Spinning on her chair, Aria muttered, “What’s the world coming to?”

“Is he as cute as they say?”

She crossed her legs and folded her arms. “I didn’t notice.”

Avery tapped her foot and lifted one winged eyebrow. She clearly didn’t believe Aria’s purported disinterest.

“All right, so he’s incredibly hot,” Aria admitted. “I’m not sure I’d say cute.” Not when he had those full lips, that strong jaw and the drool-worthy eyes. “More like yummy. Swoon-worthy.” And one cool customer.

“You should have been friendlier,” Avery remarked. “You’ll probably see a lot of him over the next couple of weeks. It couldn’t have hurt to get off on the right foot.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Aria insisted. “Only… I shouldn’t have gone there in the first place.”

“But you did, Ri. And that’s okay.”

Her friend was attempting to placate her, but she didn’t care. She glanced at her watch. “Time to head to Davy’s.”

Davy’s Bar and Restaurant made the best cocktails in town, and it had become a tradition for Aria and her friends to head there on a Friday night. Housed in a building dating back to the start of the 20th century, with a concrete façade, high ceilings, off-white walls and maroon furnishings, the bar was quaint—old-fashioned but tidy.

“Hey, Soph.” Aria slid onto the bar stool next to their friend Sophie Delaware and smiled at Davy behind the bar. “I’ll have an Irish whiskey with chocolate milk, on the rocks, please.”

Davy poured her drink and passed Avery a beer, which she uncapped and swigged heavily.

“Mm, cold and wet, just the way I like it,” she joked. “Cheers.”

“How was your day, Soph?” Aria asked.

Sophie crinkled her nose. At five-feet-three and twenty-five years old, Sophie was the shortest and the youngest of her friends. With her freckles, slight frame and youthful face, she was often mistaken for a high school student. “Not so great. I had no sales, and a client screamed at me.”

“That’s rough. Sorry,” Aria said.

“Ri met a cute guy,” Avery said casually.

Sophie’s eyes lit with interest, her work woes forgotten. “I want to know everything.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Aria said. Briefly, she explained the events of the afternoon and her meeting with Elijah Lockwood. “So, really,” she finished, “he doesn’t have a sense of humor and thinks I’m a ninny.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

Sophie was too sweet. Aria knew she’d made a fool of herself. She wished she didn’t care. All she needed from Elijah Lockwood was a good story, but no woman wanted to look like an idiot in front of a handsome man.

“Your Mr. Lockwood—” Avery began.

“He’s not my Mr. Lockwood.”

“Mr. Lockwood,” Avery repeated with an eye roll. “What does he look like?”