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Chapter one
Cora
The espresso martini slidesdown my throat, leaving a trail of warmth as it settles in the pit of my stomach. The sharp bite of alcohol competes with the rich bitterness of coffee, making my nose wrinkle. It could really use a hint of sweetness—a dash of sugar syrup, maybe. Honestly though, I’m surprised the bartender managed to pull off a cocktail in a place like this. Tucked away in a quiet backstreet in the capital of Malta, it’s a far cry from the city’s swanky nightlife scene—no hip bartenders in suspenders mixing up artisanal cocktails, no carefully curated playlists or Instagrammable décor.
“What’s the difference between a G-spot and a golf ball?”
“A guy will actually search for a golf ball.”
Laughter erupts behind me, loud and infectious, from a group of guys propping up the bar. I giggle into my drink. The drunker they get, the cruder their jokes become, and despite myself, I’m drawn in.
“What’s the difference between a hooker and a drug dealer?”
“A hooker can wash her crack and resell it.”
I snort, glancing over my shoulder at the four gorgeous men huddled together, whiskey glasses in hand. For the past twenty minutes I’ve been shamelessly eavesdropping on their contest to see who can recall the most outrageous joke. Their banter fills the bar, cutting through the low drone of the soccer game playing on the TV.
I lick my lips, savoring the bitter coffee as my gaze sweeps over the sagging soccer memorabilia on the walls and the grime-coated tables. The bartender coughs without bothering to cover his mouth, then takes a long drag of his cigarette. Despite the bar’s questionable hygiene standards and décor, the night is turning out better than expected. At least it’s a step up from doing laundry at my hostel.
A distant “Val-let-ta” chant from the city drifts through the humid air, bringing a smile to my face. There’s always a bittersweetness to the end of a trip. After six incredible weeks backpacking across Europe, the memories are etched into me for life. It’s been one hell of a journey.
Thoughts of home creep in and I find myself wondering how Dad is holding up without me. Part of me is eager to get back to him, but the idea of leaving all this behind for the monotony of everyday life… I let out a long sigh.
I’d always envisioned traveling after earning my communications degree, but as the saying goes, “Life happens while you’re busy making other plans.” Graduation came three years later than expected; Mom’s passing was the hardest detour life could throw at me. Now, at twenty-four, my long-awaited solo adventure has finally happened—thanks in no small part to Dad’s gentle push.
A familiar ache tightens in my chest at the thought of Mom. I inhale deeply, trying to chase away the dark clouds threatening to roll in.
Another sip of my drink sends a rush of dizziness through me.
Shit, the bartender’s heavy-handed tonight.
The men’s roar of laughter pulls me from my thoughts.
Damn, I missed that one.
Their conversation grows louder the more they drink. Not only are they hilarious, but they stand out—they’re unmistakably American and impossibly good-looking. In a bar this quiet, with only a few loners sipping their drinks in the shadows, they’re hard to miss.
I finish off my martini; it’s time to call it a night.Even on vacation, it’s well past my bedtime. With an early flight back to Sydney tomorrow, I know better than to tempt a hangover on a twenty-one-hour journey in cattle class, so I head to the bar to settle my tab.
“Okay, okay, okay, I’ve got it.” The man closest to me raises his voice to signal another joke. “What did the leper say to the sex worker?”
Knowing this one, I can’t resist butting in. “Keep the tip.”
There’s a brief pause before they all erupt with laughter.
“Nice one,” slurs the blond and tallest of the group. “What’s a place like you doing in a girl like this?” The others groan at his botched pickup cliché.
“Ignore him, he’s wasted.” Gorgeous dark eyes lock onto mine. They’re so strikingly beautiful that for a moment I lose track of everything around me. His deep brown gaze, framed by tousled black hair that falls just over his forehead, pulls me in. A strong, square jawline balances his full, irresistible lips, and I realize, too late, that I’m biting my own bottom lip.
Jesus Christ.
He catches me eyeing him, and a slow, knowing smirk tugs at his lips. “Enjoying the view?”
Heat rises from my chest to my cheeks, and I know I’m burning bright red. “Absolutely.” I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a grin. Boldness isn’t usually my style, but with liquid courage pulsing through my veins, it’s seemingly effortless.
“Jonathon.” He takes my hand in a firm grip without waiting for me to offer it. His long fingers are slightly calloused, and his touch makes my skin prickle.
“Cora,” I breathe out.