“Is he … covered?” I asked.Please, God, let him be covered.
“Strategic baubles,” Esther said, winking at me. “Don’t be a prude.”
I laughed in spite of myself. The Book Bitches had a way of plucking me out of my head and plonking me into a better mood, whether I liked it or not. The wine also helped. A little.
I was peeling the foil off a second mince pie, my back to the pub, when the door opened.
The pub didn’t fall silent—that only happens in films—but the sound changed. It was thicker. Sharper. Like the air right before a lightning strike.
I glanced over my shoulder, already knowing.
Noah Byrne walked in.
He didn’t belong in a place like this anymore, and somehow he fit anyway. Tall and confident yet pausing as though he needed permission to enter. The jacket was too thin for a Fife winter’s night, the scruff that coated his jaw was a couple days past respectable, and his eyes glinted in the lights. He scanned the room and, of course, found me in seconds.
My insides did a thing I refused to name.
“Oh,” Meredith breathed, not even pretending to be subtle. She fanned her face. “It’s him.”
“Behave,” I hissed.
“Skye.” Cherise’s hand covered mine, warm and soft. “Breathe in. Breathe out.”
“Would you stop? It’s not a big deal. He’s not a big deal.” I broke eye contact, not interested in sparking anyrumors that I was seen lusting after Noah Byrne in the local pub.
“I mean, he kind of is,” she said.
“Not helping, Cherise,” Esther said, scolding her. “Now, tell me, Skye. When was the last time you spoke to Noah?”
“A few hours ago when I served him tea,” I reminded Esther and her gaze sharpened.
“You know what I meant. Before that?”
“Who can say, really?” I shrugged. Even though I remembered our last conversation like it was yesterday.
Esther leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. “So I’m going to take that as you’re deliberately avoiding my questions, which means …”
“You still care about him.” Shannon leaned forward, her voice barely a stage whisper.
My cheeks flamed.
“Ladies, we’ve got our work cut out for us.” Esther actually rubbed her hands together and I groaned, burying my face in my wine glass.
At the bar, Noah ordered a whisky, slid the glass between his fingers, and leaned back into his stool like he’d never left Kingsbarns. People were pretending not to stare.
Everyone was staring.
Harper shot me a questioning look from behind the bar. She didn’t know our history, and likely didn’t know much about Noah Byrne at all, but she could tell something was up.
The conversations picked up again, the noise swelling around me, cocooning me from Noah’s presence mere feet away from where I clutched my wine glass so hard I wassurprised it didn’t shatter in my grip. I’d thought I’d moved on from Noah years ago, that I wouldn’t be so affected by him, but it seemed I’d been lying to myself all this time. Our connection was electric, well at least it was on my end, and I swear my skin buzzed every time his gaze turned my way.
The radio switched songs, and I closed my eyes. Ice flooded my veins as the first unmistakable strum ofthatguitar riff growled through the speakers.
The opening chords of the song that had buzzed my life like a mosquito I just couldn’t kill.
Skye.
The room shifted and every eye fell on me. Heads turned, mouths curved, a couple of women at the bar clapped their hands over their hearts as if they’d been waiting all night to hear it. I could feel heat rising up my throat, my eyes pricking.
