I pick up my pint, far more aware of myself than I was ten seconds ago, and glance over because I am, at heart, still an optimist where bad ideas are concerned.
Up close, or close enough, he is even more arresting. Ice-blue eyes. Strong nose. Mouth that looks as though it is used to smiling but not cheaply. There is steadiness to him. Not swagger. Not that brittle sort of confidence some men wear like aftershave.
This is worse, frankly.
He looks like the kind of man who means things.
His friend says something to him, but he doesn’t answer straight away. He is still looking at me, not rudely, not boldly even, just with a sort of calm interest.
I should turn away.
I don’t.
Then his mouth curves, small and knowing, and I feel the answering flicker of a smile threaten at the corner of mine before I can stop it.
Oh, this is absolutely not what I need.
I am leaving the country in five days.
I have a packed life, a moving checklist, a perfectly respectable amount of emotional avoidance to maintain.
I do not need a stranger with blue eyes and forearms like original sin looking at me as if he has already decided I am worth walking over for.
And yet, absurdly, embarrassingly, the first thing I feel is not alarm.
It is wakefulness.
As though some part of me that has been sitting quietly in the dark for far too long has just lifted its head.
I take a sip of my drink, buying myself a second.
When I lower the glass, he is still watching me.
This time, I smile first.
Chapter 2
Mark
I’m here because Callumsaid, “You need to leave the garage,” and then ignored every argument I made against it.
Callum has been doing that for years. Thirty, ex-army, business owner, professional bad influence. We met at Finley’s tattoo studio, then became friends when I got tangled up in a government contract issue and he gave me advice that was irritatingly useful. Since then, he has appointed himself equal parts business sounding board and social welfare officer.
Which means he decides something is happening, and I end up wherever he’s picked, drink in hand, watching him flirt with someone who should probably know better.
Tonight it’s a blonde in a red dress.
She’s laughing too hard for a woman who met him five minutes ago.
Callum leans against the bar, relaxed as anything, giving her that attentive look he’s perfected over years of making poor decisions seem charming.
I let him get on with it.
I’m good at being on my own in a room. Always have been. Years of letting my attention move without needing to settle anywhere for long.
The pub’s busy enough. After-work crowd sliding into evening. Groups at tables. People standing two and three deep at the bar. Enough movement to keep my eyes occupied.
I rest my elbow against the wood and let my gaze drift.
