The next afternoon, Julian stood on his grandfather's porch, holding a glass filled with ice, cola, and a generous pour of the rare rum. Captain Ben took a long sip, his weathered face breaking into a wide, bright grin.

"Torched Cherry, you say? Discontinued. Hard to find. People loved that burnt sugar and cherry blend, but corporate suits always pull the plug on the good stuff."

The label featured the iconic Bacardi bat, framed by deep red cherries and a hint of flame.

Julian paid, thanked the man profusely, and practically ran back to his car. The bottle sat securely in the passenger seat, buckled in with the seatbelt.

Julian’s grandfather, a retired sailor named Captain Ben, was turning eighty-five the next day. For sixty years, Ben had sworn by a specific, illicitly spiked cherry cola recipe he called the "Deep Harbor." The key ingredient was the distinct, slightly smoky, sweet kick of Torched Cherry. The problem? The flavor had been discontinued years ago.

"Not the same," Julian muttered, pushing open the heavy glass door of the Emporium.

The air inside smelled of dust, cardboard, and aged oak. Behind the counter sat a man who looked like he had been part of the inventory since the 1970s. He had thick glasses and was reading a dog-eared paperback.