I nod. It makes sense to me now how he could have access to information about criminal investigations. Either he works for the military, or for dangerous, well-connected individuals.
“So you’re sure he’s not going to help you cheat,” I say.
“If anything, he’d find a way to help you cheat.”
“I like him already.” My smile brightens when Rowan shoots me a fake glare. I take a sip from the bottle and pass it over. “What about you? Do you enjoy the restaurant business?”
Rowan turns a sly smile in my direction. “Have you been looking me up, Blackbird?”
“Like you haven’t been doing the same to me,” I counter.
“Guilty as charged.” Rowan takes a long drink of wine and balances the bottle on his knee. He watches me for a moment before he nods, his smile a little wistful. “Yeah, I do. I love running my own kitchen. I like the pace. It can be frantic, but I enjoy that. I do well with a bit of chaos. Maybe that’s why I like you,” he says with a wink.
I huff a laugh and roll my eyes. This man. He could make anything look flirtatious. “What’s with the name?” I ask, and though I skirt around his comment, it doesn’t seem to bother him in the least. “Why’d you pick 3 In Coach?”
“My brothers,” Rowan says, his smile taking on that nostalgic quality once more as his gaze falls to the bottle in his hand. “We were teenagers when we left Sligo and came to America. I remember Lachlan buying the tickets. Three in coach. It was the start of another life for us.”
“Just like the restaurant,” I say, finishing the trail of thought he’s left for me to follow. His eyes brighten when he nods. “I like that.”
Rowan passes the bottle to me. Our fingers graze one another’s around the cool glass. Our touch lingers for a moment longer than it should, but for some reason, I find that it’s still less time than I’d like.
This is absurd, I remind myself. You don’t know this man.
I firm up my posture, shift my line of sight to the front desk to give Rowan only the corner of my eye when I drink from the bottle. Walls are good. Boundaries are necessary. He’s the kind of guy that will bulldoze right through them if I set my guard down. And this is still a competition, after all. I should only be looking for information that will help me win.
In my periphery, I see Rowan’s hand sneaking closer to my chair and I turn to pin him with a glare. The cheeky fucker gives me his most innocent mask.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m going to steal your e-reader. I want to read about the two-dick dragonman.”
“I’m sitting on it. Touch my ass and I’ll break your hand,” I say, failing to contain a laugh as he rhythmically prods my arm.
“I won’t. I’ll push you over and grab it, then cackle maniacally as I run to my room in triumph.”
“Just download the app like a normal person and read it on your phone, weirdo.”
“Rock-paper-scissors for it.”
“No way.”
“Come on, Blackbird. I need some dragonman DP.”
He’s giving me another poke on my bicep and I’m giggling when a foreign sound enters our domain. It suddenly feels like we were in a bubble that’s just burst. It’s not normal for me, and the appearance of Francis by the front desk is a shock to my system. I’m usually so aware of my surroundings. But Rowan had me locked in another realm, as though nothing else existed but us. And for some reason, that felt like a relief, a break from the constant pressure of searching for danger lurking in shadow.
“Hey, man. I hope we weren’t keeping anyone up,” Rowan says. He doesn’t even try to hide the bottle of wine he balances on his knee, his other hand wrapped around the armrest of my chair.
Francis’s eyes dart from the wine to Rowan, his lips pressed together in a tight smile. “No, not at all. You’re the only guests here. I was just coming to collect Winston Church for the night,” he replies as he nods toward the cat still curled on the chair by the fireplace. Francis slips his hand down his pink tie and his eyes bounce between us. “We don’t get too much traffic through here, not with some of the newer places popping up in the area. Everyone has an AirBnB now, trying to make an extra buck.”
I gesture toward the lobby. “I like it here. It’s got charm. Winston looks like he might scratch my face off if I get too close, though.”
“Nah, he’s harmless.” Francis runs a hand through his swoop of dark hair and walks over to the cat who gives him a dirty look and a hiss before he shifts his yellow feline eyes to me. I’m not sure if he wants salvation from Francis or he just wants to continue glaring at me, but his grumbles are lost as Francis heaves his gray body into his arms. “You folks visiting someone in the area? Or just passing through?”