A/N: Hi everyone! I love all the reviews and comments for this story so far. Thank you so much.

Special thanks to Mel and my prereaders for all their help! All mistakes are mine:)

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Song suggestion: Delicate by Taylor Swift

"Have a good night, Miss," the cabby muttered as I opened the door and was catapulted into what felt like a parallel universe. In some ways, it was another world.

My mother loathed Brooklyn which made my decision to escape there perfect. According to her, if you weren't from the Upper East Side, you better live on the Upper West Side with damn good reason. My sister often helped point out my mother's snobby behavior for which I was thankful. I didn't want to end up like my mother. Nobody wanted to end up like their mother. However, it was easy to become immune to the pretentious nature of the people I was surrounded with. If there was anything to be grateful for about my sabbatical, it was getting a break from being submerged in the world of superficial and status. I'd come to realize practicing gratitude was fundamental.

Once I'd exited the cab, I walked aimlessly, my feet aching as I wandered through the streets. I didn't have a clear destination in mind when I had the cabbie take me over the bridge, and he looked at me questioningly when I looked at the map on my phone and named a random street for him to drop me off. I was starting to second guess my impulsive decision, especially as the pain in the soles of my feet became more noticeable. It had been quite some time since I'd worn heels for such an elongated period, so it would take some getting used to again. But practice makes perfect. Or pain made perfect.

My mother always said, "Beauty is pain, Isabella."

While I didn't know much about Brooklyn, I did know a few key places. Places where I could find acquaintances of mine. These places would be the ones I'd avoid like the plague. Williamsburg was one of the few places I'd never been, so my chances of running into anyone connected to my former social circle were slim to none.

My phone buzzed in my purse and I pulled it out to answer, without looking at the caller ID. "Hello," I muttered into the phone, expecting it to be Alice with a crappy apology.

"Isabella," the voice on the other end of the phone said, annoyance evident in their tone. Or was it the feeling that this was an inconvenience that I was sensing?

"Mother, to what do I owe this call?" I groaned, looking around to see if there was anywhere I could duck into to have this conversation. I only saw convenience stores and nail salons, not many options to choose from.

Renee should be doing group activities and drugged out of her mind at this point in her retreat. Only god knows why she was calling me. To berate me, no doubt.

"Isabella, I'll have you know I broke away from our trauma ritual to call you. Technically we aren't even allowed to use the phone, but when I told them I was calling you, they understood. Everyone knows about you, honey. You should have seen the looks they gave me. They were worried about you… for you. I've told you time and time again. You need to book an interview and start making things right. The longer you wait, the less forgiving people are going to be," Renee scolded. I could just visualize the resigned look on her face.

"Mom, I've told you time and time again, no interviews. I can't. I can't talk about any of it. I won't," I answered, closing my eyes and shaking my head even though she couldn't see me. Even when she was in front of me, I don't think she ever saw me.

Whoever I was…

Renee inhaled deeply, and I could already tell that she was going to say what a disappointment I'd become. "Isabella, I'm so disappointed. Everything we worked so hard for will be for nothing."

I couldn't do this. Not tonight. Not my first night back. Everything was already a reminder of my failures. Being back was one big trigger. I didn't need my mother to go on and on as well.

"Oh, Mom, I'm getting another call," I lied, sighing while flipping my blonde hair over my shoulder. "Enjoy your rituals."

"Okay, honey, I have to get back for our rain dance anyways. Goodbye, Isabella." The line went dead, and I stared at the concrete for several minutes. What the hell was I doing? In Brooklyn. In my life.

My list of "I don't knows" was getting very long, but a little voice inside my head was telling me this might just be the change I so desperately needed.

I couldn't explain it, but being in Brooklyn gave me a sense of comfort even though I'd only been here maybe a half hour.

It was almost like something was pulling me here…

Deciding that wandering without direction had to stop, I used my phone to google dive bars nearby. A drink and some music to cleanse my soul were exactly what I needed.

The first suggestion that came up was a place oddly, yet simply, named Bar.

I couldn't decide whether it was an ingenious idea or lazy branding. Their Yelp reviews were decent, with lots of comments about the hardworking owner and how it was a friendly environment. I tried searching for them on Instagram to get a better sense of the atmosphere and vibe but came up short.

Curious to see what the hype was about, I followed the directions from my GPS and walked toward Bar.

XXX

Bar buzzed from the live band and the groups of people chatting. From the people making small talk, having first dates, forming real connections. Real friends.

I inhaled a deep breath and I was met with the scent of alcohol, musk, and a little bit of desperation. Which probably was coming from me.

Desperate for change and a drink, I walked up to the wooden bar and shoved my way to the bartender, a tanned muscular guy with a blinding white, and welcoming, smile.

"Welcome to Bar. I'm Jake," he chirped, raising an eyebrow as he looked me up and down. No doubt taking in the fact that I didn't seem like their typical customer. I mean, I was wearing a couture dress and shoes that cost probably more than most people made in a week. The crowd here looked like they thought Vans or Wildfox were high fashion. "What can I getcha?" Jake asked, flashing his pearly whites again and doing a little flex of his muscles. I stifled a laugh at his attempt at flirting. Shouldn't bartenders be a little more suave?

