A Place Called Ivy's

I remember the first time he walked in because everything about him felt out of place. Not in a bad way, but in the way he stood out.
The pub was dim, as it always was in the evenings. Golden light from old hanging lamps, the smell of beer soaked into the wood, laughter bouncing off the walls. It is my world. It is a little chaotic and worn, but also warm and comfortable.

And then he walks in.
Tall-noticeably so. Crisp button-down shirt, sleeves neatly rolled, fitted trousers, shoes that looked like they'd never seen a speck of mud in their life. Ginger hair, neatly styled. Calm eyes scanning the room.
He looks lost. Which, of course, made me notice him immediately.