"Like you give a shit about etiquette," I huff, glancing sideways at Josephine. "Anyway, we're in Connecticut. This is not a hoe-down."
"It's a party in a barn, Brooklyn," Jo reminds me, pointing to the location.
I follow her finger, wincing.
As expected, the lovely familial get together has gotten rowdier. As the sun sinks lower in the sky, so do peoples' inhibitions. Everyone between the ages of eighteen and fifty is at Smithy's, ready to celebrate the longest day of the year. Midsummer has been a tradition in this town for decades, but I didn't truly enjoy the festivities until I got older. Of course, I missed most of them due to being deployed, but the few I was home for were fun. I got drunk, laid, and for once, I wasn't the one fighting.
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Smithy's repurposed gambrel barn is less than a half mile from my property, so Josephine and I walked through the forest. There's a full moon tonight, so the trek home shouldn't be too dark. An awning extends from the barn's roof, offering shade to the folks that have volunteered to grill. Strings of yellow lights wrap around the eaves, guiding visitors indoors. People spill from the structure—chatting in circles, seated on hay bales, filling cups at the row of lemonade jugs. The town doesn't have a viable community center, so we do what we can.
I'm drawing more attention than I normally would, and it has everything to do with the woman at my side. No one seems surprised, so I'm sure word of her arrival has spread. I'm greeted by some old friends from high school, but again, the familiarity is just an excuse for them to be introduced to Josephine.
Before long, I nudge Jo through the open doors. Industrial lamps hang from the ceiling, giving the interior a warm glow. Our boots crunch over a mixture of hay and peanut shells, which have found a home on the concrete floor. An oval-shaped bar dominates the space, and people are bumping elbows in their quests to get orders in. Pub tables have been pushed against the walls to make room for an unremarkable dance floor.
Josephine spots the couples dancing, asking me, "Hoe-down?"
"No," I say with a shake of my head, guiding her to the bar. "They won't have seltzer. Is beer okay?"
"I'm a lady." She scoffs, holding a hand to her heart. "Make it a double whiskey, neat."
I raise a brow. "Blue Label?"
"Whatever you're having."
"I'm only drinking one," I warn her, my expression stern. "Technically, I'm working, and your safety is my priority."
"I doubt you'd let a little whiskey stop you from protecting me," Josephine teases, smirking. She glances at the crowd of bodies in front of us, wrinkling her brow. "Why are we just standing here?"
