I got my first tattoo today! No, it’s not that raven above. No, mine is incredibly on-brand for 31 Ghosts. But as my artist was working I said, “I have an idea for today’s ghost story.”…

“So…” Dale, my new tattoo artist, asked without looking up as the tattoo machine buzzed furiously in his black nitrile-gloved hand, “who’s ‘Melissa’?”

I watched as the black line he was outlining bisected the “l” in the name on my upper bicep. How do I explain… Easy, I don’t. “She’s an ex…”

Dale’s machine stopped buzzing and he looked up, an eyebrow raised behind his thick black horn-rimmed glasses. “Yeah,” he said flatly, “You said that already.” The machine clicked on again and Dale stared at the line he was drawing. “But who is she?”

“It’s… a long story…” I hedged.

“Brother, do you see this stencil on your arm? That’s the outline. Then I’ve got to put a lot of ink in the raven’s wings to cover the name, and do the green foliage… what I’m saying is we’ve got time.”

I let out a long weary sigh and then let spill. “We were together for a long time – ten years. And engaged for year and a half of that.”

“Engaged, but not married? What happened?”

Another sigh. “We… we went through a bad period…”

“That’s vague…”

“She kept complaining about feeling stifled in the relationship even though I actively tried to make sure she wasn’t being stifled… there was a lot of drinking…”

“Her or you?”

“Yes. And you can imagine how well that helps a relationship already heading towards the rocks…”

Dale made a descending whistling sound followed by an explosion noise.

“Yeah, something like that…”

“How long ago was that?”

“Five years.”

“Five!” Dale switched the machine off again and stared up at me. “You’ve kept her name on your arm for five years? Bro…” The buzzing started again as he looked down at his line and shook his head.

“Yeah, well… we both moved on. She got another boyfriend and I met and married Diane.”

“And Diane put up with Melissa’s name on your arm for, checks notes… five years?”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah… okay, I deserve that. She… she said she didn’t want me to feel forced. Especially after…” I trailed off.

“After what?”

“Melissa killed herself.”

“Oh shit, dude.”

“Yeah…”

Dale was silent for a long time, as the Spotify punk station played and the machine buzzed. “No, dude, fuck that – Five years! I’m calling her Saint Diane now.”

I sighed and leaned into the persistent pain of the needle.

. . .

“It looks amazing!” Diane said, face close to my arm, examining every detail. “I love how he made the raven look so lifelike. I want to pet the wings!”

“Right?” I agreed.

“I can’t even see the name…”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Diane turned her gaze from the fresh tattoo up to meet my eyes. “Every person in the world knows to never, ever, ever get a significant other’s name tattoo…” she rolled her eyes. “I love you, my dummy,” her faux scowl turned to a smile and she kissed me.

“I love you too, sweetie,” I wrapped her in a tight hug.

“Please don’t ever get a tattoo of my name,” she whispered in my ear before laughing.

. . .

A week later Diane was doing her makeup as I stepped out of the shower. I could see her glance at me in the mirror, widen her eyes and turn towards me, inspecting my raven tattoo. “Umm, honey…”

I toweled off my hair, “What? Is it peeling?”

“Uh… no, not peeling…” she pulled me over to look at myself in the mirror.

I stared at the reflection: the keen eye of the raven, the dark green foliage with berries, the careful line details in the wing – there it was, very clearly in the wing, “Melissa.”

“What the hell?” I said aloud.

“Seriously,” Diane said, inspecting the tattoo closely again, running her fingers over the lines of the name. “It doesn’t feel any different…”

I shook my head, “I’ll have to call Dale and see what’s up.”

. . .

The next day I was in the shower, Diane was at the sink again and called over the running water, “Oh, did you call Dale?”

“Yeah,” I called back. “He can’t get me in until next week. But he said it’s not uncommon for old ink to sometimes… what’d he say… ‘stand up’. I sent him the picture and he said he’d never seen it that pronounced before.” I shut off the water, opened the shower door and reached for the towel. As I stepped out of the shower, I noticed Diane gaping at me. “What?”

“The tattoo…”

“I know,” I said with a little irritation. “Like I said, Dale can’t get me in until next week…”

“No, it’s different….”

I moved in front of the mirror and stared at the raven again. Diane was right: “Melissa” was gone. But just as clearly in the same place was “Ten Pines” in the same font. I felt my blood run cold. “Holy shit…” I said dumbly.

“Erik? What’s ‘Ten Pines?’”