"I'll have a dirty martini, three olives." I ordered my standard drink, very acceptable and appropriate for a lady to consume. Mother would be proud. I dug into my purse, pulled out my platinum card, and slid it across the bar, and after Jake asked if I wanted to start a tab, he turned to run it.

Jake relayed my order to the other bartender, a younger guy with long messy hair that hung to his shoulders. He grabbed my martini glass in one hand and the gin in the other. He set the glass down and started to mix my drink, overexaggerating his movements as he shook the gin, vermouth, and olive brine in the cocktail shaker. It was clear from the way he kept stealing glances at her that he was trying to impress this young girl on the other end of the bar. Not that he had to do much to impress her—she was already looking at him with googly eyes. Ah, young love. One thing I never delved too deep into was love. Sure, guys were fun to mess around with, and they served a purpose every now and again, but that was the extent of my relationships with the opposite sex.

"Your drink, my lady." The younger guy, who didn't even look eighteen, set my drink down in front of me. He flashed me a cheeky smile and winked. "I'm Seth, by the way."

"Thank you." I returned his smile with one of my own. It was nice to see both men be so enthusiastic about their jobs. Where I came from everyone had a big stick up their ass, like serving people was beneath them.

I cursed myself for not telling the guys my name when they'd introduced themselves. Of course they could look at my card and they'd see Isabella imprinted there, but dammit if I didn't just want to be Bella sometimes.

A disheveled-looking, older gentleman with a gray beard came up to the bar and started chatting up Jake and Seth. As he passed by me, I caught a whiff of alcohol and sweat, and my nose wrinkled at how strong his body odor was. If it weren't for the fact that I spotted the cash in his wallet when he opened it to retrieve a credit card, I would have thought he was homeless. He handed the card over to the younger bartender, Seth.

"Dirty P, I told you I ran the card three times. It isn't going through," Seth reasoned, cupping the back of his neck with his hand, nervously.

It must have been uncomfortable to tell people their payment wasn't going through.

"I don't know what you don't understand. My account has plenty of money. Run it again," the older man spat. His nickname might have been "Dirty P," but I was more concerned that he was Crazy P.

"Assholes," the man—Dirty P—muttered under his breath, taking a seat next to me.

With that, I decided to do a lap around the place and get away from the smelly old guy. Maybe I should buy his drinks, pay it forward and all that. But then again, maybe that wasn't all that wise, since I didn't want him getting the wrong idea.

Bella, don't judge! You'll become like Renee, a voice within myself told me. I shuddered at the thought and spun around to get a better view of my surroundings.

Bar was nice? It wasn't my typical scene—I was used to bars with chandeliers, top shelf liquor, and elevator music playing in the background, or if I was partying, lounges with leather booths, body glitter, and EDM.

No, Bar was quaint, homey almost, with lots of reclaimed wood details. You could sense the pride in ownership through the little touches in the decor. Not to mention, the gallery wall was filled with photos of patrons and their letters, Christmas cards, birthday cards, and well wishes. It really showed a sense of community.

In my world, community and genuinely giving a shit about people wasn't a thing. Sure, there were parties and fundraisers where we mixed and mingled, but those events were laced with gossip, debauchery, and betrayal. I couldn't tell you how many of my mother's friends' husbands cheated within their friend group or how many women backstabbed their so-called friends to get a seat on the board of some charity that claimed to help people, but in actuality did nothing but save face and line their pockets.

I took a sip from my martini; it was a little strong but good nonetheless. I was used to watered-down drinks at the events I attended, so this was a pleasant change.

Walking into the small back room, I found a pool table with a few couples settled around it. I'd never played before, but judging by what I was watching, it looked like a lot of fun.

God, I wanted to have fun.

I glanced down and realized I left my bag at the bar. My haste to get away from Dirty P obviously made me lose my mind. It was vintage Gucci, so I wouldn't be surprised if somebody had snatched it up by now.

I turned around, deciding I should go check to see if luck was on my side and it was still there, but my progress was halted when I knocked into a hard figure. My drink crashed into the body before me. "Ow," I muttered as we collided. Fuck, I was so embarrassed. I stepped back to assess the damage. The guy's button down was soaked as were his jeans. From the large wet spot there, it looked like he'd peed his pants.

"Oh my god." My palm covered my mouth. I was mortified. In all my years of drinking, legally and not so legally, I had never spilled a drink, let alone spilled one all over such a handsome guy. "I'm so sorry. Please let me pay for your dry cleaning."

I looked up into his shimmering green eyes, finding myself captivated by the arrays of colors I saw there. "It's okay really," he reassured me, as I apologized more.

He had a soft smile spread across his lips, and little creases formed around his eyes as his smile grew. Something about those little lines filled me with calm and warmth. In my world, people didn't have wrinkles or creasing, striving to hold onto the facade of perpetual youth for as long as possible.

