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“That obvious?”

“The haircut gives you away.” Her eyes linger on my face. “That, and the way you walked over here earlier. Very efficient.”

I chuckle. “I’ve never been good at walking away from trouble.”

She giggles, and the sound hits me straight in the chest. “Am I trouble?”

“I think you might be the best kind.”

Our eyes lock, and something electric passes between us.

I’ve been with beautiful women before, but I’ve never felt this immediate connection. It’s like there’s something about her that calls to me on a level that bypasses rational thought. I want to know what put that sadness behind her smile. I want to know how she tastes, how she sounds when she comes, how her body would feel under mine.

Suddenly, I hear a commotion behind me.

I turn around just in time to see Marcus carrying Lainey over his shoulder, both of them laughing as he heads for the exit.

Elizabeth giggles. “Looks like the bride and groom are calling it a night.”

“Can’t blame them.” I finish my whiskey, setting the glass down deliberately. “So, Elizabeth who doesn’t like dancing but loves art, what are your plans for the rest of the evening?”

She bites her lower lip. “Not too much. I’ll probably go check on my friends soon.”

“You could,” I agree. “Or you could stay here and talk to me.”

“About what?”

“About why a beautiful woman is spending her last night of freedom looking like she’s heading to her execution instead of celebrating.”

She flinches slightly, confirming my suspicion that there’s more to her “moving home” story than she’s letting on.

“That’s a bit personal for someone I just met.”

“True.” I lean in slightly. “But sometimes it’s easier to tell the truth to a stranger. No history, no judgment. Just two people being honest in a moment that won’t matter tomorrow.”

She looks at me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out behind those dark eyes. Finally, she takes another sip of her gin and tonic and leans back.

“You’re right. Tomorrow won’t matter.” There’s something hollow in the way she says it. “So what do you want to know?”

“Everything.” The word comes out rougher than I intend. “But let’s start simple. What makes you happy?”

A genuine smile touches her lips. “That’s simple?”

“Simpler than whatever’s got you looking like the world’s ending tomorrow.”

“Fair point.” She thinks for a moment. “Hmm, things that make me happy…Rainy Sunday mornings with nowhere to be. The smell of oil paint. That moment when you’re working on a piece and everything just clicks.” She pauses. “Bad reality TV.”

I laugh. “Bad reality TV?”

“The worse, the better.” She’s grinning now, and it transforms her whole face. “Give me a marathon ofMountain Makeovers,and I’m set for the weekend.”

“Mountain Makeovers?”

“Don’t judge me.” She points a finger at me, but she’s laughing. “It’s my guilty pleasure. There’s something oddly satisfying about watching city people try to renovate cabins they have no business buying.”

I hold up my hands. “I’m not judging. I may have seen an episode or two myself.”

“Liar. Nobody watches just one or two episodes. That show is designed to trap you.”