“It’s… it’s a campground…”

“A campground?”

“Yeah… I used to go there with Melissa.”

“Oh…” Now Diane stared at the words.

“And…” I started. My mouth had gone completely dry. I swallowed before adding, “…where she killed herself.”

. . .

Diane stepped out of the truck and stared at the lake visible behind the stand of trees.

“This place is gorgeous,” she breathed in the fresh, evergreen-scented air. “Why haven’t we come out here before?”

I stared at her across the hood.

“Oh… yeah… that was dumb,” she blushed.

I shook my head, “No, it’s fine…”

Diane and I stared at the lake while a gust of wind blew through the pine boughs. After a while she started, “…but she kept coming out here?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, her and her new boyfriend, Dave.”

Now it was Diane’s turn to stare at me. “You said ‘Dave’ like it was a dirty word.”

I sighed. “Eh, the guy was a fuck-up.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“No, seriously – ask Sarah or Mark. They’ll tell you they never liked him. Sarah said she thought he was abusive.”

“Really?”

I shrugged. “She said she never saw anything, but it was the way he talked to her sometimes… she said Melissa kinda flinched.”

Diane frowned and crossed her arms. “I don’t like Dave.” We stared in silence for a while longer. “Now what?” she finally asked.

“I don’t know – hey, what are you doing?” Diane had crossed to me and was pulling the sleeve of my henley up.

“Why… did you wear… long sleeves?” she cursed as she yanked at my sleeve.

“Whoa, come on… I’m sure it doesn’t work that way…” I protested.

“Oh shit!” Diane exclaimed and jumped back as if she was scalded, my sleeve up high enough to expose the raven’s wing. I twisted my arm to look at it: “Manzanita.”

“Maybe it does work that way…” was all I could say.

“What’s Manzanita?”

“Besides an incredibly diverse shrub endemic to California?”

Diane leveled me with The Look.

But I did know what “Manzanita” referred to: “It’s a trail,” I said, pointing down the road.

“Care for a hike?”

“I don’t think we have a choice.”

It was a quarter mile to the trailhead. “We used to hike this trail just about every time we came out here.” Once on the marked trail, Diane kept checking my arm every hundred yards or so. “Seriously, Diane?”

“Well… we don’t know when it’s going to change.”

She was right… though I had a growing lump in my stomach because I had a really bad feeling I knew where this was heading.

The trail meandered away from the lake and climbed out of the pines and into a broad meadow. I stopped abruptly. “Check the tattoo,” I said flatly.

Diane looked at me askew before she pulled up my sleeve. “Great Oak?” she read.

I nodded ahead of us.

Across the meadow, the old black oak stood exactly where I remembered it, its wide canopy impossible to mistake.

“Erik?”

“That’s it.”

“What?”

“That’s where she…”

“Oh… oh! You never said how she…”

“…hanged herself.”

“Fuck,” Diane said with finality.

Neither of us moved for what felt like an eternity.

“Erik?”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

I closed my eyes and took in a slow, deep breath and let it out before I opened my eyes again. I nodded to myself and started walking to the tree.

As we approached the tree in silence, Diane broke the stillness by saying, “I want to be respectful, but I swear to God, Erik, if there’s a fucking heart with ‘Erik plus Melissa’ carved into this trunk I will stab you.”

I started laughing…. And I couldn’t stop. I laughed so hard I felt tears coming down my cheeks. I finally caught my breath enough to say, “Thank you.” I pulled Diane into a hug. “I needed that.” I kissed her head and held her close.

“…so no carving, right?” I let her go and glared at her. “It was just a question!”

I shook my head and pulled up my sleeve. “Anything new?”

“Hollow,” Diane read.

We looked at each other, and then at the tree, both of our gazes raking up the trunk. Not seeing anything obvious, I walked around the trunk to get a better look at the point where one limb branched off. “Here!” I called as Diane hurried to follow my gaze – sure enough, a dark hollow could barely be seen under one of the limbs.

“Huh…” Diane said. “So…?”

“Oh, you want me to stick my hand in there?”

“Why else would she say ‘Hollow’?”

“’She.’ So, now we’re admitting this is… what? Melissa’s ghost?”

“No, Erik, I’m sure it’s some kind of ephemeral viral advertisement for some ‘hollow’ face cream… Of course it’s Melissa’s ghost.”

I frowned, but I was just stalling. I reached up and stuck my hand into the dark hollow. I could feel that it went down into the trunk more than was evident… but then I felt a little deeper and there was a ledge… and something hard and plastic. “What the…?”

