I flip on the closet light and go over to the dresser in the walk-in to see that it’s that picture of him and me that I had favorited on my phone. The one of us at the golden hour, me in that dress, him looking at me like he sort of, probably loves me.

I pick up the frame and stare at it, feeling almost sick with melancholy for a life that isn’t even really mine.

“Christ, you’re nosy,” he says from the doorway, startling me.

“Shit, sorry.” I laugh nervously and set down the photo. “It looks like maybe you do still like me,” I say, then regret my nervy comment immediately.

“Like you? I don’t even know you.”

His response embarrasses me at first, and then I see there’s a playfulness in his stern expression as he gestures for me to get out of the closet. I go, feeling a little giddy and silly.

He shuts off the light as a clap of thunder crashes outside. The combination of the light turning off and the unexpected sound makes me jump. I don’t exactly leap into his arms, but I do lay a hand on his chest in surprise. It’s warm and hard and I don’t want to take my hand back. But of course, since I’m not a psycho, I do.

“Sorry,” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says. He looks past me toward the wall of windows and says, “Ah, fuck.”

“What is it?”

“The hape’ll be storming the place any minute now. They’ll expect me to open up.”

“The—who?”

“The partygoers. They’ll be coming here now, to the pub, because it’s raining out there. It’s going to be a mess. It always is when I’m working alone and everyone shows up at once. My mam is out in Limerick at her sister’s.”

“I could help,” I say.

“Not this again.”

“What! I can!”

“You’ve never properly worked behind a bar a day in your life.”

“Maybe not in this life. But I spent like five years working in the service industry in LA in my other life.”

He gives me a look that says he has no choice but to give me a shot.

We go downstairs and he shows me the basics of where everything is. It’s the same as any bar, really, so almost immediately I shrug and say, “I think I got it. Three-compartment sink, wonky ice well, kegs in the back but you’re gonna get those … seems like the usual.”

“I can’t be up here the whole time if we’re doing food. And if we don’t do food, they’ll get rowdier,” he says, looking at me warily. “You sure you’ll be all right?”

I wave off his worry and say, “I’ll be great.”