I followed.
The air hit me first. Warm and dense, alive with the smell of yeast, roasted meat, and old wood soaked through with decades of conversation. The floorboards were dark and worn smooth, the ceiling low enough that I had to mind my head. A fireplace crackled along one wall, and the bar gleamed with polish and use, bottles lined up like trophies behind it.
I stood there a moment too long.
Artemis glanced back at me, amusement already tugging at hermouth. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I said. “I am… assessing.”
She snorted and guided me toward the bar, where she slid onto a stool. I took the one beside her carefully, knees already negotiating for space.
The bartender approached, a woman with sharp eyes and a practiced smile. She looked at Artemis, then at me. Her smile sharpened.
“What can I get you?” she asked. Then, to me, “Want to open a tab?”
I froze.
Tab.
I looked at Artemis.
She leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Okay, so first of all, she’s flirting with you.”
I blinked.
“She is,” Artemis continued. “Second, ‘opening a tab’ means she wants your number.”
I felt the weight of the moment settle squarely on my shoulders. This was clearly a test. Of what, I wasn’t sure. Social competence? Mating etiquette? Human ritual combat? I had no idea.
I straightened anyway. My posture defaulted to formal when I was uncertain, which in hindsight was not helping.
“I’m flattered,” I said carefully. Honesty seemed safest. “But I—” I paused, words tangling. Heat crept up my neck. “I am not… seeking a contractual arrangement at this time.”
Artemis made a strangled noise beside me.
The bartender raised an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,” I added quickly, aware that something had gone wrong but not yet sure what. “I mean, I am open to beverages. Very open. Enthusiastically so.”
The silence thickened.
Artemis bent forward, coughing into her hand, shoulders shaking violently.
The bartender stared at me like I had just introduced myself as the ghost of the pub.
“It means I keep track of what you order,” she said slowly. “So, you don’t have to pay after every drink.”
Oh.
The realization hit with devastating clarity. Artemis had played a trick on me.
My ears burned. I could feel it. Actual heat. Dragons were not meant to blush. This was an evolutionary oversight.
“I see,” I said, nodding once, too many times. “Yes. That makes significantly more sense.”
Artemis had fully lost control by now. She was laughing openly, face red, eyes wet, one hand braced on the bar for support.
“I am so sorry,” I told the bartender, sincerity pouring out of me in waves. “I am new to this environment. And flirting. And… tabs.”
