“How did you even know this place was here?” Josie asked as Max led her toward the bar.
“I know the owner,” he said, doing a quick scan of the room.
“How?”
He gave her a little guilty smile. “I, err, designed the remod of the place actually.”
Josie started, then looked around again. “Wow. That’s so cool. This is so cool.”
He grinned, his eyes flickering a little in the moody lighting. “It was one of my favorite projects, because there were so many rules about what we could do with the building and the owner had such a specific idea of how he wanted it to feel. It was a lot of fun.”
Josie made a mental note to tell her aunt that Max was very clearly not lying about being an architect, even if he’d given her a different company name, just as a short, slim man cut in front of them, beaming. “Max!” He clapped Max on the back, standing on the balls of his feet to do so. “What on earth…？ Well, this is just a marvelous surprise.” He clapped his hands in front of him. “It’s been too long, my friend.”
Max smiled that smile that Josie was learning was the genuine one—unlike the charming one he’d used on Helen or put on deliberately for Oliver, this one softened the lines of his sculpted face. “Sorry, mate. You know how it is when life gets in the way.” He gestured toward Josie. “This is Josie. I brought her along to show off the place.”
“As indeed you should!” The man’s voice was musical, and seemed to have an exceptionally large range, the intonations bouncing up and down in pitch as he spoke. “Welcome, Josie, it’s a pleasure.”
“George is the owner,” Max explained. “And a friend,” he added at George’s scolding look.
“A drink!” George announced, putting a finger in the air in a way that would have been comical if anyone else did it. “I shall return.” He swept away with a flourish, and Max chuckled quietly beside her.
“I like him,” Josie said decidedly.
“Most people do.”
He found them a space at the rather full bar, right against the wall, and insisted she take the stool while he stood beside her, leaning against the wooden bar top, which, instead of being the usual blunt rectangle, moved in and out in non-uniform waves that almost seemed to ripple in the candlelight effect. Josie ran a hand along the side of the wood, noticing the differences in the grain.
“It was handcrafted,” Max explained. “Like I said, very specific ideas.”
George returned, as promised, with a drink for each of them—a spiced Christmas cocktail, though he wouldn’t tell them what was in it. It was red, and tasted of cherry and ginger, and Josie was pretty sure there was brandy in there somewhere. Whatever it was, she’d finished it in the time it took George and Max to have a quick chat, and another one was placed in front of her without so much as a look from her. She pulled it toward her—it was Christmas, after all.
George went off to the other side of the bar to chat to someone else, and Max shifted his position, his arm brushing hers as he did so. She felt the flash of heat, and became acutely aware of how tiny she felt, perched on the stool next to him—which was saying something as she usually felt too tall and awkward wherever she went. There was more stubble on Max’s jaw than there had been a few days ago, and it made him look even sexier, especially in the candlelight, which, she thought decidedly, suited him, like it set his hair and eyes alight. She realized she was studying him and cleared her throat. “Not a fan?” she asked, gesturing toward his cocktail, which he was only halfway through.
“Sure.” He took a sip as if to prove it. “But I know George, and this’ll be five times the strength of your average cocktail.” Josie paused in the act of taking another sip, not entirely sure if he was joking or not. He laughed at her expression, which made her think it was a joke, but she put it down to have a little break, just to be safe.
He hadn’t asked, and Josie knew he wouldn’t, that he wasn’t expecting any explanation, but now that they were here, huddled up in their little corner with the sound of George’s laughter reaching them from the other end of the bar, Josie found she actually wanted to talk about it. She lifted the wooden straw in her cocktail and gave it a little stir. “He never told me,” she said on a sigh.
He nodded, that poker face already in play. “Yeah, I got that impression.”
“I think he tried to.” Josie stopped playing with the straw, glanced up at him. “I’m not sure how I feel about it.”