediately, catching the look on my face. “Sage. Don’t you dare?—”
But I’m already sliding off my stool, leaning way too far over the bar like I work here, and grabbing the first bottle of tequila my hand lands on.
The bartender is conveniently nowhere in sight.
“Sage—”
“Open up, Broadway.” I grin, unscrewing the cap with a flourish. “This is payback for ditching me for domestic bliss.”
Hannah barely gets her mouth open before I’m pouring, tequila sloshing into her mouth and partially down her throat as she splutters and laughs at the same time.
Gen lets out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my God, we’re gonna get banned from drinking here again.”
