#WhatHappenedInSylva
Within seconds, it was trending.
By morning, the whole town would know her name.
1
Catch My Draft — Sky Bar Opening Night
By the time Eleanor Harper reached the top of the stairs, the Sky Bar was already alive.
Music rolled across the open rooftop, the bass steady beneath her feet, vibrating through the planks. Twinkle lights were woven through wooden arbors overhead, casting a warm, golden glow over raised glasses and flushed faces. Beyond the railing, downtown Sylva spread below—Main Street glowing in soft amber, sidewalks busy with opening-night energy. Above it all, the Jackson County Courthouse perched high on the hill, white columns lit against the dark, watching over the town the way it always had. Behind it, the Blue Ridge Mountains rose in layered silhouettes, dark and steady.
From up here, Sylva felt like hers—small, steady, and safe.
As long as no one looked too closely. At her. At what she’d left behind in Charleston. At the way she still watched every new face like they might be hunting a story.
“There you are,” April Whitaker called when she spotted Eleanor. “I was starting to think you’d objected to fun.”
“Overruled,” Eleanor said, sliding in beside her. “Barely.”
They clinked glasses, the easy rhythm of a friendship built in courthouse hallways and late-afternoon coffee runs.
“You picked a good night,” April said. “Everybody from work is here. Except the judge, at least.”
“Dangerous circumstances,” Eleanor said. “Somebody’s going to start arguing a motion before last call.”
April tipped her chin toward the entrance. “Starting with the prosecutor.”
Eleanor followed her gaze.
Reid Calloway stood just inside the rooftop entrance, dark jacket, open collar, one hand in his pocket, while a striking blonde leaned in close, laughing at something he’d said.
“Absolutely not,” Eleanor said immediately.
“Come on,” April said. “Reid Calloway is one handsome cuss. Tall, smart, terrifying in closing. That is very much your alley.”
“If by my alley you mean the street I cross to avoid, then sure,” Eleanor said. “He’s fine—for people who enjoy arrogant know-it-alls who argue motions like they’re foreplay.”
April choked on a laugh. “You hear yourself, right?”
“Unfortunately,” Eleanor said, taking a sip.
She didn’t do courthouse entanglements. Especially not with opposing counsel who turned juries into fan clubs. She’d learned how fast a reputation could burn.
“Tragic,” April said. “Luckily, I am not wasting my one wild and precious Friday night on a man who thinks precedents are pillow talk.” Her eyes lit. “I have Danny Mason for that.”
Eleanor made a face. “The defense attorney?”
“The very same,” April said cheerfully. “And if Danny Mason wants to debate anything with me, I’m available.”
“Of course you are,” Eleanor said. “You always did have a soft spot for men who think a well-timed objection is flirting.”
“It is flirting,” April said. “Under the right circumstances.”
“What about you?” Eleanor asked. “Or is Danny Mason your entire bad-idea strategy for the night?”
“Please,” April scoffed. “I am a woman of range.” She leaned closer. “There’s also the new associate.”
