“For you and your school friend? Of course. No charge! I’ll go grab you a bowl.”
I’m still staring at Luke as she heads back to the bar. “Did you actually go to Evergreen?”
He nods. “Yep. Class of 2002.”
I laugh, shaking my head at the coincidence. “Class of 2006.”
“So you’re…thirty-two?”
“Exactly.”
He grins at me, lifting his glass. “Omnia Extares.”
I smile back at him, translating our school motto from Latin to English as I clink my glass against his. “Let it all hang out.”
We sip our scotch, our eyes locked together over the rim of our glasses in a look so intense neither of us notice Francine is back until a bowl of pretzels appears between us. Thankfully, she hurries away to another table, giving us some privacy.
As Luke pulls his glass from his lips, he sucks his lower lip between his teeth for a second, still staring at me, and I swear to God, that’s all it takes to start getting me wet. I cross my legs, lowering my own glass and taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart.
“So,” I say, placing my glass on the cocktail napkin and taking a handful of pretzels, “did I detect a slight note of panic in your voice when Francine asked how we met?”
He sits back in his chair. “I didn’t place that ad.”
“What do you mean?”
“My sister, Bonnie, placed it. Didn’t ask for my permission. For the record, I wouldn’t have said yes.”
“Huh. So how’d this—” I waggle my index finger between us. “—happen?”
He shifts in his seat, thinking over his answer. “I didn’t think I was ready yet. Turns out, I am.”
“Ready for what?”
“To meet someone.”
I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I’m the sort of girl who prefers to lay her cards on the table, and I’m definitely not looking for anything serious.
“I’m only up here for two weeks. Not long.”
“You, being a journalist, I figured,” he says, holding my eyes as he takes another sip of scotch.
Okay. Phew. So, we’re on the same page, right? We’re both looking for a fling. For some hopefully awesome, meaningless sex. I relax a little in my seat.
“Your sister’s—” I’m about to say got some balls, but he finishes the sentence for me.
“—the best,” he says firmly, laying his forearms on the table and clasping his fingers together. “I mean, I don’t always agree with her methods, but I know she has my best interests at heart. Wendy—my, um, my wife—she died a couple of years ago, and it’s been hard getting back out there, you know?”
“I don’t. Not really. I’ve never been married. I’ve never lost someone so close to me.” I lean forward a little, playing with the straw in my drink. “But I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. How did she—I don’t mean to pry, but—”
“She was in a car accident. Snowy night. Oil tanker coming from the other direction in the dark. Neither driver was really at fault. Both lost their lives.”
It’s not that I mean to touch him, but I feel so sad for him, suddenly my hands are over his, covering his, without permission. His eyes flick down, then quickly up.
“Sorry,” I whisper, pulling my hands away and lifting my glass to take a sip. When I do, I look up to find him staring at me.
“I don’t mind.”
Invisible filaments of electricity snap and crackle between us, and even though I can’t see them, I feel them. The air is wired, like the atmosphere before a lightning storm. And I don’t need to wonder if he feels it too. I can see it on his face—in the darkening of his eyes, in the tightening of his jaw, in the almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils.