The town didn’t get the “wild” in its name for the nightlife, that was for damn sure. The commercial center of Wild Haven was only a handful of blocks, made up of a few restaurants and specialty shops, the Town Hall and the food co-op. 

And one single, solitary bar. 

The brick exterior was only familiar-ish as Rose and I approached– the vast majority of our social lives back in the day had occurred around school, even when we’d technically lived here. Any memories I may have had of the former pub were clouded in a merciful haze, nights I was just as happy not to keep in the mental record. 

Now its successor the Haven Bar– this might prove worth remembering. 

I hadn’t been expecting warm sophistication, neither in this town nor in a beer-centric establishment, but that’s what I got. The interior was a comfortable mix of light and dark: a heavy walnut bar topped with a cream counter; pale blue walls and ceiling setting off rich wood beams overhead. Tidy butter yellow curtains versus an array of mismatched chairs and stools, each upholstered in a different vintage-y print. 

Maybe it shouldn’t have all worked together, and I sure didn’t have Rose’s interior design eye, but damn was my inner artist intrigued. Especially as each unoccupied chair left a trail of saturated color that drew my eye to the back wall, and the floor-to-ceiling mural that filled it. Even at a distance I could see it was a forest scene, though in more of an abstract style, with thick layers of paint giving texture and movement. It was striking, and possibly even good, and I felt the itch to get a closer view. 

Until, that is, Rose dragged me in the direction of the bar, where they kept the real masterpiece. 

Tattooed, bearded and burly, the bartender of the Haven was the most unexpected treat yet. He reached to pull a pint and the black ink adorning his arms danced with the flex of muscle. His russet hair was tied back, though a few shorter strands escaped across his face. 

As a fellow hospitality professional, I know just how cringe it is when someone asks if you are on the menu. But in some cases I sort of maybe get it.

Rose and I had barely settled on the plush bar stools when Sexy Bartender ambled over. He had deep smile lines around his brown eyes and the hint of even more ink peeking out from his collar. It was like getting just a portion of a treasure map.  

“Good to see you, Rose,” he said, voice pleasantly deep. His smile rolled across his face gradually, almost sleepy. I got a strong sense that this man didn’t do anything in a hurry, which was fine by me. “Who’s your friend?”

“Harper, this is Miles– he owns this place and the new brewery, bringing some of the finest beer in the country to our own backyard.” 

Oh, the big man blushed. Fuck me. Literally.

“And Miles, this is Harper,” Rose continued cheerfully. “Best friend, current houseguest, and upcoming Man of Honor in my wedding.”

Sexy Bartender– Miles– showed no sign of surprise, so clearly the news of Rose’s impending nuptials had already gone the way of the town crier. She was wearing a decent sized rock, so I guess it would’ve been pretty obvious. 

“Welcome, friend Harper,” Miles said, gracing me with another sleepy smile. 

“Thanks, Miles,” I said, offering a look of my own– sultry smile and teasing eyes. “I’d heard this is the best bar in town, but getting Rose’s seal of approval on the beer is next level. Looks like you really have something special here.” 

I let my gaze flit up and down his frame, a quick indication I was complimenting more than just his business prowess. Afterall, stroking a man’s ego is a proven path to getting to stroke far more interesting things.  

But maybe I’d come off a little too sincere, because Miles’s eyes turned almost misty and drifted around the room like a proud parent. Not exactly the kind of daddy vibe I’d been aiming for. 

“Thanks, man, that’s real good of you to say. Still feels like a work-in-progress most days, but the town’s been so welcoming to our whole operation. Wish we’d made the move up here years ago, honestly.”

I nodded, as if I could even slightly fathom why someone would not just live here, but also pick up and relocate their entire business to this patch of nowhere. My brain scrambled for some point of commonality that would catch this man’s interest. 

“Ah, the mural. It’s great, it’s really– the way the texture implies movement is, um–”

Fuck, was I rusty? Maybe not at flirting, even if he so far hadn’t seemed to notice, but definitely at giving an artistic critique. At least he wasn’t bothered, since the stare he was giving that wall turned almost painfully fond.

“I’m biased, but it’s my favorite thing in here. Not quite done yet, but you can see the potential.”

