You knew you’d found the bustling epicenter of Wild Haven when you stumbled upon a collection of a dozen or so buildings actually visible from the street, rather than being buried behind the treeline. There was a general store, a large farmhouse-style antique shop, and a neat row of two-story brick buildings that had been converted into a variety of restaurants and specialty shops. Rose and I had originally chosen this town due to its geographic benefits, and quickly found that it hadn’t had much else going on.

“Do I know this place?” I asked as Rose and I walked towards a building with a swinging wooden sign that read “The Haven.”

“This used to be Flannigan’s Pub, but this guy Miles bought it a few years ago and refit it as a microbrewery. The beer is really good, we would have been in all the time if he’d been open when you lived here. Allen and I come here a lot. Oh, I texted him by the way! He’s going to meet us when he finishes work.”

“Who, Allen?”

“Of course,” she said, pushing open the bar’s bright red door. “He’s excited to see you.”

“Is he?” I muttered, but Rose was far enough ahead that she either didn’t or chose not to hear me.

The interior of the bar was more modern than I had expected from the outside, with high ceilings and exposed beams, a vividly colored abstract mural filling the entirety of the back wall. Most of the chairs and bar stools were gray, but an occasional pop of color among their number mirrored the mural, making it feel like it was coming towards you.

Rose made a beeline for the bar, where there were plenty of open stools-- probably not that surprising for 5 PM on a Tuesday. What was surprising was how handsome the man behind the bar was. He was tall and lean, with reddish brown hair that just brushed his shoulders, and two nearly complete sleeves that disappeared under a fitted black tee. I have always been a sucker for tattoos, and his were clearly the work of a skilled hand. As we hopped up on two of the bar stools I found myself curious as to where else he might have ink.

“Hey, Rose,” the handsome barkeep said, sidling towards us. “Who’s your friend?”

“Miles, this is Harper,” she said. “He’s my best friend, former roommate and, as of today, current house guest. Harp, this is Miles, he owns the joint.”

“Welcome, friend Harper,” Miles said, casting me a sleepy smile. His nose and mouth were both wide, his eyes a deep brown.

“Thanks. I like your place.”

“Thanks, man. Still kind of a work in progress but it’s getting there.”

I nodded, as if I had any experience with starting my own business. “I like the mural. The use of color is really... engaging.” Oh god, what was I, rusty?

“Cool you think so. It was pretty fun to do.”

“You made it?” I asked, my eyes widening. Good looking and tattooed and an artist would be a potent combination for me.

“My business partner and I did, just for fun. When you buy a place full of walls, why not?”

“Harper’s an artist,” Rose interjected. “A photographer.”

Miles turned to me but I shook my head. “I studied photography in school. I don’t really do it too much anymore. Like, ever, really.”

“Well, if you stick around town maybe you’ll find something that brings you back to it,” he said. “In the meantime, what can I get you guys to drink?”

I glanced down at the menu he slid in front of me, skimming through the list of draft beers.

“He’s going to want a flight,” Rose said to Miles.

“I’m going to want a flight,” I concurred. There were too many promising options on the menu. I looked up and saw Miles’s warm brown eyes trained on me. “Dealer’s choice?” I asked.

“Sure,” Miles said. “Anything you like?”

“IPAs, saisons and long walks on the beach,” I replied with a smirk.

“I swear he’s OK once you get to know him,” Rose said to Miles, elbowing me. “An Alma Ale for me please.”

“You are no fun,” I grumbled as Miles walked away to fill our order. Rose bumped my shoulder gently.

“I just got you back, Harp,” she said with a grin. “You really think I’m ready to share you with every cute boy we come across just yet?”

“Are you saying there are more to find? How many are we talking?”

She took my hand and squeezed it tight, smiling broadly at me.

“I’m so glad you’re home.”