She didn't shake it. "If you used to be a journalist, you know why I'd rather be left alone."
To his credit, he withdrew the hand without offense and slid into the seat across from her anyway. "Used to be," he emphasized. "Key words there. Left all that behind years ago. Haven't written a word since."
"Lucky you."
"Not luck. Choice." He signaled to the bar. "Another one for my friend here, and the usual for me."
"We're not friends."
"Not yet." His drink arrived, a small beer, and he raised it in a mock toast. "Welcome to Bankton. Village of approximately two hundred nosy bastards who'll definitely recognize you eventually, so you might as well get it over with now."
Despite herself, Raven felt the corner of her mouth twitch. "That's your sales pitch?"
"I find honesty works better than bullshit. You're Raven, formerly of Krimson Kisses. Your ex-girlfriend and bandmate Alissa just married some sound bloke in Vegas. You've come here to escape and write a solo album in peace." He took a sip. "How'm I doing?"
"Like a creepy stalker."
"Like someone who reads the news and puts two and two together." He leaned back. "Look, I recognized you the second you walked in. Been waiting to see if you'd mention it first. Seemed polite."
"And now?"
"Now I'm telling you that nobody here gives a toss about your fame. Well, Gloria Cunningham will but will pretend that she doesn’t, and Daisy Green will probably ask for your autograph seventeen times, but the rest of us?" He shrugged. "We're more interested in whose dog dug up whose garden and whether the village fête will have a tombola this year. You’ll probably see Lilah Paxton around at some point, don’t know if you’ve met her."
"Seen her at a few awards shows, saw her meltdown, figured if this place was good enough for her, it was good enough for me." Raven studied him. He seemed genuine, which in her experience meant he was either the real deal or a fantastic liar. "Why are you telling me this?"
"Because you look like you could use a friend. And because Bankton's a friendly place, whether you like it or not."
"I don't."
"Like it, or want to be here?"
"Both."
"Shame. It's a good place. Quiet. Safe. The kind of place where people look out for each other. Also, not to put too fine a point on it, you decided to come here, you just said." He swirled his drink thoughtfully. "It’s also the kind of place where your neighbor will absolutely bring you another welcome basket even if you’ve told her to sod off. Just warning you."
Raven groaned. "You know about that?"
"Everyone knows everyone and everything here. That's the point." He grinned. "Annabelle Swift. Primary school teacher. Heart of gold. Bakes like an angel. And yes, before you ask, completely oblivious to social cues."
"She practically walked into my bathroom."
Arty choked on his whiskey. "She what?"
"This afternoon. Knocked on my door, music was playing, and she knocked again apparently, and then… well… the point is, she walked straight in while I was getting out of the shower."
"Christ." Arty was shaking with suppressed laughter. "What did you do?"
"Told her to get the hell out of my house."
"Tactful."
"I was naked!"
"Fair point." He wiped his eyes. "I'm guessing she was mortified?"
"She kept apologizing. In this relentlessly cheerful voice, like we'd just had a minor misunderstanding instead of…" Raven gestured helplessly. "It was the worst thing that's happened to me in weeks."
"Worse than your ex getting married?"