“Wait, are you the artist?” I asked, eyes widening. If he could also paint I might literally combust on the spot. Fortunately (for my sanity), he shook his head.

“Nah, it’s my business partner; I mostly just talked him into doing it. When you buy a place with so many big blank walls, you’ve got to do something special, right?”

Again, literally not a subject I’d had to worry about ever, but I started to nod all the same. It turned into more of an unsexy head bob when Rose unexpectedly slapped my shoulder.

“You know, Miles, if you want help filling the other walls, this is your guy,” Rose put in. “Harper here’s a photographer.”

I physically flinched away from her assessment, probably destroying any hope I had of Miles thinking I was a functional human being. I probably wasn’t, but I didn’t generally like a guy knowing that in the first five minutes of meeting me.

“I studied photography in school,” I corrected, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. “Just your classic wasted liberal arts degree. This whole space is beautiful though, so I think you’ve got the art more than covered. But, um, I’m dying to try some of this beer I’ve been hearing so much about. Any recommendations?”

I felt Rose’s stare and ignored it; Miles, at least, seemed content to follow my lead as he slid a menu across the bar. The beers were all on draft, and all from a single source– Sylvan Brew Co. That must be Miles’s place. While I usually liked the spice of variety, there were a lot here that actually sounded interesting. 

I looked up to find Miles patiently watching me. Like that wasn’t completely distracting. 

“We’ve got the staples listed on the left, and the more seasonal or experimental brews on the right,” he explained. “If you want to try a flight, I’d say pick a couple from each group so you can get a real sense of what we do. See anything of interest?”

I felt my mojo coming back a little with a steady topic, and flashed him a flirty wink. “I definitely do. But since you’re the expert here, maybe we go dealer’s choice? Pour me what you think I’d be into.”

Did Rose just kick me on purpose? 

“An Alma for me, please, Miles,” she said, settling back casually against her bar stool. Maybe she’d just been shifting position. “So you can skip that one and he’ll try mine.”

“Fair enough,” Miles agreed, then sauntered off to fill our order. Rose immediately rounded on me and nope that kick had not been an accident. 

“Harper,” she hissed. 

“Rose?” I blinked at her, as wide-eyed and innocent as possible. 

“If you don’t want me telling people you’re a photographer anymore, fine. But your talent is not a waste. You are an artist, whether or not you’re actively making art. Also, stop flirting with Miles.”

“Excuse you,” I said, pressing a hand to my chest with dramatic flourish. One of those things was much easier to respond to. “I am just being my sweet, sexy self. You’re the one who brought me here for a drink– why shouldn’t it be from that tall glass of water?”

No one can ever roll their eyes harder at you than your best friend. 

“I literally just got you back in town and I am not about to lose you to every cute boy we come across,” she said tartly. “Including and especially Miles. This is the only good bar in twenty miles, Harp, so you can’t make the owner your flavor of the week. Please.”

I wanted to be offended– was, sort of?– but it was hard to defend myself given the circumstances that had landed me here. Implying I had a new guy weekly was a stretch (and sounded exhausting, actually), but she wasn’t completely off. If I made a move on Miles, or any guy here, it’d be for a short term no-strings-attached hookup only. Actual relationships required a level of trust I didn’t have in me. Not anymore. And it really, truly, worked better for me. 

Except sometimes the price of my autonomy was that I found myself kicked out and moving across the country. Miles didn’t have the power to evict Rose from her home, but he could in theory ban her from his bar if he decided her best friend was bad news. He seemed too nice for that, but then I’d always thought of Tucker as a nice guy. We all knew how that had turned out for me. 

“Fine,” I relented, giving her my best long-suffering sigh. “I’ll cool it with the flirting. But just because I'm going to spend most of my time with you this summer doesn’t mean I plan to be a monk. A boy has needs, you know.”

“I do know, seeing as how you’ve never once left out a gory detail,” Rose said, nodding solemnly. It wasn’t entirely true, but she certainly knew enough about my sex life to write a decent tell-all. “And Miles is my only veto, I swear. When you find yourself needing a fun buddy, I think you’re going to be pleasantly surprised by the volume of options here.”

I raised a skeptic brow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile that had gone positively wolfish. “I swear, Harp, it’s like there’s something in the water. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed by the local talent.”

As if on cue, Rose’s fiancé arrived.