“I’m going to grab another,” she said to Liam. “Want something?”
“No, I’m good,” he said, waggling his beer.
She hauled herself up and navigated the narrow stairs to the ground-floor bar. “Un verre de rosé!” she shouted at the bartender, who cupped his ear. “Rosé!” she repeated, pointing at the bottle behind him.
He poured and slid the cup toward her. Allegra paid, turned, and was immediately sabotaged by her own feet. Not entirely her fault. Someone had left a stool out. Her sneaker found it, and suddenly she was careening into a human brick wall.
Thud.
A startled “oof” escaped the very warm stranger she’d just body-slammed. Her drink? It exploded. A rosé waterfall splattering across his pristine white T-shirt like a Jackson Pollock of alcoholic regret.
“Merde!” Allegra gasped, steadying herself.
“Huh?” came the confused reply.
“Uh! I mean, sorry!” she said, fumbling for her purse. “Oh God, hang on—tissue—yes, here!” Without waiting for permission, she began dabbing, determined to erase evidence of the crime. Her tissue disintegrated, smearing the stain into a pink bruise.
“Please, it’s fine,” the man said.
But Allegra wasn’t listening. She was too busy focusing on the broadness of his chest, the way the fabric clung to it, and how the hell he managed to smell like soap and sin after being doused in house wine.
She looked up.
And froze.
Shit.
Okay, the intern was pretty—in a boyband, mom-approved kind of way. But this guy? Dark hair sneaking out from under his cap, stubble outlining a jawline so precise it could’ve been carved by Michelangelo, and hazel eyes that latched onto hers as if shewere the last lifeboat on the Titanic. Her stomach lurched, her throat seized, and when she swallowed, she was convinced he heard the pathetic gulp of her dignity drowning.
“Hey,” he said finally, voice irritatingly smooth. “You okay?”
American.Of course he was.
Allegra shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose and nodded once, decisively, hoping it would somehow convince him she was totally in control. “What? Oh, yeah, fine.”
“So, always introduce yourself like that?” the man asked, one eyebrow quirked.
“In my defense, I was trying to get a drink!” She brandished her empty cup like Exhibit A. “And you just appeared out of nowhere!”
He tilted his head, wrinkling his nose. “I was standing still. You appeared into me.”
Allegra barked out a laugh, heat creeping up her neck and painting her cheeks. “Okay, maybe my depth perception’s taking the night off.”
“Uh-huh. So how many drinks are we blaming for this?” he asked, rubbing a hand over his damp T-shirt.
She wiggled her fingers. “Somewhere between three and definitely more than that.”
“Ah,” he said, the corners of his lips tugging up. “That include the one you just baptized me with?”
Allegra grimaced. “I’ll fix it.”
“Really? And how would that work?”
Her mind blanked, then latched onto the first idea that popped into her head. “We could swap tops?”
He frowned, but his eyes were dancing. “Swap tops?”
“Yeah!” she said, pointing between them. “You get my tank, I take your wine shirt. Fair trade.”
