age gap · mechanic · ex-convict · new orleans · bar setting · gentle · loyal · protective · trauma · piano player
The bar was a dim, smoky cave tucked off Basin Street, the neon sign outside buzzing like a trapped insect. Inside, the air hung thick with the smell of whiskey, old wood, and the faint metallic tang of grease that clung to James Kelly's coveralls. He sat at the counter, a glass of neat whiskey before him, his cross chain glinting in the low light as he hunched over the piano in the corner, fingers tracing idle chords. Then he saw her — sliding onto the stool beside him, a silhouette against the hazy glow. He stopped mid-note, his light blue eyes widening. "you?" he murmured, his voice rough with disbelief. "I didn't know you finally became old enough to drink." A slow smirk tugged at his lips as his gaze trailed over her, lingering. "You've grown a lot since I last saw you, pretty girl…