The bartender brought fresh drinks, and we sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
“I’m Leigh,” I offered finally.
“Dex.” He held out his hand, and when I took it, electricity shot up my arm. His hand was large and calloused, warm and solid. Neither of us let go immediately.
When we did, the air between us felt charged.
“So what brings you to Dylan’s on a Friday night?” he asked. “You don’t look like a local.”
“That obvious?”
“Small town. I’d remember seeing you before.”
The way he said it, low and certain, sent heat through me. “I just got here today. Visiting.”
“Family?”
My throat tightened. “Something like that. I’m currently escaping the suffocating pressure of parental concern.”
He smiled slightly. “Ah. One of those visits.”
“You have no idea.” I took another sip. “Tomorrow’s going to be intense. Meeting people. Expectations. The whole thing feels like walking into a situation where everyone else knows the script except me.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.” I turned my glass. “And the worst part is everyone’s treating me like I’m fragile. Like I might shatter if they say the wrong thing. I’m not fragile. I’m just...” I trailed off, not sure how to finish.
“Overwhelmed?” he offered quietly.
“Yeah. Overwhelmed.” I looked at him. “Is that pathetic? That I’m sitting in a bar hiding from people who are trying to be nice to me?”
“Not even a little.” His voice was soft. “Sometimes you just need a minute where no one’s watching you. Where you can just... be.”
“Exactly.” The relief of being understood hit me hard. “Just be. Not perform or prove anything or fit into anyone’s expectations.”
“I get that,” he said. “More than you know.”
Something in his tone made me study him more closely. “Rough year, you said?”
“Yeah.” He looked down at his glass. “I’ve been feeling like... like I don’t know where I fit anymore. Like I’m watching everyone else’s life move forward while mine just... stalled.”
“Do you feel invisible?” The words came out before I could stop them. “Like you’re there but not reallythere?”
His eyes snapped to mine, sharp and intense. “Yes. Exactly that.”
“Me too,” I whispered. “My whole life, I’ve felt like I’m on the outside looking in. And tomorrow I’m supposed to walk into this situation and just... belong. Like it’s that easy.”
“It’s never that easy.”
“No, it’s not.” I smiled sadly. “But everyone acts like it should be. Like I should just slot into place and be grateful for the opportunity.”
“Are you? Grateful?”
I considered that. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I’m also terrified. And resentful. And guilty for being resentful. It’s a mess.”
“Feelings usually are.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
