She was the first to break eye contact, heading to the bar to collect the drinks for a table of four. Don’t sit at my table. Do sit at my table. Don’t. Do.

He did. He took the same table at the back that he’d had the night before, and it suddenly occurred to her that she’d never seen anyone else sit there. Was it a rule of the establishment that it was always to be open for him?

“Scotch,” she said to Mac when he brought her the last tankard for the table of four. Quickly, she delivered the beer, returned to the bar, snatched up the tumbler, and headed to the table at the back.

It wasn’t exactly a smile he gave her when she set the glass before him, but she detected a slight movement of his lips as though he was tempted to grin. It caused a funny sensation behind her ribs, as though a thousand butterflies had taken flight.

“You remembered my preference in drink.”

“It wasn’t that difficult. You were here only last night.” Had she left her lungs with Mac? Why was she finding it a challenge to draw breath? “Jimmy apologized.”

Leaning toward her, he cocked his head slightly, in the manner that many of the customers did, so an ear was more directly facing in her direction. As usual, the tavern was crowded, hardly an empty seat to be had. With the cacophony of all the various conversations, laughter, scraping of chairs, pounding of fists on tables, it was difficult to catch all the words when anyone spoke. She often engaged in the same maneuver.

“I beg your pardon?” he said.

She raised her voice to be heard over the din. “Jimmy apologized—quite profusely, actually.”

“Good.”

“He was rather insistent I let you know.”

He merely nodded.

“Do you often threaten to break fingers?”

“I threaten to break a good many things. I don’t tolerate men mistreating women.”

“But you don’t even know me.”

“Acquaintanceship is not a requirement for my ensuring you’re not harassed.”

“I could be a right termagant.”

The mouth wasn’t smiling but the eyes were, and somehow that made him far more dangerous, more approachable, more charming.

“Wouldn’t matter.” He seemed to settle more comfortably into the straight-backed wooden chair as though it were the most plush cushioned armchair that existed in the world. “You don’t speak as though you come from the streets.”