They grin. “It is. But I still love it.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling too, because of course they do. Of course they’d love something like that—messy and honest and a little bit raw around the edges.
They steal a kiss before grabbing my hand. “Come on. We’re going to be late.”
Graham’s is already buzzing when we walk in.
Low lights, warm wood, the hum of conversation layered under the soft crackle of a mic being tested near the tiny stage in the corner. It smells like beer, fried onion rings, and good times. I suck in a breath. This is the kind of place that settles into your bones the longer you’re here, becoming a part of you. Korie and I stumbled into it on their 21stbirthday, just trying out different bars because we could. This is the only one we talked about in the days after.
We love coming here.
Korie practically lights up beside me. “See? This is perfect.”
I glance down at them. “We’ve been here a whole thirty seconds.”
“And it’s already perfect.”
I shake my head, amused.
We spot the others in the middle—two tables pushed together, drinks already out, laughter loud enough to cut through the rest of the room.
“Finally,” Miles calls as we get closer, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “I thought you were gonna bail.”
“On poetry night?” Korie says, sliding into the open seat beside Camila. “I thought you knew me.” They turn to Cole. “This is your first time here, isn’t it?”
Cole is leaning back slightly, gaze moving over the room like he’s cataloging it—doors, exits, people. Old habits, probably. But there’s something else there too. Curiosity, maybe.
“Yeah,” he says. “It’s pretty slick. I can see why you like it.”
Mateo waves the bartender over. A shorter woman with platinum blonde hair strolls over.
“Hey, guys. Good to see you!” Piper side-hugs each of us.
Mateo orders another round of drinks and two nacho platters to share.
Korie shifts closer to me, their thigh pressing against mine under the table, grounding and warm. I rest my hand lightly on their knee without thinking, thumb brushing once, twice. They don’t look at me, but I feel the joy radiating off them. Not only about poetry night, but this. Us. Every touch calms them.
“Okay,” Miles says, clapping his hands once. “Who’s reading tonight?”
All eyes turn to Jordan, the professional writer in the group. When he notices, he sits back, shaking his head. “Oh, no. Nope. My poetry is for private eyes only.”
“Ah, come on, hon,” Miles tries.
“Nope. Sorry, babe. It’s for you and you alone.”
Miles leans in for a kiss. “Fine. But just so everyone knows, Jordan isdamngood at poetry.”
“Duh. He’s damn good at just about everything he writes,” Mateo says. “I’m still dying for your next book, bro.”
Jordan blushes.
I glance at Korie. They haven’t told me if they’re performing tonight. “How about you?”
Korie just shrugs, like they haven’t decided.
I squeeze their knee, trying to tell them I’ll support them either way.
The lights dim slightly near the front as someone steps up to the mic, tapping it twice.
