Page 9 of Tattered Edges

Oscar chatted with me for a few minutes, and I took out my phone and made note of the places he recommended I try. When he left to attend to another customer, I snapped a picture of my martini to send to Diane. It was nearly noon back home, so I anticipated a response before too long.

Wish you were here. I think you’d love this place. Verdict is still out, as it’s the first pub I’ve tried, but it’s definitely a contender for my favorite.

I sent the photo message then looked up, taken aback to find the redhead in the spot Oscar had vacated. Only, it was me who wore a frown when he slid my half-full martini to the side, replacing it with a fresh one.

“If you’re going to post on social media, a full serving is more appealing.”

His accent was different than Oscar’s. It was muddled. His words were pronounced, like he’d grown up in the royal palace; but his cadence was lyrical, as if an Irish village had been his playground.

“Oh, I—I wasn’t actually posting anything. I was sending a photo to a friend, is all.”

“Try it anyway. Oscar makes a decent martini, but not the way I do.”

I hesitated only long enough to convince myselfthiswas the opportunity I’d been waiting for. I didn’t think his martini wouldreallybe better than Oscar’s. There was only so many ways you could make such a simple drink—but he was even more appealing up close, so I wasn’t going to tell himno.

I didn’t have the highest rate of accuracy when guessing someone’s age, but there was something about him that seemed older. His quiet, no-nonsense vibe felt too mature for a guy barely over thirty. I would have put him anywhere between thirty-eight and forty-three. This only served to make him more attractive.

If he was going to nudge at the door I’d cracked open for him earlier, all the better.

Like I always did, I reached for the olives first, sliding one into my mouth before returning the others to the glass. As I lifted the martini to my lips, I kept my eyes fixed on his blue ones. It wasn’t the first time we’d locked eyes that night, but this time felt decidedly more flirtatious, even though he still hadn’t even hinted at a smile.

As the gin slid into my mouth and over my tongue, I inadvertently dropped my gaze to look down into the glass. The taste took me by surprise. I couldn’t quite figure out how, but he’d been right. This martiniwasbetter. I took another sip, then met his eyes once more.

“This is really good.”

“You’re welcome,” he muttered, still with a straight face.

He grabbed what was left of my previous drink and began to turn away before I called, “Wait!”

He quirked an eyebrow at me in question, and I reached for the olives. With a smile and a shrug, I confessed, “They’re my favorite part.”

He studied me a moment, not unkindly, before he nodded his understanding then busied himself once more, leaving me wanting.

Either my intuition was right, or the gin was going to my head. Regardless, I felt fairly certain he was interested. He hadn’t said the words, and he wasn’t nearly as inviting as Oscar, but I couldn’t think of another reason why he’d go out of his way to make me an upgraded version of my drink of choice.

Twenty minutes later, well on my way to drunk, and definitely on the verge of delirium from lack of sleep, he returned to check on me. That’s when I decided I was low on patience and ready to cut to the chase.

“Another?” he asked.

I shook my head, propping myself against my forearms on the bar. “No, I don’t think so. But you look like you’d be a recklessly good time. Areyouon the menu?”

It was a bold approach, I knew—but I didn’t have anything to lose.

When his scowl tugged at his brow, I thought for a moment I’d read the situation completely wrong. Then he rested his palms atop the counter, leaning toward me as he replied, “No offense, but I have no intention of being a tourist’s joy ride.”

This brought a grin to my face. Rather than his rejection, I heard a promise which compelled me to say, “Now you’ve gone and done it. I had this idea you’d be a good time, but now you’ve got me imagining all the different ways you could invoke joy. You shouldn’t tease a woman like that.”

It happened so fast, if I’d have blinked I would have missed it.

The teeniest, tiniest smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth, and I was beginning to understand this quiet, handsome man could say a lot without saying anything at all.

I liked that.

He was mysterious and slightly debonair.

It made me want him even more.

“I promise, I’m not a tourist looking to check an item off my London bingo card. I’ll admit, I’m halfway to drunk and I haven’t had a full night of sleep in the last thirty-six hours, but all of that just means I’m not trying to entrap you. One night. No strings. Just that joy ride I now can’t get out of my head.”

---