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“I guess that’s a yes. You didn’t think you could call me?” I whisper, and it’s like a thousand daggers to the heart. He couldn’t tell me. He must think I’m so terrible, so selfish, I couldn’t possibly share his joy.

“Scarlett, I—” he stops himself.

“What’s going on with you, Piers?” I try to understand. I need to understand.

“I don’t know.” He lets out a breath. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

I mumble my goodbye, afraid for him to hear the pain in my voice. Pain caused by him—the one I thought I loved who would never feel the same. This has to stop. I definitely need a drink now.

I had already decided to stop feeling sorry for myself, now I need less talking and more action.

I realize I’ve been on autopilot walking from the office and already reached my destination. Shaking off the day, I open the door, ready for a drink to wash the day away.

The bell jingles as I step into one of my favorite places: The Ship’s Wheel. A local watering hole in the business district, it’s always packed with regulars and sometimes the occasional tourist. The familiar scent of fried food and lager instantly washes over me. I search for an empty table when I get that familiar prickling on the back of my neck. Turning, I scan the back row of booths. My eyes land on a familiar pair of icy baby blues. Cohen. I can’t help but smile.

He returns the smile, not looking the least bit shocked. It’s odd that he would be eating at my favorite place. Before my better judgment gets a hold of me, I find myself walking to his table.

“Are you following me?” I accuse him, my hand resting on my hip.

“It would seem I was here first.” He does that sexy half smile thing he does with his lip as he gestures to his half-eaten burger.

“So it would seem,” I reply, pretending to be annoyed when I’m actually quite delighted at the turn of events. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth to keep from smiling. This is just what I need. Some casual conversation, banter even…food and drink.

“Would you care to join me?” he offers, locking his eyes with mine before dragging his gaze slowly down my body and back up again. It makes me glad I’ve put a little effort into my wardrobe today. Nude wedges paired with a simple navy linen shift dress and gold bangles.

My skin flushes under his stare, and I remind myself he’s seen me in much worse shape. My I woke-up-like-this look, my luau look, my just-been-mauled look, and my post-bath-fresh-jammies look. But I feel like when he looks at me, he sees me. He’s not imagining what’s underneath. I think it’s why I’m so flattered by his eyes on me. My lids grow heavy as I recall his hands on me.

“I hate to impose,” I reply, getting a hold of myself and trying not be so intoxicated by his close proximity and that ruggedly handsome face.

“It wouldn’t be imposing since you were invited.” He gestures for me to have a seat.

“Thank you.” I slide into the booth, smoothing my hair back over my shoulder, feeling a bit nervous. I can’t see what he’s wearing on the bottom, but he’s filling out that fitted charcoal dress shirt like it was custom tailored just for him. The sleeves are rolled up, revealing strong, tan forearms—arms that held me tight. His dark hair is haphazardly sticking up and back as if he’s been tugging at it, and it appears he has a bit more stubble than when I saw him at the retreat. I can’t help but think what it might feel like on my delicate skin.

I’m lost in his ocean eyes as we sit drinking each other in. He seems just as off put by seeing me as I am him. It occurs to me I haven’t been intimate with someone in a long time. And here I am, sitting across from this gorgeous, mysterious man, getting turned on with the smell of fish and chips in the air. After I told myself it was best not to see him again, after I resounded to the idea of staying alone for a while to sort out my life, here we are.

“Scarlett?” he questions, and I blink hoping, he can’t see the desire plain as day on my face.

“Hmmm?” I reply. What did he say?

“I said, would you like to order? Are you hungry?” he asks, the amusement in his tone clueing me in that he just may be on to me. I forgot how fun flirty banter can be.

“Yes, thank you. I’ll have the fish and chips with a half lager.” My tongue reaches out to wet my bottom lip. “I’m starved.”

His eyes widen just a bit before he goes to bar to place my order.

Something about him makes me feel like someone else. Someone who isn’t tarnished or helpless. Carefree, no secrets, no lies. No ulterior motives. Someone I want to be.