And its patron was the mysterious stranger from last night.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Shaky exhale.
He was even more breathtaking in the light of day. He was almost painful to look at. His energy was overwhelming—a storm that threatened to ensnare me and pull me under.
His hair was inky black in color, flipping wildly and settling around his temples in a shadowy crown. It was messy, as though windblown or like he’d been pulling his hands through it.
His cloak was tattered and dirty. The fabric was snagged at the edges and fraying at the hems.
And his eyes… oh, gods, hiseyes. They were a striking gold color that penetrated my skin and stroked my very bones. In the light of day coming in through the windows, his irises almost glowed. The eyes rested beneath furrowed dark brows, one of which was slashed in half by that deep, prominent scar that almost hindered its movement.
He was studying me intently, scrutinizing my every move. I suddenly felt clunky and awkward.
The clank of a spoon hitting a bowl snapped me from my stupor. Shaking my head, I bent to retrieve the towel from the floor. I wrung it between my fingers, grateful to have something to do with my hands.
I quickly made up my mind—I would pretend I’d never seen him before. Easy.
As naturally as I could manage, I approached the table. I had to clear my throat twice before any words emerged from my throat. “Can—can I get you anything?”
The man just stared at me for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing even further. He examined me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve.
I stepped back. “I’ll give you a minute, then.”
Before he could object, I darted toward the kitchen, relieved to escape the stranger’s heavy stare.
Tandor glanced at me from his place in the kitchen. “You alright, boss?” he asked as he ladled stew into a bowl. The stew was beef and rice today—one of my favorites to make. I’d loaded it with fresh herbs.
“He’s back,” I said by way of explanation.
Tandor’s forehead wrinkled. “Who? Who’s back? Why are you so jittery?”
I glanced down at my fingers that were nervously twisting in the towel. I forced them to still as I dropped the towel into a bucket of soapy water. “I’m not jittery.”
“Sure, you aren’t. Who’s back, Ginny?”
“That guy! The man from last night!”
“The man from…” Tandor trailed off, sticking his head out of the kitchen to get a look at the pub’s patrons. His mouth fell open for a moment before snapping shut again. He clenched his jaw. “Oh. I’ll ask him to leave.”
I grabbed his shoulder, suddenly nervous. “Wait! We can’t kick him out. He’s just sitting there.”
“Sitting there staring at the back of your head like it’s made of diamonds.”
My cheeks warmed. “He probably just wants an ale.”
“Did he order one?”
“No, but?—”
Tandor interrupted me. “I’ll see what he wants.” He strode from the kitchen without another word, marching toward the stranger.
I resisted the urge to follow. Instead, I set to refreshing my giant pot of stew, adding more water, more rice, a dash of salt, making sure the pot was topped up. I gave it a great, hefting stir. The scents of meat and spices filled the room in a delicious cloud.
A short while later, Tandor returned to the kitchen. “He won’t speak to me,” he grumbled. “Not a single word. You try. Figure out what he wants so I know if I need to kick him out. He’s taking up a table.”
“The pub is only half full,” I said.