“What?” Diane asked excitedly.

I pulled out a purple iPhone – it was covered in dust and spider webs, but it was unmistakable.

“An iPhone?”

“Melissa’s iPhone.”

. . .

Back at the car I was a little disappointed that Diane wasn’t more impressed I still had an Apple Lightning charger among the myriad cables in the center console. After a tense few minutes, we both gasped as the white Apple logo popped up on the screen. After a moment, the lock screen appeared.

Diane deflated. “We don’t know her password.”

I typed four digits and the phone unlocked. “Melissa never, ever changed her passcode.”

“Note to self,” Diane said aloud, “Change passcode…”

We exchanged a smile and turned back to the iPhone, where a bright exclamation mark hovered over the Messages app. Opening the Messages app, the exclamation mark stood next to “Sarah.” I clicked on the contact and read the message. Diane gasped and covered her mouth.

“HELP! Dave is drunk and pissed. He said he’s gonna kill me. HELP! He’s not kidding. I know he’s not! We’re at Ten Pines. PLEASE HURRY!!!” And below the message, “This message failed to send.”

. . .

“Hey Erik, it’s Dale. I had a cancellation this afternoon – wanna come by and I can look at that name in the tattoo?”

“Oh, Dale, hey… yeah, no worries. It’s… uh… it’s back to normal.”

The phone was silent for a long moment.

“Come again?”

“The name is gone.”

“How…”

“Dude… it’s a long story. You know, I was thinking of a piece on my other arm. It’ll probably take a while…”

I’m finding as I’m getting older that I enjoy coffee more throughout the day – not just in the morning. And we’re talking plain, black coffee. Don’t get me wrong, this time of year I will straight-up murder a Pumpkin Spice Latte… but plain black coffee – hot or iced – has become de rigeur most days. And it’s not the caffeine either – that really doesn’t do much for me. Part of it is the ritual of making coffee. Part of it is legitimately the enjoyment of a really well made cup. Anyway, let’s just say I appreciate Frank and Maggie’s ritual.

The toaster popped just after the coffee maker chirped its readiness. Frank smiled. Sometimes the toaster popped first, sometimes – like today – it was the other way around. In his mind he imagined them in a daily race, the toast popping up after the coffee maker had already given its victory chirp, but they both shook their electrical cables like good sports and the toaster smiles and says to the coffee maker, “I’ll get you tomorrow…”

“I know, Maggie,” he said aloud as the two sunny-side-up eggs reached the perfect consistency and he slid them onto a waiting plate with a practiced tilt of the pan. “I’m just an old sentimental fool.” He quietly thanked the toaster and wished it luck tomorrow as he removed both slices of sourdough toast, applied butter and set them next to the eggs along with two rashers of bacon.

He picked up the warm plate and pulled the insulated carafe from the coffee maker while whispering, “Good showing today…” and moved carefully to the kitchen table where two mugs sat at two place settings across from each other. He placed the plate down in front of him and poured coffee in the far mug first, before filling his own.

“Yes, yes, Maggie, you’ll just have coffee today,” he said with a smile at the empty seat. He picked up his own coffee mug and blew across the steaming black liquid. “Careful, it’s hot…” And then he set the mug down, settled his napkin in his lap, took up his fork, broke his yolk and started to eat.

“Jalen is coming over later – he’s taking me to get my tattoo today.” He paused and then said, “I know, finally, right? You’d like the tattoo artist – she’s got a great dry sense of humor. You’d like her.”

Frank’s one-sided conversation dropped off as he sopped up the last of his yolk with a corner of the toast. He popped the last bit of bacon in his mouth, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then stood up with a creak that seemed to get worse every day. Pausing a moment he said aloud reflexively, “I’m fine…” then more quietly to just himself but with less certainty, “…I’m fine…” He brushed the crumbs into the trash can before slotting the plate and his mug into the mostly empty dishwasher.

“Hey dad!” Jalen called as he came through the front door.

“Hey son!” Frank called back as he closed the dishwasher and wiped his hands on the dishtowel. “I’m in the kitchen.”

Jalen came into the room and immediately crossed to give Frank a quick hug. “You ready?” he asked as his eyes took in the tidy kitchen. His gaze stopped on the mug of cooling coffee still on the table and he deflated just a little bit. “Dad? You’re pouring coffee for mom? It’s been five years…”

“Yes, and she’s still the best coffee date ever,” he retorted as he moved to the freezer.

