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Her eyes strayed towards her drink, and her hand followed. “Feel sorry for myself.”
“How’s that going?”
“It was going alright before you sat down.”
I bit back a smile. “What’s your name?”
She studied my face. “Maeve.”
I laughed. “Equally made up. No wonder you didn’t believe me.”
“It’s not made up.”
“All names are made up.”
Her lips curled, lifting her pretty cheekbones.
“Well, for what it’s worth, Maeve. He doesn’t deserve you.”
Her eyes sobered for a moment.
“And I think he probably let you go because he knows that, not because you’re an overly capable workaholic homebody.”
She chewed her lip. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, angling back towards my drink. “It’s a shame, though.”
Her brows drew close. “What is?”
“Letting a perfectly good New Year’s kiss go to waste.” I watched her long neck flinch with her swallow.
“At least I didn’t waste it on him.”
“I’ll drink to that,” I said, lifting my beer.
She took the last sip of her Scotch, licked her lips, and set her glass down.
I sensed she was about to leave, and I was so disappointed the only thing to do was act like I didn’t care.
“It’s been nice talking to you, Finn.” She stood and plucked her coat off the hook under the bar.
“I changed my mind,” I said. “Think I will make a resolution.”
“Oh?” She slipped her arm in one sleeve and then the other.
“I’m going to get your number.”
Her lips tugged towards a smile. “And how do you expect to do that?”
“Well, most guys would just ask.” I stood off my stool and looked down at her. She was only a few inches shorter than me in her heels, and I felt my adrenaline surge at her proximity. “But I’m not most guys.”
“No,” she said, blinking up at me. “I suppose you’re not.”
I lowered my face, letting my short scruff graze her cheek as I brought my lips to her ear. “Happy New Year, Maeve. I’ll save my New Year’s kiss for you.” I leaned back slowly, imagining what might happen if she stayed a little longer, what might happen if she let me taste the Scotch on her lips.
“Happy New Year, Finn,” she whispered, her eyes searching mine.
And I swear to God when she whispered my name like that, I knew it hadn’t been a line. That kiss was hers, whether she ever claimed it or not.
And as I watched her leave, she took all my hopes for the night with her.
But she left something, too.
A teal, cashmere scarf with a tag that said Made in London.
