I tried to scowl, but he looked so smugly pleased I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re blushing,” he said, delighted.
I pressed a hand to my cheek. “I am not.”
“You are,” he said, leaning closer. “You always do when you’re trying not to say something.”
I rolled my eyes again, desperate to get the conversation anywhere buthere.“So what does it mean, anyway?”
He looked down at the ink for a second, tracing the edge absently.
“It’s a compass,” he said. “Callum designed it for me. Figured it might remind me to keep my bearings.”
“That’s… surprisingly deep.”
He smirked. “Disappointed?”
“Honestly? A little. What about what’s inside it? The letters and numbers?”
He laughed, the sound warm and rich, sliding right under my ribs.
“City girl,” he said finally, shaking his head. “You ever stop to think maybe you like a guy with a little depth?”
“Depth’s fine,” I said, crossing my arms. “It’s the chaos that comes with it that’s exhausting.”
“Chaos keeps things interesting.”
“You would think that.”
“What about the letter and numbers inside?”
“That’s personal.”
He poured me a drink, something golden and fizzy, and slid it across the counter.
“Here. On the house. Maybe it’ll make me more tolerable.”
“Nothing short of divine intervention could do that,” I said, but I took a sip anyway.
It was sweet with a little bite, and it warmed me faster than I expected.
He watched me over the rim of his own glass, eyes soft but sharp. “So, tell me something, Mel.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.”
I sighed. “Go ahead.”
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on the bar, voice low and teasing. “What’s it like dating those guys in suits back in Seattle?”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You know,” he said, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “The ones with the fancy watches and expensive haircuts. The ones who probably order their coffee with adjectives.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Adjectives?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Like ‘half-sweet, oat-milk, cinnamon-dusted, soul-devoid latte.’”
