The Lamplighter had settled into its usual post-shift lull, the air thick with the remnants of a long night—grilled meats, fresh bread, the faint trace of spilled wine on the floor. The last of the staff were finishing up—Mariah wiping down the bar, Michelle tossing her apron over a chair, Brad clearing the tables for a change.
Caspian was ready to leave until Brad collided with him and spilled leftover gravy all over his shirt.
“s**t—sorry, Caspian!” Brad winced, already backing away, clearly too exhausted to do much about it.
Caspian glanced down at the stain blooming across his shirt. He sighed, unbuttoning his cuffs. “Just go home.”
Brad shot him an apologetic look before grabbing his bag. One by one, the staff filtered out, the heavy door swinging shut behind them.
Caspian he