“You’re not still making breakfast for her, are you?”

“Nah,” Frank said dismissively as he scooped ice cubes into an insulated mug. “I admit that was a waste of food…” he conceded.

“But not a waste of coffee?” Jalen laughed as he looked at the cup.

“Not at all,” Frank said, moving to the table and pouring the full coffee mug into the insulated mug. “I hope you don’t mind, dear,” he spoke quietly to the empty seat, then turned to Jalen as he put the lid on the mug. “See? Iced coffee. I hear all the kids are doing it these days.”

Jalen laughed. “Alright, dad… Let’s go. Your appointment is at 10, right?”

“Yep,” Frank said as they moved towards the door.

The toaster won the next day.

“Better luck tomorrow,” Frank said to the coffee maker as he carried his plate and the carafe to the table. He poured Maggie’s mug and then his own and then sat and started to eat.

“Yes, yes, Maggie, you’ll just have coffee today,” he said with a smile at the empty seat. He picked up his own coffee mug and blew across the steaming black liquid. “Careful, it’s hot…” And then he set the mug down, settled his napkin in his lap, took up his fork, broke his yolk and started to eat.

“Mmm,” he started as he swallowed a bite of egg, “They said it would hurt, but it really didn’t. Not much anyway.” Then a few moments later, “You’d like it.” He smiled sadly.

He popped the last bit of bacon in his mouth, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and then stood up with a creak. “I’m fi—” he cut off his rehearsed line as he looked across to the empty chair, the place setting… and the empty mug across from his. “Oh…”

This is the first October in eleven years that I don’t have a single bartending gig all month. Not. One. A few years back I’d split my time between Elaine Bell Catering and the Dawn Ranch in Guerneville. Elaine retired a few years ago and shuttered her business. And Dawn Ranch just doesn’t have anything booked this month — at least nothing they can’t handle with their full-time staff. C’est la vie, of course, but it’s left a cocktail shaker-sized hole in my spirit.

Tessa stared at the route Google Maps had plotted and gaped at the estimated trip time. What the hell has Mara got me into this time? Tessa thought as she steered her Outback north onto 101. As she passed Healdsburg and then Asti, she also watched the outside temperature creep up into the mid 90’s and took an involuntary swig from her water bottle. She finally turned off the highway in Hopland and started east out of town, crossing over the dormant railroad tracks. As the road curved to the left, she spotted the sign for the winery she was looking for – Terravita.

She passed through the gates and drove cautiously along the olive-tree lined narrow road following the signs for the tasting room. She pulled her car into a gravel lot and parked a ways down next to a beat up orange Tacoma – Mara’s truck. Tessa opened the door and the triple-digit heat nearly took her breath away as the air-conditioned cocoon of her Subaru evaporated into the overheated ether.

Middle of nowhere? Check. Hot as hell? Check. Mara owes me one…

“Tessa! Thank god! I owe you one,” Mara said, as she spotted the shorter woman. Tessa was already sweating under her black monogrammed polo shirt as she forced a smile. She turned back to the group where the liftgate of a box truck whined as they lowered a pair of plastic-wrapped speed racks and a stack of crates filled with plates. “Damian, make sure Javier has the tarp down in the kitchen area before unloading the ovens,” she called. Turning back to Tessa she smiled and said in a regular voice, “Thanks for coming. You’re a lifesaver – I had both my bartenders call out this morning.”

“We’re, what halfway to the Oregon border and it’s so hot I forgot my own name – no wonder they called out.”

“We’re barely outside of Sonoma County. And at least it’s a dry heat…”

“Don’t ‘dry heat’ me, lady. And two bartenders called out? How many am I working with?”

Mara smiled innocently at Tessa.

“No… you’re shitting me. It’s just me?”

“I mentioned I owed you, right?”

Tessa closed her eyes and took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, and with the breath she let go of all her frustration at the heat and what her friend hadn’t included when she said she needed her to work today. She was a professional. She would be, well, professional. She opened her eyes and said calmly, “Okay, show me where I’m working.”

Mara smiled again. “Okay, follow me.” They followed a path that led between a wall of hedges that effectively separated the makeshift staging area from a grassy courtyard where a DJ was setting up his equipment on one end. Mara pointed at the rental bar at the edge of the grass, “Your dinner bar.” They kept walking through a dozen tables shaded beneath a wisteria-trellised arbor. Servers were already setting out tablecloths and chargers on the tables as Mara said, “dinner will be here…” They kept walking out of the courtyard area following a dirt path bordered by rows of fruit trees on one side and towering old oaks on the other. They couldn’t have walked more than a few hundred feet, but the foliage made the sounds disappear. Mara pointed to a concrete bar flanked by a steel sink, “This is where cocktail will be, so focus on this first,” She pointed further down the path, “Wedding is down there, under the oak tree.”

