Page 247 of Banter & Blushes

He smirks—just a hint of it—and takes another sip. “You could say that. I like to think I’m runningtowardsomething, though.”

I arch an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what might that be?”

He leans in slightly, to scan the bar, the way you look around when you’re trying to figure out whether you’re about to step into the mud or something more ominous.

“Good cocktails, good conversation,” he says, voice dropping a little, “and some peace and quiet.”

“Peace and quiet?” I repeat, raising an eyebrow. “You’re in the wrong place for that.”

“I know,” he says, a quiet laugh escaping him, “but I figured I could give it a shot.”

His words settle between us, hanging in the air like a shared secret. We’re both here, but we’re both still keeping something back. It’s like a game where neither of us wants to be the first to show our cards. The difference is, I think I want to know more than I should.

“Any other deep philosophical questions you’ve got for me?” I ask. I’m leaning against the counter now, watching him as I cross my arms. This feels like territory I shouldn’t be exploring, but I can’t help myself.

He shakes his head slightly. “Not unless you’ve got a good explanation for why people always want to tell you about their ‘life-changing’ experience with essential oils.”

I grin. “Oh, don’t get me started. They’ll try to sell you a whole lifestyle along with it.”

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid,” he says, like I’ve somehow just confirmed a suspicion he’s been holding.

I want to keep digging. I want to ask more. But just like last night, he’s here, but not really here. A part of him stays closed off, like there’s something bigger at play, something more complicated than I can see. And I’m not sure if I’m trying to understand him because I’m curious about him or because I just don’t like being left in the dark.

He finishes the drink and pulls out a bill, leaving it on the counter.

“You don’t stay long,” I say, my voice a little too casual.

I’m trying to hide the factthat I wanted him to stay just a little longer.

He slides the empty glass a few inches forward, one brow lifting just enough to be dangerous. “Is that an invitation?”

I glance down at the glass, then back up at him. “Depends. Do you usually RSVP with mysterious exits and no forwarding address?”

His lips tighten like he’s trying not to smile. “Only when the company’s interesting enough to make mewanta second invite.”

My fingers tighten slightly on the edge of the bar, but I keep my face cool. “Well, unfortunately, if you’re expecting a handwritten note and a trail of rose petals, you might be disappointed. I don’t even know your name.”

He studies me for a second, like he’s weighing something.

I tilt my head. “What? Did you forget your name? Told you that Trust Fall would have you rethinking life choices.”

That earns me a small, amused breath—barely a laugh, but enough to register.

“Keigan,” he says, finally.

It’s simple, no frills. Just a name. But the way he says it, low and even, makes it feel like a secret he chose to give me.

I give a slow, thoughtful nod, like I’m trying the name on for size. “Keigan.”

He leans one elbow on the bar. “You going to tell me yours? Or do I have to come back and guess it letter by letter?”

“I feel like you’d be the type to start with X.”

“And now I definitely am.”

I grab the towel I abandoned earlier and flip it over my shoulder, ignoring the ridiculous flutter in my stomach. “Guess you’ll just have to come back, then. I’ll be sure to wear a name tag next time.”

He stands, not in a hurry, but like he knows dragging it out would ruin the rhythm. “Nah. That’d take all the fun out of it.”

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