Only two others were occupied. The rest of the patio was quiet.
Secluded. Romantic.
Reid glanced around.
“This work?”
Eleanor took in the lanterns, the creek, the soft rush of water.
“Absolutely not,” she said.
His brow lifted.
“No?”
“It’s far too pretty. I’m going to have to pretend I don’t notice how charming you’re trying to be.”
He smiled.
“Charming is Caitlin’s word. I was going for ‘safe distance from eavesdropping.’”
“And the moss-covered rocks?”
“Pure coincidence.”
They sat at a small table near the edge of the patio.
The creek softened the noise from town, turning the back street into something that felt miles away.
Lantern light brushed over Eleanor’s face, catching faint gold in her hair and turning her eyes into something startling against all the warm brick and candlelight—cool, sharp blue that missed nothing and still somehow looked soft in this light.
Eleanor lifted her wineglass.
“To hidden patios.”
Reid tapped his glass to hers.
“And safe distances.”
She arched a brow.
“From what?”
He studied her over the rim of his glass.
“From everyone who thinks they know your life because they listened to three podcast episodes.”
Her smile thinned slightly.
“That many?”
“Oh, at least. I hear there’s merch now.”
She rolled her eyes.
“If they put my face on a mug, I’m leaving the country.”
“Noted. I’ll prosecute whoever prints them.”
