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Life is strange.

I have no idea how I went from working at the salon this morning, to an appointment at a law office this afternoon, to working at an art studio tonight, to walking into a bar for the first time in my life.

I was too embarrassed to tell Owen I've never been to a bar before, but I'm pretty sure he could tell by my hesitation at the door. I didn't know what to expect when we walked in because I'm not yet twenty-one. I reminded Owen of this and he shook his head and told me not to mention it if Harrison asks for ID. "Just tell him you left it at the studio and I'll vouch for you."

It's definitely not what I expected a bar would look like. I imagined disco balls and a huge, central dance floor, and John Travolta. In reality, this bar is much less dramatic than I imagined. It's quiet, and I could probably count the number of occupants on both hands. There are more tables covering the floor than there is room to dance. And there's no disco ball anywhere in sight. I'm a little disappointed by that.

Owen weaves through a few tables until he gets to the back of the dimly lit room. He pulls out a stool and motions for me to sit while he takes the one next to it.

There's a guy at the other end of the bar who looks up at us just as I'm taking my seat, and I assume this is Harrison. He looks to be in his late twenties, with a head full of curly, red hair. The combination of his fair skin and the fact that there are four-leaf clovers on almost every sign in this place makes me wonder if he's Irish or if he just wishes he were.

I know it shouldn't surprise me that this guy owns a bar and appears this young, because if everyone around here is anything like Owen, this city must be full of young entrepreneurs. Great. Makes me feel even more out of place.

Harrison nods his head in Owen's direction and then briefly glances at me. He doesn't stare long, and then his eyes are back on Owen's with a perplexed look. I don't know what has this guy confused, but Owen ignores the look he shoots him and turns to face me.

"You were great tonight," he says. His chin is resting in his hand and he's smiling. His compliment makes me smile back, or maybe it's just him. He's got such an innocent, charming vibe. The way his eyes crinkle in the corners makes his smile seem more genuine than other people's.

"So were you."  We both just continue to smile at each other and I realize that although bars aren't typically my scene, I'm actually enjoying myself. I haven't in so long, and I don't know why Owen seems to extract a whole different side of me, but I like it. I also know that I have so many other things I should be focusing on right now, but it's one night. One drink. What harm can it do?

He lays his arm on the bar and swivels his chair until he's facing me full-on. I do the same, but the chairs are really close together and our knees end up overlapping. He adjusts himself until one of my knees is between both of his, and one of his is between both of mine. We aren't too close and it's not as though we're rubbing our legs together, but they're definitely touching and it's kind of an intimate way to be seated with someone I barely know. He looks down at our legs.

"Are we flirting?"

Now we're looking at each other again and we're both still grinning and it hits me that I don't think either of us has stopped grinning since we left his studio.

I shake my head. "I don't know how to flirt."

He looks back down at our legs and is about to comment when Harrison approaches us. He leans forward and casually rests his arms on the bar, placing his attention on Owen.

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