I breathe in deeply, trying to keep the panic attack from taking hold, even though I can feel my hands starting to shake and my heartbeat becoming particularly hard and irregular. The voice in my head saying, No, this is worse than usual—this might really be a heart attack.

The pub has now completely emptied out, and the music has been changed to something quieter. I can hear the clinking of empty glasses and I see Cillian stacking pints with one hand and taking the rag out of his back pocket and wiping down a table with the other.

I look away.

He did seem like he knew me. Didn’t he?

I don’t know, maybe not. I am practically a professional rationalizer. I blame myself for any and all bizarre interactions. Someone could push me into an elevator shaft and on the way down I’d be saying, Oh no, whoops, I’m sorry!

Another surge of adrenaline.

I block one nostril and breathe in for four seconds, hold it, switch sides, breathe out for four seconds. Box breathing.

I want to do grounding techniques, but it’s hard to ground yourself while falling endlessly in an unfamiliar hoistway.

I feel eyes on me and glance back up to see Cillian coming my way.

I get self-conscious and try to give a polite smile, but I’m sure it comes off as more of a grimace.

“Meg,” he says, crouching down beside me. Now that he’s not yelling over a bunch of rowdy people, I hear that he’s got a nice, soothing, slightly raspy voice, and that accent. Aimee used to tease me that the only reason I wanted to go to school in Ireland was because of the boys and the accents.

“Yeah,” I say. Another surge; my lungs feel devoid of oxygen and unable to regain it.

“You all right? Are you having one? Meggie, look at me, it’s okay. It’s all right.”

He sounds so sure, so certain that it’s all going to be okay, that it comforts me. Even though I feel like my world is inside out right now, I know he can be believed in.

Somehow, it cuts through. My heartbeat steadies.

I finally lift my gaze and look into his eyes. A soul-rocking wave runs through me—a sudden magnetic pull that seems to go from me to him and back again. I see the tiny scar in his eyebrow and the short stubble on his jaw and I want to reach out and touch him. I feel a deep fondness for him that warms me as effortlessly and completely as desert sun on my skin, transcending and eclipsing logic, confusion, panic, and anything else I can imagine.

“Um.” I pin my tongue between my teeth.