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“I believe you just finished telling Malcolm that wasn’t the case,” the man said, calm as could be.
“You were listening?” Celia asked. “That’s rude.”
The man shuffled his feet. “I apologize, but you weren’t exactly whispering.”
“It’s fine.” She regretted the off-the-cuff response when he sat in the chair next to her, the one unoccupied by her life’s possessions.
“It didn’t seem like it was fine,” he said, his voice going gentle. “These types of things can be hard, though at least a break before marriage is cleaner.”
“Sounds like you have experience with breakups.”
“Me?” The man swiveled to stare at her in surprise. He closed his eyes then, but not before she saw a flash of something in them. “Not a breakup, not exactly.”
Celia found herself studying him, especially when those green eyes opened again to focus on her. Daniel had rarely held that kind of focus in their time together. She’d been an idiot to agree to marry him.
Turning away from the new man she really didn’t need in her life, she clasped her hands together on the bar. “Look, you seem like a nice guy, but I’m not interested.” She cringed as the words escaped. They sounded harsher than in her head.
“Interested? Interested in what? My breakup?”
At the man’s confused tone, she glanced back at him to see if it was some sort of trick. He seemed genuinely confused, though. “Not your breakup. I just mean, I’m not in a place to date anyone right now.”
He was already nodding. “I think that’s a smart decision. It’s good to give these things time.”
Celia blinked, wondering what his angle was. “So you’re wasting your time with me. I’m not going to give you my number.”
The businessman frowned back at her. “When did I ask for your number, Celia?”
The sound of her name had her stiffening, and she slid off the chair, keeping it between them. “How do you know my name?”
It was his turn to scramble up. “Oh, that’s right. You probably didn’t recognize me.”
She took a step back. “Look, if this is some new pickup technique, it’s kind of creepy.” She was relieved to hear the clang of the metal steps and glanced over to find Malcom descending.
He smiled at them. “Ah, good, Trent kept you company.” Malcolm paused, lifting an eyebrow at their postures. “Is everything all right?”
Celia rolled the name around her head. Malcolm had a friend called that back when they were kids. She’d seen the boy who was a few years older when she was young, but he must have already left the neighborhood during the last year she’d lived with her cousins.
The businessman held out his hand with a smile. “Trenton Caldwell. I’ve been friends with your cousin forever.”
“Right.” She shook his hand as briefly as she could get away with and remain polite. “I’m Celia.”
His smile appeared again. “I know. I recognized you, though it’s been a long time.” He pulled his hand back to his side, tilting his head. “And I don’t think you were in the neighborhood with us as often.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Celia’s family had lived farther away, and it hadn’t been until Malcolm had come over that one horrible day that things had changed. A shiver ran through her, and she pulled the borrowed jacket tighter around her.
“Are you still cold?” Trenton asked, concern lacing his voice.
“No, it’s a bit better. Thank you.” Celia pushed away the thoughts of the past and sat on the bar chair again. Knowing that the man was a friend of Malcolm’s let the rest of her tension seep away. “Sorry I was so defensive there at the end. I thought you were trying to pick me up or something.”
Malcolm let out a loud laugh. “Trent?” He strode closer to them and slapped his friend on the back. “No worries there. This one has no lines to use on women. He’s basically a monk.”
Trenton ran a hand over his short, light-brown hair. “You don’t have to put it that way.” He resumed his seat as well, though she noticed he angled away from her more than before.
“I only speak the truth.” Malcolm lifted the bar entrance to move behind it again. “I’ll give you another drink on the house to ease the blow. You, too, Celia.”
She watched him work as the fatigue settled on her shoulders. Behind him, row upon row of unique shot glasses took up the higher shelves. It stirred her from her haze, and she reached for her duffel, finding the plastic cup in the side pocket where she’d put it. “Oh, here. For you.” She handed the gift to him. The shot glass looked like a green monster, with one baleful eye staring at her from the side.
Malcolm took it, chuckling again. “Subtle.” He’d always told her he’d keep an eye on her, and she smiled that he got it. “Thank you,” he said, turning to the shelves. He reached up to place it among the others, and she cringed at how it didn’t fit in, plastic among all the glass.
