13
‘Hey,’ Ryan greeted me, as I walked into the bar ten minutes late. I smiled and hugged him, breathing in his familiar scent. Normal, his scent read. It had only been a week, but he felt like a relic from a past life, the one in which I had a job and a reality that was separate and distinct from the life of my cousin. I slid onto the bar stool next to him and he turned his legs toward mine, positioning them on either side of my knees. He rested one of his palms on my thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. The bartender placed a glass in front of me.
‘Mine?’ I asked. Ryan nodded. ‘What am I having?’
His grin dimpled at the sides.
‘Mmm… Old-Fashioned?’ I guessed. The bar was divey but made some of the better cocktails in Brooklyn. It was a speakeasy of sorts, nearly invisible behind a set