Tessa looked around at the enormous live oaks around them that offered dappled shade. “Like these oaks?”

“No… uh… well, yes… it’s, I don’t know, majestic or something. It’s down there in a meadow,” she gestured.

Tessa nodded as a black haired guy manhandled a hand truck laden with glass racks down a row of closely grouped apple trees towards them. “Guest count?”

“About eighty.”

“When’s cocktail hour start?”

“4:30, or thereabouts – you know how ceremony timing can be.”

Tessa nodded and looked at her watch. Three hours to set up two bars… by herself.

As if reading her mind, Mara added, “I’ve got a couple servers who can help you set up… at least for a bit.”

Tessa nodded and went through her mental checklist as she took off her backpack with her bar tools, realizing how sweaty her back had already gotten. “Specialty cocktails?”

“Hers: Aperol Spritz; his: Negroni.”

Tessa dropped her bag behind the bar and reached up to tie her long black hair back. “Okay, get me my product and I’ll be ready.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

Tessa looked at the stack of crates and racks and sighed as Mara hurried back to the staging area. Truth be told, she was just this side of panicking internally – this was an impossible amount of setup for one person. But she knew from hard won experience that freaking out would only cost her time she didn’t have, so she started sorting glassware, getting the product that needed to be chilled into tubs ready for icing, and organizing liquor and mixers.

She set the bottles of vodka, whiskey, gin, and tequila roughly where she wanted her well in the forest bar as another guy showed up with hand truck stacked high with crates of various sodas and other non-alcoholic mixers.

“Do you know if they’re splitting up my stuff between the two bars?”

“Huh?” he said blankly as he heavily levered the crates off the hand truck.

“The other bar? Are there crates like this there, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Just dropped off a stack. Mara divided stuff as it came off the truck.”

Wasn’t that what I just asked? Tessa thought with frustration. What she said, though, was “Great, thanks.” She turned back to the bar and noticed the bottles she had placed were lined up in her well with speed pours in their necks, caps in a cup below the bar. She stared at the bottles and then looked around for who had set them up while she was talking to the kid… She turned back and watched him trundling the empty hand truck back down the row. She shook her head and took a long draw from her water bottle. Must be the heat…

Tessa had the cocktail bar in the gardens roughly set – she still had to finish stacking glassware and get the pass ready – but she wanted to get the other bar started. If I’m lucky, she thought, maybe I can pull a server to help set that bar while I come back and finish this one. Then she laughed thinking of the times she’d done just that only to have her instructions completely disregarded and finding the bar a complete unorganized mess.

She stopped dead as she came into the courtyard and stared at the bar already set up – the well neatly arranged, rows of glassware neatly stacked behind the bar. Even the white wine and champagne were already in the chill tubs just waiting for ice. Movement caught her eye and she spotted Mara walking past the opening to the staging area. “Mara!” she called.

“Hey, Tess, what’s up – hey, this looks great! How’s the other bar coming?”

“Uh, yeah… thank you for having your guys set this one up. I’m almost finished with the cocktail hour bar–” she stopped as Mara tilted her head.

“I couldn’t send anyone to help – I’m sorry about that. The planner changed a bunch of dinner details at the last minute and I didn’t have anyone to spare. But,” she said looking at the bar, “You clearly have everything under control. Thanks again!” she said squeezing Tessa’s arm before turning abruptly and hurrying back to the staging area.

Tessa stared after her, dumbstruck. She turned to the bar and again took in everything ready to go. What the fuck? She breathed out heavily and then hurried back to the garden bar to get that bar to one hundred percent.

Mara hurried down the path to the garden bar to find Tessa putting the last orange garnish on the rim of the rocks glasses filled with ice and glimmering garnet red liquid as a crowd of servers stood around watching. From down the path they heard cheering erupt.

Tessa smiled.

“Perfect timing,” Mara said.

“Would you expect anything else?” she smirked back and sauntered behind the garden bar as the servers picked up their trays of Aperol spritzes and negronis.

Mara grinned at her before directing the servers down the path to meet the guests who would shortly make their way here in the gardens for cocktail hour.

