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He cocked an eyebrow. I kind of loved the way his bald head put his eyebrows on display—they were wonderfully expressive.
“You know. Companion. Cohabitant. Partner. Romantic associate.”
He nodded. “Yes, I see where you’re going, but why the roundabout terms?”
“Oh. I’ve heard that people of a certain age can get a little sensitive about using terms like boyfriend and girlfriend.”
“I’d say I’m more sensitive about being described as beingof a certain age.” He kept his eyes on me as he drank his whisky. “There have been no particular romantic associates of late. You?”
“No one to give up chocolate for. My last relationship ended almost a year ago.”
“How long were you together?”
“Four years.”
“That’s a bit. What happened?”
What could I even say? We’d had no big blow-up, no huge betrayal that had caused the split. We’d drifted into dating—Sean and I had met through Jill and her husband, and worked in similar fields—and eventually, we’d drifted out again.
In the aftermath, I felt like I’d blinked and lost those years. They hadn’t been bad years, but they’d been a little like drinking lukewarm coffee—not ideal. I just hadn’t fully realized it until everything ended.
“Do you ever read a book or drive your car and realize you’re on autopilot? You’re not really paying attention to the words or where you’re going, you’re just acting out of habit? Our relationship was like that.”
“Autopilot’s no way to experience love,” he said. “Love should be wants and needs, hearts and minds coming together in fire and passion until being apart isn’t even an option.”
My inhale sounded too close to a gasp. His words stirred my body to life like dying embers catching fire in the wind. Look at me, worked up over a few choice sentences. The whisky wasn’t helping.
“Men with Scottish accents should not be allowed to say things like that to slightly drunk women.”
He threw back his head and laughed. That sound didn’t help things, either. I wanted to swim in his delicious laughter.
His eyes sparkled when they hit me. “What am I allowed to say?”
“I’m thinking.”
I was thinking I wanted to drink in his easy smiles and his blue eyes that seemed to see beyond surface-level. I was thinking about his hands as he held the whisky glass. His years working in construction left their mark in shimmering scars, a nick here, a scrape there. I imagined those hands in action, and my breathing sounded entirely too loud.
“You should probably restrict your comments to boring things like street names and places of note.”
“Reducing me to a GPS, are you?”
“Seems safest, yes.”
He leaned closer, his eyes full of mischief.
“Loch an Eilein. Meall a’ Bhuachaille. Ben Macdui.”
He practically purred, drawing out every syllable until my insides shook like thunder. If I had Duncan voicing my GPS, I would never get out of my car.
I threw my hands up in defense. “I take it back. You’re not allowed to say anything at all. Just—” I mimed zipping my lips.
He roared with laughter, making some of the other patrons turn our way. “We won’t get very far if I’m not allowed to talk to you.”
“With you? I think eye contact is plenty.”
He leaned forward again, eyes intent on me. My stomach dipped and my skin heated like I’d walked into a furnace. How was thisworse? I’d met a lot of men, been on plenty of first dates and had a few long-term relationships, but I’d never had anyone flip all my switches with a look.
“Maybe we should just be pen pals.”
