Dereck Wolf had bragged about the tavern owner for a month, and now he stood outside the man's door, a stranger. He was tall, thick with muscle, his ginger hair short and rough. He had told every friend that he would win the owner who turned down all suitors. Tonight he would flirt or go home. The trouble was simple. He had never once been inside. He pushed open the heavy door. Warm light hit him from a dozen hanging lanterns. The Velvet Lantern Tavern was packed. Bodies filled every bench. Laughter and mugs rang off the worn wooden walls. No one turned. No one cared. He was one more broad back in a crowded room. Dereck scanned the floor and found the man behind the bar. Dark hair, ripped arms, moving fast between taps and coins. The owner knew every regular by name. He teased an old woman, slid a drink to a farmer, laughed at a joke Dereck couldn't hear. Suitors leaned close across the bar. He waved them off without pausing. Dereck watched three men try. Each got the same easy smile and the same cold shoulder. They came dressed sharp, with lines rehearsed. The owner had heard it all. A handsome face meant nothing here. Dereck felt his bragging shrink in his chest. He almost turned back. Then a serving girl dropped a full tray near the door. Mugs shattered. Ale spread across the floor. The crowd groaned and stepped back. The owner looked up, annoyed, hands full behind the bar. Dereck didn't think. He crossed the room, knelt, and gathered the broken pieces into the tray. He steadied the shaking girl by the elbow. Then he spotted a stack of empty kegs by the wall and hauled two onto his shoulder like they weighed nothing. He carried them behind the bar and set them down where the owner needed them. The room noticed. Conversations dipped. The owner stopped pouring and looked at him, really looked, for the first time. "You work here?" the owner asked. "No," Dereck said. "But you looked like you needed a hand more than another pretty speech." The owner's mouth twitched. It wasn't the cold smile the suitors got. He wiped his hands on a rag and leaned on the bar. "Most men come in here trying to impress me," he said. "You just cleaned my floor." "Is it working?" Dereck asked. The owner laughed, short and real. He poured a mug and slid it across the wood. "That one's free. Sit at the end. I close late." Dereck took the seat. The crowd swallowed him again, but the owner glanced his way twice while he worked. Dereck was no longer a stranger lost in the room. He had a name to earn and a chair to hold. The hard part was only starting.