Eventually, she decided on an outfit. The following evening, she poured herself into some jeans and a sweater that looked very soft, and put on a set of boots that put on a set of boots that almost made her tall. She looked… well, like someone who regularly went out. Mission accomplished, I’d think.

I gave her a lift to the pub on my way home, and got a glimpse of the others filing into the building. Most of them were around Fox’s age, a few older, but I spotted a few people in their twenties, as well.

It seemed safe.

She spotted my look when she hopped out, and rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” She was quick to assure me. “I know my exits, and you know I’ll call people when things go south.”

I nodded. I had the strange feeling it’d be like this in twelve or so years, dropping my daughter off at a party.

I’m not looking forward to it.

She moved to close the door, but paused, studying me for a moment. “Do you… want me to text you when I get home?”

I considered it, seriously thought about it for a minute. “No,” I decided, “Fox’ll wake me if you get in trouble.”

She chuckled, shook her head. Slammed the door behind her, and I watched her enter the building before I drove off.

(Her notes from that night are weirdly precise, almost as if she wants to prove to everyone that nothing happened and everything was fine. Anything I couldn’t read, she was happy to fill in later. It’s a rarity, really; she usually believes that the logs should be enough. But that’s probably a discussion for another time.)

The bar was already packed, and she immediately made a beeline for the bar. The barman spotted her, glanced down, then conjured a glass with a dazzling smile.

“What can I get ya, miss?”

She handed over her card. “What’s the most colourful thing you got?” She sat herself down, leaned her back against the bar and surveyed the room. “I want something big, and happy, and expensive.”

The barman chuckled, “Don’t go out much?” His hands were moving on his own, already preparing a drink. “We’ve got the rainbow paradise, should be flashy enough.” He scribbled something down on a napkin, plopped it down and sat the big glass atop it. “Name for the tab?”

“Shay.” She took the napkin. There was a crude fox drawn on. “Yeah.” She slipped it into her pocket. “Thanks.”

“You looking for anyone special?”

She let her eyes roam over the patrons. They were chatting, some of them obviously close friends. A few had glanced back at her as she entered, but nothing had stood out to her, yet.

“Not really.” She took a sip, the sickly sweet concoction hitting the back of her throat. “Just browsing. I’m pretty sure most of the men here aren’t interested.”

“You never know.” He looked like he wanted to add something, but someone at the other side of the bar drew his attention. Shay took the opportunity to slip away.

She found a spot on a sofa against the wall, secluded in a little alcove, from where she surveyed the entire room. There were a few people that stood out enough for her to write down; a young woman sitting alone at a table, staring at her drink; a shaggy guy sitting at her old spot at the bar, just looking at everyone like she’d been; a man in his fifties who seemed to weave in and out of the small dancing crowd, picking random partners to dance with for a second or two before he disappeared again.

She tried to keep her eyes on him, but he seemed to have a knack for camouflage. once or twice, she spotted him near a booth, downing a drink or scanning for a new target. Once, he met her eyes just before disappearing again.

Then, he popped up next to her.

She jumped. As I’ve learned the hard way, it’s really difficult to sneak up on her. It’s nearly impossible to do so when she’s paying attention to you.

It was the moment Shay realised something was off about the man.

“Hi!.” He smiled widely, chuckled for no reason. “Can I get you another?”

She glanced at her nearly-empty glass. “No thanks.” She pulled a face, “Pretty sure if I have another, my teeth will fall out.”

“Oh, yeah, they’re killer.” The more he talked, the more uncanny his accent sounded. Californian, she decided, though she could never be sure. “A water, then? Something else?”

He wouldn’t give up, she could tell. “Surprise me.”

She watched him walk away. He’d obviously carefully picked his clothes, his backside carefully accentuated by his jeans and his button-up barely hiding his deceptively muscular body. He was obviously on the prowl.

Why was he talking to her? She shouldn’t be more than a blip in the background. She’d planned on being nothing more.

A mystery, indeed.

He returned within minutes, two drinks in hand, and sat down next to her.

“Here.” He handed her one, his big hand almost holding hers as he did. “Barman insisted this was yours.”

“Then it probably is.” She took a sip. Apple juice. “Thank you.” She could feel him looking at her, studying her, and she decided to confront him head on.

She met his gaze, stared back.

He finally spoke again. “You’re not here for the music, are you?”

“Are you?” She looked out to the dance floor. “You seem more interested in the people.”

“It’s a good combination.” He shrugged, “You new here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“A friend tipped me off.” She decided not to meet his eyes, wasn’t really keen on seeing the curiosity there. “I figured I might as well.”

“You curious, then?” She could hear him sip his drink, decided to mimic him. He was sitting too close for her comfort.

She considered the question. “Quite the opposite. I’m fairly convinced he considers this a learning opportunity, or something.” (She's made a side note that reads and he would, the fucker.) (Her words, not mine.)

“He with you, then?” She was watching him again, and he made a show of looking through the crowd. “You’ve been alone all evening.”

“You’ve been watching me.” Smiling, she took a large sip of her whiskey. “If you’d watched closer, you’d seen me coming in alone.”

He shrugged. He lay his hand along the back of the sofa, leaning closer. “I figured a woman like you wanted to make clear she’s available.”

“Well, you figured wrong.” She downed the rest of her drink and shifted to face him fully. She took her time to take him in. Well-cut hair framing a square face, still handsome with the signs of his age drawn on it. His eyes shone intelligent above well-defined cheekbones, and the most defined lines were the ones framing his smile.

(These, I must admit, are my words. I’ve had the pleasure of meeting the man, since, and I have to say, his presence could sweep anyone off their feet.)

She narrowed her eyes at him. “What are you doing?” She wondered aloud, the real question clear in her tone. You are aware this is a gay bar, right?

He jumped up, suddenly, and emptied his glass. He slammed it down and twirled, holding out his hand to her. “Dance with me.”

She took his hand, let him pull her up. “Are you trying to seduce me, sir?”

“I’m trying to get you to dance.” He pulled as he stepped back, catching her and holding her to his chest as he walked backwards onto the dance floor. “Nothing more, I promise.”

Looking up into his eyes, she could see he was lying.