The Next Door Pub was dark with only the hum of the refrigerators and the ticking of the clock making any noise other than their breathing.
Wes felt Darbie roll off of him on the small cot. She had fallen asleep (or perhaps passed out) after their lovemaking and now she was carefully walking a bit unsteadily toward the bathroom.
"Be careful," he said. He glanced at the Budweiser clock over the mirror and saw that it was nearly midnight.
A few minutes later, Darbie returned and she began searching for her clothes in the dimness.
"What are you doing?" Wes asked.
"We're leaving," she said. "You're sober enough to drive now, right?"
"Where are we going?" Wes asked.
"My place," she replied, pulling her sweatshirt on over her head. "You can't live in a bar for god sakes. We'll quarantine. If we can last fourteen days together sheltering in place in a pandemic we'll be able to last the next forty years."
Wes sat up. "Is that your prediction?"
"That is my intentions," Darbie decided, peering at him, bottomless. "Fowler Barbershop and The Next Door Pub. That's me and you."
Still naked, Wes rolled off the cot and stepped up behind her as she turned to search for her sweat bottoms. He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed the back of her neck. "I like those intentions," he said as he rubbed himself against her backside.
She smiled as she turned to face him. "I'm exactly who you always thought I was, Weston."
He kissed her and then they dressed in the dimness.
"Turns out we're essential after all," Wes said as Darbie stood watching him pack his suitcase that had been in the corner of the room.
"That was my intention all along," she smiled.