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“I’m Mel,” she said, and then, somehow conjuring her friend to her side, “this is Priya.” Priya gave him a slow look up and down out of dark brown eyes, like she was judging him. He wasn’t quite sure what verdict she’d reached when her eyes found his face again.

He nodded to both of them. “Finn.”

Mark chose that moment to come up next to him—drinkless. Somehow, Finn had been edged out of the queue, too, so that they were just loitering in the general vicinity of cider.

“I think we ought to go back and find Hattie,” Mark announced. “If we don’t go back for her now, she’ll be lost to the rhythm of salsa dancing and end up at a random’s party until four in the morning or something.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Finn agreed.

Only then did Mark seem to notice the two attractive women standing with Finn—maybe being married dulled your senses to that kind of thing. “Oh. Ah, hello.”

Mel smiled. “Hi there. I didn’t know there was salsa dancing here.”

“Celtic salsa,” Finn said. “It’s stage number three, I think.”

She pursed her lips. “What exactly is Celtic salsa?”

Finn shrugged. “The type of salsa the Celts used to do?”

She laughed again. He remembered thinking, even then, that he was pretty sure it was the best laugh he’d ever heard.

“So, ah, shall we?” Mark asked, jerking his head in the general direction of Stage Three.

“What about the ciders?” Finn asked, and Mark gave him a look that told him very clearly he knew exactly what Finn was playing at. He’d been wingman for Finn one too many times.

“Fine. Two minutes.” Mark slouched off to get back in the queue.

“Your mate’s a bit uptight, hey?” Priya asked, sipping her own cider.

“He’s my brother.” Finn gave an exaggerated long-suffering sigh.

Mel squinted at Finn, then at Mark’s back, then nodded slowly. “I suppose I can see it.”

Finn’s lips twitched. “No idea if you mean that as a compliment or an insult.”

She tilted her head, long dark hair spilling to one side. “Does it have to be one or the other?”

“So where are you guys headed?” Finn asked.

“Ferris wheel,” Priya said promptly. “We’re going to watch the fireworks from up there.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that,” Finn said very seriously. “I heard a story of a stray firework hitting the top of the Ferris wheel once and…” He made an exploding gesture with his hands.

Mel cocked one eyebrow. Sexy. Really fucking sexy. “Is that so?”

“Absolutely. Or maybe the guy operating the Ferris wheel got distracted by the fireworks. Either way, I’m pretty sure you’re risking your lives if you opt for that right now.”

Mel looked as if she was trying not to smile. “And I take it you think salsa dancing is the safest option?”

“Celtic salsa dancing,” Finn corrected. “And yes. Much safer.”

“I take my primary school kids on the Ferris wheel,” Priya said dryly. “It is most definitely not dangerous.”

“Priya’s a teacher,” Mel elaborated. “She’s very sensible.” Priya elbowed Mel in the ribs at this, and Mel grinned at her. “I mean it as a compliment. I’m sensible too.”

Priya muttered something under her breath, though Finn was pretty sure it was along the lines of, “Not right now you’re not.”

“Well, okay, they might be safe enough for kids during the daytime, but we’re talking about lethal fireworks here. On top of moving machinery. In the dark.” He gave Priya a meaningful look, considered it a win when she snorted a laugh. It had taken about six months for Priya to fully warm up to him—she’d been skeptical, she told him later, of his easy—and terrible, according to her—pick-up lines. But now Mel wasn’t the only one who had been a little sad when she’d decided to move to the other side of the world.