At the first sign of aging, you got Botox, then as time went on, you graduated to facelifts,lip plumpers, cheek implants, and other procedures that made your skin look like a Barbie doll's, and not in a good way. Plastic, fake, non-moving.

As I studied him, I saw that he wasn't handsome in the traditional sense. No, there was something else there—he was more rugged, manly? He looked approachable, like a guy out of one of those cheesy holiday movies that embodied warmth.

"You're not from around here, are you?" His gaze traveled down my face and then lower and lower still. A look of appreciation, maybe, crossing his features. God, he was sexy and…beautiful?

A blush arose in his cheeks when he realized he was caught checking me out, and I couldn't help but chuckle at his discomfort.

Shaking my head, I answered him, "No, I'm not. I'm a city girl through and through. Upper East Side, born and raised." I gave him a cheeky smile because why not? I couldn't remember the last time I felt this excited talking to a guy.

"Seems like you're in need of a new drink. How about you let me buy you one. I know the owner." He smiled to himself like what he said was supposed to be funny. He grabbed a napkin off one of the tables next to him and started patting himself dry.

I pursed my lips. "I don't know. You think it's a good idea to give me another drink?"

His nose scrunched as he laughed. "Well you already threw it on me. What else could happen?"

"I most certainly did not throw it on you," I admonished as he gave me an expectant look. "At least not on purpose," I mumbled, conceding.

"That's what I thought." He outstretched his hand. "I'm Edward by the way."

"I'm Is–Bella." I corrected myself mid-word, and he gave me a questioning look. "Isabella, but I prefer Bella," I explained without really explaining.

Nobody in my world had ever respected my wish to be called Bella. No, Isabella was more regal, elegant, classy.

The only person who called me Bella was Jane, much to Renee's dismay.

"Okay, Bella, let's get you a drink." Edward took my hand in his and led me to the bar, where I'd started out. Shockwaves ran through my hand, up my arm and all across my body.

Edward waited for me to sit on one of the barstools, and then he opened the bar panel to cross over to where the other bartenders were working. So he was a bartender…interesting.

"You work here?" I asked, dumbly.

He nodded. "Yep, what can I get you? Actually hold on–" Edward reached down and sniffed his shirt that was still soaked from my drink. "Dirty martini."

Holy shit! I was impressed. This guy knew his stuff. I flashed him a toothy grin and nodded. "Three olives," I added, peering up at him through my lashes.

"I know." Edward grinned, giving me a panty-dropping smile before walking away to grab the liquor for my drink.

Jake waltzed over to me as Edward was distracted making my drink. "Hi pretty lady, how's everything so far?"

I nodded politely, not wanting to be rude but also not wanting Jake to think I was interested—at least not in him. "Everything's great. The service is top-notch," I complimented, looking over at Edward.

"Thank you for letting me know." Jake smiled, touching my hand across the bar. "I'll be sure to tell the boss." He gave me a wink and went back to cleaning one of the glasses in front of him.

Oh so was he the owner? He was cute in a sort of boyish way. Way too eager for my liking. Jake honestly would fit in fine with the Wall Street bankers. Very sure of himself but no real substance.

Edward, on the other hand … I don't know, but there was something about this one.

"Everything okay?" Edward asked as he slid my drink to me. I nodded and muttered my thanks. He looked over to Jake, having a wordless conversation with him.

I pretended not to notice and instead focused my attention on Dirty P, who was miserably attempting to flirt with the young girl whose attention Seth was trying to snag earlier.

"I gotta go help Emily escape Dirty P before Seth goes off on him." Jake tossed Edward a towel. "Clean yourself, you smell like a brewery." He cackled at his bad joke.

"Sorry about that. The guys are a bit nuts," he said sheepishly, leaning over to be closer to me, which was a good thing because it got louder in here as the song changed.

I waved him off. "No worries. Seems like you get some interesting clientele in here." Edward followed my gaze to Dirty P, who was waving his hands at Jake, obviously complaining about something and slurring his words.

"Oh that's just P. He's a regular. Ever since he 'retired,' he's been lost. Poor bastard found a home here, but he has his moments," Edward commented, wistfully.

He leaned across the bar farther as if he was telling me a secret, and he grazed his hand over mine once more. "It's just, I feel sorry for P to be honest." Edward looked into my eyes, a torn expression on his face, and went on to explain more about the infamous Dirty P. "He was a hotshot in his prime, and one mistake ripped everything from him. I don't think I could understand the magnitude of how difficult it must be to be an outcast from all you've ever known," Edward said earnestly, as my eyes popped out of my head. It would appear that Dirty P and I had more in common than I'd thought.

"Speak for yourself," I muttered mainly to myself, but Edward must have heard me because he gave me an inquisitive stare. I brushed him off, not wanting to explain and relive it all again. It was nice to forget everything and just be normal. Even if it was just for one night.

"That's a lonely life." I sighed, looking at Dirty P, who was now sitting at a table alone. Oddly enough, I knew exactly how the disheveled older drunk man felt.

Alone in a group of people.

I peered up at those green eyes from across the bar, and the look this man gave me made my heart stop.

Correction: That was how I used to feel.