Page 72 of Hot Mic, Cold Ice

"Good," I nod, relieved. "She’s been through a lot lately, and the last thing she needs is any extra drama. Plus, she’s really important to Ziggy, and you know how that goes."

Oren claps his hand on my back. "I respect that. Let’s just enjoy the night, alright?"

"Alright, man," I say with a smile. "Thanks for understanding. Let’s make it a great night."

With Rachel meeting us atThe Garden Roomfor dinner, Ziggy, Oren and I share a quick toast at our place before we get a car to the restaurant. The city lights blur past us as we make our way to our first destination.

The evening starts off tense. Ziggy seems on edge, her usual sparkle slightly dimmed. I can tell she is worried about how Oren and Rachel will interact. Rachel, on the other hand, is unusually quiet, her excitement from earlier gone.

“Rachel, this is Oren.” I introduce her to my boy. “We played together on the Red Wolves. I’m sure your paths have crossed at work, but I'm starting from the beginning anyway.”

She gives him a grim smile, more reserved than anything that I’ve seen from her before. “We’ve met,” she says as she quickly assesses Oren.

“Hi, Rachel.” Oren says, with little conviction, as he tries his best to appear nonchalant.

“Ok, then.” I say, playing the role of peacemaker, making small talk and trying to lighten the mood talking about the damn menu. The awkwardness hangs heavily over the table like a cloud as we wait for our drinks, each of us probably questioning how the hell we’ll make it through the rest of the night.

Dinner wraps up with the same strained politeness that started when we sat down. As the plates are cleared, I glancearound the table, catching the uncertain looks exchanged between Ziggy and Rachel.

"So, does everyone still want to head to the next bar, or call it a night?" I ask, hoping to put all of us out of our misery. There is a brief pause, a moment where I sense one of them might bail, but then, one by one, nods come around the table. No one wants to be the first to admit defeat.

"Yeah, let’s keep the night going," Ziggy finally says with a forced smile, and the others murmur their agreement. The decision to not let the evening end on a sour note is in motion, and we make the quick walk to the next bar in hopes of salvaging the night.

We enterThe Blind Pig Parlor, the bar immediately a notch darker and more intimate than the restaurant, setting a different mood. One that I’m not sure will help the evening.

"I'll grab us a round of drinks," I announce, wanting to smooth over the earlier tension. Oren requests his usual, a whiskey neat, and Rachel opts for an espresso martini, while I know Ziggy will stick with her usual dirty martini. As I head toward the bar, Ziggy slips in beside me, her presence a welcome comfort.

"It's too awkward at the table to sit with the two of them," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the hum of conversations around us. I nod, understanding her discomfort. We lean against the bar, grateful for the momentary escape, and wait for our drink orders.

Returning to the table with our arms full of drinks, I catch the tail end of Rachel's conversation with Oren. "Let’s not go there and just move on. For everyone’s sake," she says in a tone that suggests knowledge that I am not privy to.

The statement lingers oddly in the air as Ziggy and I set the drinks down. I find it strange but decide not to dwell on it. Instead, I turn to Rachel, hoping to engage her in something light.

"So, how's the first night out feeling without the—" I begin, but before I can even finish the sentence, Rachel swiftly diverts the conversation to some recent news about mutual friends. Her deflection is smooth, almost too practiced, leaving me with more questions than answers. I exchange a glance with Ziggy, who seems just as thrown off. So, we both shift our focus to sipping our drinks, letting the conversation flow around us without pushing further.

As the evening progresses, our table finally begins to thaw. Oren excuses himself and heads toward the bar. He returns moments later, a mischievous grin on his face and a tray of tequila shots in hand.

“To new beginnings!” he declares, raising his glass.

We all cheer, clinking our glasses together before downing the shots in one swift move. Almost instantly, the mood lightens. Laughter replaces the earlier awkwardness, and the conversation flows as freely as the liquor. It is as if the tequila has washed away any remaining tension.

Even Rachel, who has been particularly guarded, seems to unwind. Maybe it was just nerves from leaving the baby at home? Now the excitement from earlier is starting to return, and her laughter rings out over the music. She laughs at something Oren says, her hand lightly touching his arm.

“Maybe those two will get along after all,” I murmur to Ziggy, nodding toward Rachel and Oren.

Ziggy smiles, her eyes following the pair. “I think she needs some no-strings fun.”

“Absolutely not.” I say with a scowl.

Back at our house, as we kick off our shoes and settle into the comfort of our bedroom, I realize how much nights like this mean. They are reminders of our life beyond the daily grind—a step back to the spontaneous adventures that we started with.

“I love you, you know,” I say, pulling Ziggy close.

“I know,” she replies, her voice soft and affectionate. “And I love you.”

Her arms wrap around my neck, lips connecting as we lose ourselves in each other. Just like we did most nights. As we drift off to sleep, the echoes of our night out linger a sweet melody that promises many more adventures to come. Together, we are unstoppable, always ready for the next chapter.

The next evening, after a long day of rehearsals and meetings at ACN, I return home to find the kitchen a disaster, but fragrant with the aroma of something delicious. Ziggy, apron-clad and gorgeous as ever, is dancing slightly to some music playing softly in the background.

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