“Cheers,” I echo, taking another sip.
Outside, the rain lashes the windows. Inside, the pub is quiet but alive—the subdued chatter of other diners, the occasional clink of cutlery. The barmaid returns, and we both order the daily special. When she’s gone, Hutch leans back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, eyes fixed on me with that exasperating ease that makes my chest tighten.
“Something on your mind?” I ask.
He tilts his chair forward, elbows on the table. “Didn’t have us ordering quiche in a country pub on my bingo card.”
I arch a brow. “It’s French. We’re in France.”
“Yeah, but you say it like you’ve never eaten carbs before noon.”
I roll my eyes, but a smile slips out anyway. “I’ll have you know, I’m very pro–carbs when properly motivated.”
He laughs, deep and unforced, the sound threading under my skin. The barmaid bring us two generous wedges of quiche, golden and steaming. It’s warm, rich with bacon and cheese, and I swear I’ve never tasted anything so good.
“Not bad, eh?” Hutch says around a mouthful.
“It’ll do.” I spear another bite with my fork, pretending to study it. “Though I’m starting to think you’d eat anything if it came with a pint.”
“Fair point.” He lifts his glass.
We eat without rushing, the kind of quiet that’s not awkward at all. Outside, the rain eases from a monsoon to a light but unrelenting curtain. When the plates are cleared, Hutch nods toward the foosball table in the corner, worn and shining in places from years of use. “Fancy a game?”
“You’re joking,” I say.
Hutch’s mouth quirks. “Afraid not. Come on, Carmichael. Time to see if your coordination extends beyond a keyboard.”
Before I can protest, he’s already at the machine, digging a coin out of his pocket and dropping it into the slot. The rods rattle as the balls clatter into place.
I sigh and take my position opposite him. “Just so we’re clear, I’m only doing this because I’ve been sitting for six hours.”
We start, and it’s an immediate free-for-all—spinning rods, clacking plastic, both of us laughing too hard to take it seriously. He’s annoyingly good, of course. Every goal he scores, he gives me a smug, teasing look that practically screamsI’m barely trying and rubbing it in.
By the time he wins 5–3—and yeah, I’m as amazed as the next guy that I managed three goals—I’m flushed and breathless and probably looking way too pleased for a guy who just lost.
“I won’t be putting that on my resume any time soon,” I joke. “International defeat at foosball.”
“File it under team bonding.” He pulls another coin out of his pocket. “Rematch? Winner gets the next round.”
I’m about to tell him that the rain seems to have slowed a little and it’s probably time we hit the road again when thejukebox on the far wall crackles to life. Someone’s put on a bubble-gummy pop song I recognize from the credits of an early 2010s romcom. A couple near the bar takes it as their cue to start dancing, not well, but with the kind of commitment that almost makes it work.
Hutch follows my gaze, grinning. “What do you say? Fancy showing them how it’s done?”
There are two possibilities here: one, he’s aggressively straight and very comfortable with it. Two?—
I refuse to entertain number two.
I snort. “Not a chance. I don’t dance.”
“Sure you do. Everyone dances.” He abandons the foosball handles, turning to me with a playful glint that I know means trouble. “Come on, Carmichael. Let loose a little. Burn some energy before we’re trapped in the van for another five hours.”
“Absolutely not,” I say, but he’s already holding out a hand, that damned spark in his eyes daring me to take it.
“Work with me here,” Hutch coaxes. “You can’t tell me you’ve never danced in a pub before.”
“I can, actually. With great pride.”
“Then it’s time to fix that.” He takes my wrist before I can retreat, his palm strong and calloused, and for a second, I forget how to move at all. Then I’m being tugged toward the makeshift dance floor in the open space near the bar. The couple who started it all is spinning wildly, laughing, oblivious to rhythm. The song is fast, infectious, impossible to completely resist.
