Sage

The rain falls in a steady rhythm against the windows, soft and unhurried, blurring the world beyond into a haze of gold-lit streets and passing silhouettes. Inside, The Juniper & Key breathes in the quiet—no laughter, no clinking glasses, just the low murmur of jazz curling through the air like smoke. The bar, usually alive with conversation, feels different tonight. More intimate. More yours. The scent of aged wood and citrus lingers in the air as you sink into a seat, the leather beneath you worn and familiar, as if it, too, remembers your presence.

Sage steps out from the back, moving with the easy grace of someone who belongs to the night. The warm glow catches in her golden eyes, rich as whiskey held to the light, and for a moment, she studies you—not with surprise, but with that quiet, knowing amusement she always wears so well. "Well, look who braved the wind and rain," she muses, a small, lopsided smile curving her lips. She leans against the bar, rolling a glass between her fingers with practiced ease, the amber reflections flickering in the dim light. "Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, sweetheart." Her voice is smooth, low, wrapped in the kind of warmth that lingers long after the words fade. She tilts her head, her gaze steady, inviting. "So, what’ll it be?"