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Deacon smirked. “And made with two very generous shots of gin.”
She shrugged, taking another sip. “I can’t taste it, and since I’m staying here at the hotel, the drive home isn’t exactly a concern.”
His chest warmed at her easy humor. “Care to share a booth?” He gestured to the cozy seats along the wall.
Her gaze held his for a beat longer than necessary, a flicker of challenge dancing in her expression. Then, she extended her hand. “I don’t share booths with strangers. My name’s Echo.”
He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the unique name, then took her hand in his, his grip firm but careful. “Deacon.” Her grip lingered, her fingers warm against his. “You have an unusual name,” he teased, still holding her gaze.
“Parents are sixties throwbacks,” she said with a laugh, her eyes sparkling. “What’s your excuse?”
He chuckled, the sound low and intimate. “Boomer parents, military roots, and I’m named after a family friend. I’m here for business.” He motioned to the booth again, and that time, she nodded.
They slid into the booth across from each other, the quiet hum of the restaurant wrapping around them like a cocoon. For the first time in what felt like ages, Deacon felt the walls he kept so carefully constructed around himself ease just a little.
Echo tilted her head, her lips curving into a smirk that hinted at curiosity. “What kind of business do you do, Deacon?”
He hesitated for half a beat, measuring his words. “I work with a company that troubleshoots problems for other organizations. I’m kind of a fixer. They send my team and me in when they want things resolved quickly.” His voice was steady, but he was aware of the flicker of her gaze, sharp and assessing.“And you?” he asked, the lantern light casting shadows across the polished wood table.
Her fingers lightly circling the base of her drink. “The easiest way to explain it is to say I work in IT. I’m here to clean up a mess someone else caused with one of the systems I designed way back in the day.” She shrugged, but there was a hint of weariness in the gesture, a shadow of frustration that piqued his curiosity. “I’m not out in the field often anymore.”
“By choice?” He leaned back against the cushion, one arm draped along the edge of the booth. The casual pose belied his sharp attention to every detail—how her hair slipped over her shoulder when she moved, the quick flicker of her lashes as she considered her answer.
“Well, yes and no.” Her fingers toyed with the rim of her glass before she pushed her hair back, revealing the elegant line of her neck. The silky strands fell in a cascade down her back, catching the golden light. “After a long stint working in my field, they promoted me to a nice office with a view. I’m not going to lie—I don’t hate it. But I’m both excited and pissed that I’m here.”
“In Bangkok or the field?” he asked, his lips quirking.
Her dark eyes sparkled with amusement as she took a slow sip of her drink. Then, she winked. “Yes.”
Deacon chuckled, the tension in his shoulders easing further. “Ever been to Thailand before?”
“Nope. I was told most people speak at least a little English.” She glanced toward the bartender, her lips twitching into a grin. “He’s the first who hasn’t.”
“And yet you ended up with a drink you like,” he pointed out, nodding toward her half-empty cocktail.
She laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “I did. Now, I just have to figure out what it is so I can ask for it back in the States.” She took another sip of the purple concoction.
“Have you eaten?” he asked, his brow arching slightly.
“What?” She blinked as though surprised by the question. “Oh, yeah, on the plane.”
“Not good enough.” His tone was firm but playful. “I saw how much alcohol he poured into that drink.” He raised a hand, and the waitress appeared almost instantly. Deacon ordered three appetizers without hesitation, his confident manner drawing Echo’s curious gaze.
When the waitress left, she leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “How did you learn Thai?”
“It wasn’t as difficult as you’d think after I mastered Mandarin.” He couldn’t help the grin that spread as her jaw dropped slightly.
“Two languages?” she asked, incredulous.
He shook his head.
Her eyes widened. “Three?”
“Five,” he admitted, a touch of pride in his tone. “French, English, Mandarin, Thai, and Japanese.” He wasn’t going to tell her he was working on Vietnamese.
“Holy hell,” she said, leaning back in her seat, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. “I can’t even say I mastered English. Most of the time, I butcher it.”
He laughed, the rich sound filling the space between them. When the laughter settled, she asked, “What exactly do you troubleshoot?”