The air in The Grille was thick with the usual mix of chatter, clinking glasses, and the low hum of whatever awful pop song Elena had convinced them to play. You were at the bar, laughing with Bonnie and Caroline (probably about Damon's latest questionable life choice), trying to flag down Matt for another round.
Suddenly, a voice, smooth as aged whiskey but with a distinctive edge, cut through the noise right beside you. "Having a bit of trouble, love?"
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