“Oh, Rainbow Flirt?” the bartender said with a laugh. “No clue. He doesn’t stay in one place. Works the room.”
“Thanks,” Maurice said, though disappointment tugged at him. Finn had acted like he wanted to connect. It made no sense that he’d just… disappeared. Or maybe it made perfect sense. Maurice wasn’t exactly the guy people chased.
Chapter Six
Maurice
Maurice took a slowsip of his drink when David appeared at his side.
“There you are,” David said. “Dinner time. Come on.”
Maurice followed him toward the Dining Car, weaving through the crowd. David gave him a sideways look—the kind that meant he’d noticed something.
“You okay?” David asked once they were out of the noise.
Maurice hesitated. He rarely talked about this stuff. But the margarita had softened his edges, and the sight of Finn had stirred up old things he thought he’d buried.
“I, uh… met someone,” Maurice whispered.
David’s eyebrows shot up. “Already? Damn, you work fast.”
“Not like that,” Maurice said, rubbing his trimmed beard. “I mean—I think I found Mr. Right. Or someone who could’ve been. And then he disappeared.”
David slowed his steps. “Disappeared how?”
Maurice shrugged, trying to play it off. “One minute he was there. Next minute he was gone. Maybe I imagined the whole thing.”
David bumped his shoulder lightly. “You didn’t imagine it. And if he’s worth anything, he’ll show up again.”
Maurice wanted to believe that. Wanted it more than he should.
They stepped into the Dining Car, the smell of roasted vegetables and warm bread drifting through the air. Maurice tried to shake off the feeling in his chest, but it lingered—hopeful, irritated, curious.
Somewhere on this train was the blond who’d made him feel something real in under a minute. And Maurice wasn’t done looking for him.
The Dining Car was warm and bright, all stainless steel and soft chatter. Maurice followed David to a small table near the window, the kind that wobbled if you breathed on it wrong.
He slid into the seat, still thinking about for Finn—those bright eyes, that quick smile—but the part that stuck with him wasn’t the disappearing act. It was the way Finn had seemed to invite him over. Intentional. Something that felt, in the moment, like an invitation.
Maurice drummed his fingers against the table, annoyed at himself for replaying it. His lawyer’s brain kept zeroing in on the same inconsistency: Finn had made direct eye contact and then vanished without a trace. If it had been anyone else, Maurice would’ve called it what it was—lack of interest. Case closed. But something about the interaction didn’t fit the pattern. It felt like a contract had been drafted, signed, and then ripped off the table before the ink dried.
Why initiate if you’re going to bolt? Why smile like that? Why look at me like that?
He hated how easily the doubt crept in. Maybe he’d misread everything. Maybe Finn flirted with everyone like that. Maybe Maurice had imagined the spark because he wanted it too badly. He shifted in his seat, jaw tightening.
Great. Now I’m cross-examining a man I locked eyes with for thirty seconds.
But the detail that bothered him most—the one his brain kept circling like a vulture—was the way Finn’s expression had softened right before he disappeared. Not playful. Not flirty. Something else. Something that felt like recognition. And that was the part Maurice couldn’t let go of. Not the disappearance. The moment right before it.
David watched him for a second too long. “Okay,” he said, picking up the menu, “spill it.”
“Spill what?”
“That face,” David said, pointing at him with the laminated menu. “You’ve got the ‘I saw a man and now I’m emotionally compromised’ expression.”
Maurice snorted. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do. I’ve seen it twice. Once in college when that French exchange student winked at you, and now.”
