Today's Reading
CHAPTER ONE
Their eyes met through the curls of steam twisting out of their mugs. His were the color of burnt honey, framed by dark eyelashes and skeptical S-shaped eyebrows. Hers were the color of faded denim, and they watched him with the hunger of an alley cat that's just spied a tasty-looking field mouse.
At the other end of the pub—despite only being the third week in November—the Christmas karaoke was in full swing, and the main bar area was swamped with swaying punters trying to cram in another round before the end of "happy hour." The smaller bar in the saloon area was quieter. Couples cozied up in corners or ate at the candlelit bistro tables.
Her phone rang. Emma. She sucked on the inside of her cheek as she debated taking the call and then decided that she wasn't ready to talk about it yet. If she did, she might cry, and she didn't want to cry. She dismissed the call and buried her phone deep in her handbag. Tonight, she wanted to forget.
This was Harriet's second mug of mulled wine, and she was enjoying the taste of cinnamon and star anise and the velvety caress of the hot wine slipping down her throat. The warmth feathered out through her chest in a delicious trickle. The man smiled and one of those skeptical eyebrows quirked a little higher, giving him serious Jack Nicholson vibes. A delightful zing of excitement ricocheted around inside Harriet's sensible knitted tights. She smiled back in what she hoped was a flirtatious way and then wider when he began walking toward her. She could do this; it was just like riding a bike. Right?
"Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing to the barstool next to hers. His voice was moody blues and sandpaper. She nodded and he perched, keeping one foot planted on the sticky carpet. He smelled like sawed pine and cloves. His suit was sharply cut and expensive, the top button of his white shirt undone, tie ever so slightly pulling to the left. He was so good-looking that she had the urge to punch him. This wasn't a normal response, she knew this, but something about this level of attractiveness was sparking a visceral physical reaction inside her. Perhaps she was just horny; it had been a while. She kept her free hand in her lap and instructed it not to make any sudden movements.
"Can I buy you another drink?" he asked.
"Thank you." She furnished him with a cool smile, like she did this kind of thing every night of the week. I'm doing it! I'm actually doing it. I am the smooth, self-assured woman at the bar; I am goddamned Kristin Scott Thomas!
"Same again?"
"Please."
The flirting at a distance had come easily, but now that he was here, she felt her bravado scurry away like a spooked squirrel. She was out of practice and drank deeply from her mug of crimson bravery.
He was watching her with an amused expression.
"Slips down easily, doesn't it?" he remarked.
"A bit too easily," she confessed. "That's the trouble with mulled wine, it tricks you into thinking it's a warm bedtime drink instead of alcohol."
"And is it making you feel ready for bed?" His eyebrow quirked up again, so bold that Harriet immediately was indeed ready for bed.
"You're very forward, aren't you?"
His cocksure demeanor slipped, and he looked away as though embarrassed. When he met her eyes again, his smile was shyer but no less potent.
"Sorry," he said, "I had some long-awaited news today and I think I've maybe indulged a little too freely with the mulled wine."
His dark hair was smart like the rest of him, short at the sides and just a little longer on the top, swept up at the front; the lamplight highlighted flecks of gray at his temples. The sounds of a drunk couple doing a convincing rendition of "Fairytale of New York" drifted through the bar.
"It's easily done. Was it good news or bad news?" Harriet asked, taking another deep swig.
The bartender placed two more mugs of steaming wine on the bar. Sexy-eyebrow man handed one to Harriet, and she smiled a thank-you.
"It was both," the man said, picking at a loose thread on the bar towel. "I'm not sure whether I should be celebrating or commiserating."
...
