It wasn’t as bad as she’d feared. Her hair was a mess, yes, but her cheeks had some color from their brisk walk over here. She washed her hands, then dug a tissue from her purse and fixed her eyeliner. She took out her lipstick but decided to skip it. Her cut was still healing, and she didn’t want to draw attention to it.

Leigh looked in the mirror and adjusted her sweater, shuddering at the memory of Mason Lloyd’s obnoxious finger. Her stomach roiled, but her nerves were calmer now. She’d stopped shaking. And her fear was quickly transforming into a healthy combination of outrage and determination. Obviously, he thought he could bully her into submission, but he was in for a surprise.

She made her way back through the crowd to find that Brandon had abandoned their lone stool for a high-top table with two chairs in the corner. He stood as she walked over, and she marveled at his manners as he pulled the stool out for her. She hitched herself onto it.

He sat down beside her, looking her over with those sharp eyes, his gaze lingering on the side of her lower lip. His attention always seemed to go there, lipstick or no.

She hung her purse on the back of the chair.

“You seem to know the people here,” she said over the noise.

“I’ve been coming here for years.”

“Neighborhood hangout?”

He shrugged. “Even before that.” His gaze skimmed over the crowd, watching, assessing, taking in details that Leigh felt certain were lost on ninety-nine percent of people. Brandon was observant. Vigilant. And although his low-key demeanor covered it well, she could see him taking note of every aspect of their surroundings. Once again, just being in his presence made her feel safe. The odds of some rando approaching her with a crude comment or grabby hands were zero.

The server returned with a full tray and a warm smile as she set their drinks on the table.

“Let me know if y’all need anything else,” she said, giving Brandon a wink.

Leigh watched his reaction, but he pretended not to notice. He kept his attention on Leigh as she picked up her glass and took her first sip. The drink was tart and cold, and the fizz felt wonderful on her tight throat.

Leigh looked out at the room, enjoying the low lighting and the hum of lively conversation. She’d always liked people-watching, trying to imagine the little dramas playing out between strangers. In law school, she’d taken a body-language class that focused on jury selection, and she’d discovered she had a knack for reading people. Four summers of waiting tables had probably helped. She could spot the good tippers a mile away, as well as the cheapskates, the posers, and the sexist pigs.

Brandon sipped his beer, and she leaned closer.

“What time do they start?” she asked.

“Soon.”