Page 8 of Begin Again Again

“About that? Probably not.”

“Hey guys! The kitchen’s about to close.” It was the waitress.

“Do you want any food?” she asked, looking from Beth to The Guy.

“Maybe just drinks,” they said at the same time.

The waitress smiled. “What can I get you?”

“Pint of pale ale,” said The Guy. “What would you like…?”

“Bethany.”

He raised his slashed brow. “Bethany?”

Dammit. She’d meant to hold that information hostage. “Bethany Aroha Myers. If you want to get specific.”

The corner of The Guy’s mouth kicked up. He had the same haircut all young guys had right now, long on top with shaved sides. The longer hair was golden brown and wavy, curling into his eyes with careless beauty. “What would you like to drink, Bethany?”

Beth returned her gaze to the waitress with difficulty. “I’ll have the same again, please. Martha knows how I like it.”

Normally, she wouldn’t have been so obnoxious but somehow, she and this too-young, too-hot guy were getting along. She liked him and he might like her, and sex, which seemed near impossible when she was putting on her make up, seemed like a real possibility. She wasn’t going to blow the good vibe she was on by ordering Carlton Zero and revealing she didn’t drink. The waitress smiled blandly and ducked away.

The Guy leaned forward. “How do you like your beer? Do they have some special way of pouring it for you?”

Beth tried not to stare at his chest. “I’ll tell you how I like my beer if you tell me your name?”

He shook his head. “I like your accent.”

“I don’t have an accent. I speak the queen’s English.”

“Do you now?”

“Better than you do.”

“Say ‘blimp?’”

Beth rolled her eyes. “Not ‘fish and chips?’ You people usuallylovethat one.”

The corner of The Guy’s mouth lifted. “Give me a ‘sixty-six’ and we’ll call it even.”

“Even for what? I still don’t know your name.”

“Yeah, but—”

The waitress returned with their beers. The guy thanked her as she put it down. He was such an odd blend of things. Polite like someone older. Sharp like a law student. Chilled like a surfer. Dressed like a tradie. Jacked like a superhero. Beautiful as a cologne ad. There was a peachiness to his tanned skin that made her feel seedy. She wanted some interesting forehead wrinkles, some smile lines. Some evidence he wasn’t that much younger than her.

The Guy swallowed a quarter of his pint and glanced over. “What’s up?”

“You’re not really twenty-five, are you?” Beth asked. “Like, you’re almost twenty-six?”

He grinned. “’fraid not. Why? How old are you?”

“I’m…” Beth considered and decided against lying. “… I’ll be thirty in February.”

“Okay.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

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