She glanced at her glass on the table in front of her. It was empty. She’d finished it.
“Vegas bars. Charging for air.”
Sewanee bit back the grin she felt beginning. She sought something else to focus on. There were only so many times she could examine a bill. But then Mr. What-the-Hell-Is-Happening asked, “What would you say to a quick drink?”
“Actually,” she began, uncrossing her legs only to cross them again, this time away from him, “I have to–”
“It’s all I’m good for.” The waitress appeared. “Seriously.” He gave the waitress that smile. “What’s the news, lass?” Then, back to Sewanee, “Gin martini, is it?”
The waitress picked up Sewanee’s glass. “She’s actually having the Last Word.”
He looked at Sewanee. Directly at her. “As she should. And so shall I.”
The waitress paused. “You know what it is, right? I mean, she’s the first person to order it in months. It’s–”
“Equal parts green Chartreuse, lime juice, and maraschino liqueur–do you use Luxardo? The Luxardo family’s been making it since 1821–oh, and one of their little black cherries for garnish.”
Sewanee grinned to cover her surprise and drawled, “You forgot the gin.”
“Just giving you the last word.”
This guy’s smirk put a young Harrison Ford on notice.
Sewanee passed her the signed receipt, including an excessive happy-holidays-someone-else-is-paying tip, and the waitress said, “Carter will bring them right out.”
She left and Sewanee sat back on the couch, deciding to enjoy this, whatever this was. “You’re good.”
“Engh, I’m an arse, I promise, just wait.”
Maybe it was his easy manner. Maybe it was the broad chest underneath that dress shirt. Maybe it was the accent, even for her, someone who could do the accent herself. Maybe it was as simple as a nice man in a nice suit. There were a few reasons this was working for her.
But why was it working for him? Why had he chosen her? She realized her hair had fallen forward in a way that obscured her eye patch. She hadn’t done it intentionally. What was intentional, however, was how she deliberately pushed her hair back now. She faced him head-on, hiding nothing, challenging everything.
He didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink. He just smiled again. “So, whaddaya say we get to know each other a wee bit?” He gazed out into the bar and said, dryly, “Or we can find the nearest chapel, as you’re obviously mad for me.”
She snorted.
“Right, I’ll go first. Here’s what you’ll be wanting to know.” He shifted his body in a way that effortlessly brought him closer to her. “I’m flying to Dublin in three hours. My bag is checked with the host and I’m happy to show you the claim ticket, if you wish. That takes care of any possible funny business. I’m here for one drink with a beautiful woman to distract me from the disaster that was today. Las Vegas is supposed to be craic, yeah? Well, I’ve been here thirty-six hours and it’s been absolute shite for the entirety of them.”
“It hasn’t been great to me, either.”
Vindicated, he slapped his knee. “It’s false advertising is what it is!”
“You want to speak to Vegas’s manager?”
“Nah. This is the chat I’m wanting to have.” There was a brief someone-say-something moment and a narrow-shouldered, elvish-looking server appeared and set their drinks down. “Impeccable timing, mate.” The server blushed slightly. This man’s effect was universal. He turned to Sewanee, lifted his glass. “To . . .” His face went blank. “Vegas? No, that’s idiotic. To life? No, that’s horrid. To . . .”
Sewanee leaned forward, caught his eye. “To,” she said.
He smiled again. “We’ll leave it at that, then. To.”
They clinked glasses and took a thoughtful sip. When they were done, she set down her glass, looked at him. Raised her eyebrow. Well? He gazed steadily back at her. A verdict had been reached. “Perfect. I believe I’m in love,” he said, right at her.
Something deep inside of Sewanee twitched, once, like the flank of a hibernating bear. She looked away. The Irishman brought her back to him, setting down his drink and reaching out his hand. “Nick.”
She took his hand, debated for about half a second. “Alice.”
This wasn’t real. None of this was real. She didn’t feel like herself tonight so why should she be herself tonight? He had a good handshake. He had good fingers. She checked them for a ring. Only one, on the middle finger of his right hand. Odd placement, but safe.