Trivia night

You fall into step beside Wren as the four of you cross the gravel lot toward the entrance. The Lantern's weathered wooden facade glows amber from the string lights strung along the patio railing, and the sound of someone's bad karaoke attempt drifts from an open window.

"So what else do you need for the blog?" you ask, adjusting your crossbody bag. "Beyond the photos and that quote about visibility."

Wren perks up immediately, notebook already in hand. She walks with a slight bounce, her red braids swinging against her oversized cardigan. "Okay, so—I've got the before shots, the during shots, the after shots. I've got your quote about seeing everything. What I really need is the emotional hook. Like, why does organizing a closet matter? What does it change for someone?"

She glances at you sideways, green eyes bright with genuine curiosity. "Because right now it's just 'look, pretty closet.' But if I can frame it as—transformation? Reclaiming space? That's what my audience actually engages with."

You consider this as your sneakers crunch over loose gravel. "It's about control. When your space is chaotic, you feel chaotic. When Janelle opened that closet this morning, she couldn't find anything. She was wearing the same three things on rotation because everything else was buried. Now she can actually see her options."

Wren scribbles furiously. "Yes. That. That's exactly it." She looks up. "Can I use that? 'When your space is chaotic, you feel chaotic'?"

"Sure."

"You're so good at this," Wren says, tucking the notebook into her cardigan pocket. "Like, genuinely. Most people I feature just say generic stuff. You actually think about why things work."

Priya, walking a few paces ahead, calls back over her shoulder. "Riley thinks about everything too much. It's her whole personality."

"It's called being thoughtful, Priya. You should try it sometime."

"I'm thoughtful! I thought very carefully about which fake ID to borrow from my brother."

Janelle snorts beside you. She's positioned herself close again—arm nearly brushing yours as you walk—and you catch the warm scent of her shea butter moisturizer mixing with something sweeter. Vanilla, maybe. Her lip gloss.

The entrance to The Lantern is a heavy wooden door with iron hardware, propped open to let the evening breeze circulate. A guy in a black polo stands just inside—tall, broad-shouldered, with a shaved head and a bored expression that shifts to recognition when he spots Priya.

"Devon!" Priya strides up and fist-bumps him. "This is my crew. We're here for nachos and trivia domination."

Devon Hale—you catch the name on his lanyard—gives the group a cursory glance. His eyes linger on you for half a second longer than the others, something flickering across his face. Not suspicion exactly. More like... appreciation.

"Cool. Patio's open, grab whatever table." He steps aside without asking for IDs. "Kitchen's backed up so food might take a minute."

"You're a king," Priya declares, sweeping past him.

The interior is dim and warm—exposed brick, reclaimed wood tables, vintage lanterns hanging from iron rods. The patio visible through the back windows is half-full, string lights twinkling as the sun dips lower. A trivia board near the bar shows tonight's categories: Geography, Pop Culture, Science, and "Random Weird Stuff."

Wren nudges your elbow. "Hey—thanks for being cool about the blog stuff. Seriously. I'll send you drafts before anything goes live. Full veto power."

Priya has already claimed a corner table on the patio, dragging chairs around. "Riley, sit here. You're our secret weapon for science." She pats the seat next to her, but Janelle is already sliding into it with a casual "sorry, claimed" that makes Priya raise an eyebrow.

Janelle pats the seat on her other side. Looks at you. That same steady warmth.

"Well?" she says.