I looked from the newcomer to Merv and saw him narrow his eyes and take in the guy: half his age and sober. He muttered something, then grabbed his near-empty beer glass and shuffled away.

I let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. ‘Thanks!’

‘No worries,’ said the newcomer. ‘The name’s Jack.’ He stuck out a large tanned hand and I shook it.

‘Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Antigone.’ Self-consciously, I pushed a stray tendril of dark hair behind my ear.

‘Unique name.’ Jack grinned.

‘My mother was way too fond of Greek mythology.’ When I was younger, I used to tell people about the heroic Antigone, courageous and passionate, who lay down her life for what she believed. Over the years, I’ve whittled the spiel down to a one-liner. Saves time.

‘Ha!’ said Jack. ‘I’m probably named after “Jack and the Beanstalk”.’

‘Or the candlestick jumper,’ I suggested, appraising the man in front of me. He had piercing blue eyes, the perfect amount of stubble, and the kind of fair hair that used to be blond but had darkened in places, leaving golden highlights behind.

Jack looked amused, then took a long sip of beer.

‘So, Jack, do you make a habit of saving women in bars?’ I let a tiny flirtatious note slip into my voice.

Jack affected a cowboy twang. ‘Sure do, ma’am.’ He waved the barman over. ‘What’ll it be?’

‘A wine would be great,’ I said, nodding towards my old glass with an involuntary shudder. ‘He coughed in that one.’

The barman poured a new glass and swept the tainted one away.

‘Thanks.’ I raised the glass. ‘To my rescuer.’

Jack raised his beer and clinked it against my wine. ‘You local? Haven’t seen you around.’

‘Just moved to town.’

‘You here on your own?’

‘Not if you count my dog, Waffles.’

He laughed. ‘Waffles sounds cute.’

‘He is,’ I said, smiling.

‘I’m on my own too. Drive a long-haul rig. No room for the picket fence and the wife and two kids.’

‘No partner, then?’ I took his measure and pushed further than I normally would because there was something about him that reminded me of a man I’d known back in Melbourne. The confidence. The look.

‘Tried it once,’ said Jack. ‘Didn’t take. You?’

‘Not even close.’ I studied him and took a sip of wine. ‘Actually, I tell a lie. I did come close once.’

Jack waited.

I felt a nostalgic smile engage my dimples. ‘He was a bad boy. We took a class together.’

His return smile could weaken knees. ‘What class was it?’

‘Year three,’ I admitted. We both laughed. ‘Although I think he might have been a cradle snatcher. I’m pretty sure I was eight and he was nine.’