I laughed before I could stop myself. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Still sounds flattering and like a…”
I interrupted him, chuckling. “You’re really proud of that line, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little.”
I set my glass down, leaning on my elbows to meet his gaze. “For the record, not every guy in Seattle wears a suit.”
He raised a brow. “But you dated the ones who did.”
I hesitated, then smiled wryly. “Yeah. I did.”
“And?”
“And they were fine,” I said honestly. “They were polite, ambitious, clean. Always smelled like sandalwood and spreadsheets.”
He grinned. “Sounds thrilling.”
“It wasn’t,” I admitted. “It was… predictable.”
His eyes caught mine, softer now, the teasing melting into something quieter. “And you don’t like predictable or you do?”
I shrugged, my pulse jumping. “Let’s just say predictable never set my world on fire.”
For a second, neither of us moved. The air between us stretched tight, crackling with everything we weren’t saying.
He smiled a small, crooked, and devastating grin. “Guess that explains a lot.”
I tilted my head. “Like what?”
“Like why you keep ending up in a bar run by a guy who doesn’t own a suit.”
My heart thudded once, hard. “You’re awfully confident for someone who ran out on me at dinner.”
He winced, the grin faltering. “Fair.”
And just like that, the moment tilted, flirting turning into something rawer, quieter.
He looked at me for a long beat, like he was trying to read something in my face. He finally exhaled and said softly, “For what it’s worth, I haven’t stopped thinking about that night.”
I swallowed hard. “Neither have I.”
The silence that followed was thick enough to drown in. The lights from the Christmas tree reflected in his eyes, and for the briefest, most dangerous moment, I thought he might reach for me.
But then someone opened the door, letting in a rush of laughter and cold air, and the moment broke.
He straightened, running a hand through his hair. “Festival’s still going strong. Guess I should get back to work.”
“Guess so,” I said quietly.
He gave me one last look, a mix of longing and restraint, and turned to pour another drink.
And I sat there, staring into the glow of my glass, realizing that I was already in far deeper trouble than I wanted to admit.
Because maybe suits and city life had never been the problem.
Maybe it was that no one had ever made me feel this alive, this reckless, until Drew Benedict. I had my routine, my classroom, my apartment. My mom was nearby and always ready to bring a bottle of wine if needed.