Two groomsmen arrived first. “Tequila and soda, lime,” he pointed at his friend who laughed and nodded as the first groomsmen inspected the beers on display. “… and I’ll have the, oh, perfect – the Russian River STS Pils.”

“Perfect,” Tessa said as she turned to get the beer first as the one groomsman adjusted his friend’s tie. She popped the cap on the beer and set it on the bar before starting to rotate to her right for a rocks glass when she noticed a tequila and soda with two crossed lime wheels sitting ready on the bar.

Tessa stared at the drink for a moment before the groomsmen looked back at her and reached for their beer and drink with a mumbled, “Thanks.” Tessa didn’t have time to think about where that tequila and soda had come from, though, because the rest of the guests had made their way up the garden path and despite the pass, a little line was already forming. That’s when time just blurred for Tessa. She was a whirling dervish of pouring wine, shaking margaritas, stirring martinis, and popping champagne corks all the while smiling and offering a quip whenever possible.

She wasn’t too preoccupied, however, to notice the occasional repeat of that initial tequila soda incident, though it happened differently each time. Once it was the reverse – she made the cocktail first only to find the beer the customer wanted next to her and open. She never seemed to grab a white wine glass herself, as  by the time she turned to grab the Chardonnay from the chill tub a glass was already waiting – Tessa tried to brush that off as her just grabbing the glass through muscle memory and not thinking about it. But it was too consistent…

“Ten minutes, Tess,” Mara said quietly into Tessa’s ear as she placed an orange in an Aperol spritz. Tessa nodded as she could already see the planner threading through the crowd starting to get them moving towards the dinner bar.

“This is where I tell my other bartender to open the other bar while I finish cocktail hour,” Tessa said to Mara.

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” she said as she moved away.

Tessa set the bottle of pilsner down on the bar and thought about how it sure seemed she had another bartender helping her out after all.

As one of the planner’s minions shepherded the last couple to the dinner, Tessa gathered her tools and backpack and started after them towards the dinner bar. She looked back once at the garden bar regarding the nearly depleted glassware, full recycling bin, and mostly empty chill tubs, and made a mental reminder to figure out time to clean it up. I’ll add it to everything else… she thought as she hurried to the other bar.

After the adrenaline rush of cocktail hour, Tessa always found the dinner bar anticlimactic. Guests would trickle up one or two at a time during dinner, but it was never a wait at the bar. After dinner ended and speeches concluded, the couple had their first dance and the bar became a popular place again. Though now the DJ was blasting Wedding Playlist Greatest Hits and Tessa had to practically shout to communicate with the guests just a couple feet apart.

She did notice a few odd things – when she reached into the chill tub for a new bottle of Chardonnay to open, the foil had already been cut – but just on that bottle. Same for Champagne – the foil on one unopened bottle would be removed, though, whatever it was knew enough not to remove the cage over the cork ahead of time.

At one point during a lull, Tessa found Mara behind the bar with her. “Hey, Tess!” Mara yelled.

“Yeah?” Tessa yelled back rolling her eyes at the high-volume requirement of the blasting of Abba’s “Dancing Queen.”

“When did you start the double lime garnish?” she pointed at an empty rocks glass that had the same garnish as that first tequila soda – two lime wheels combined in an “X”.

Tessa went cold noticing at least the second drink she didn’t make. “I… uh, I’m trying something new. Why?”

Mara shook her head, “It’s all good – it just reminded me of a bartender I worked with back when I was here behind the bar. That had to be like… five years ago? …James… no, Jimmy. Jimmy Davis. Always did his lime garnish like that. I’d never seen anyone else do it.”

“Huh,” Tessa said, repressing the shiver. “Whatever happened to him?”

Mara shrugged. “No clue. He left the company around the same time I moved out of the bar.”

Just then the groom’s uncle came up for another pour of the Cab.

“Oh hey,” Mara said as Tessa set the wine bottle back on the bar. “When did you break down the other bar?”

“Wait, what?”

. . .

Seventy miles away in American Canyon, Jimmy Davis cut slits into two lime wheels before sliding them together and dropping the “X” lime garnish into the rocks glass. “There you go,” he handed the glass to the woman on the couch as he sipped from his own old fashioned.

“I love this,” she said, admiring the intertwined limes.

Jimmy smiled, “Something I used to do when I bartended.”

“Do you miss it?”

Jimmy stared off into the distance. “Sometimes, yeah. Sometimes I feel like I’m still there.”