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“Surprise!”

A chorus of “Happy birthday, Isla!” rang through the Arbor pub.

My gaze darted around the laughing faces.

About thirty of the Sunday News people I’d worked with for years—the keen-eyed journos, the gruff subeditors, and the art desk in their black leather.

Some I hadn’t seen for… six months. They already seemed well trolleyed, their howling and hooting vibrating all the tinsel draped over the pink velvet sofas.

The sight of them made my heart sparkle as bright as the old chandeliers lighting up the bar.

Beside me, Shay grinned, the gold stars in her Afro puff bobbing triumphantly. I wrapped her in a tight hug, burying myself in her red coat.

“Thank you, Shay. You’re the best.” Squeezing her arms, I joked, “Get you back for this, woman.”

Her reply, soft as syrup, “Like to see you try.”

These were the top people in the industry.

And they were here. For me. I couldn’t help wondering whether one of them had heard anything about a job going at a rival newspaper or had articles I could help with.

I’d never get my old position back at Sunday News, but maybe they had a tip-off about a story that wasn’t in their wheelhouse.

From the back of the crowd, Jack, the chief police reporter, all slicked-back hair and too-tight sweater, gave me his cocky smirk and crooked his finger in a sexy come-here gesture.

I shot him what I hoped was a withering look.

Not a chance. Because I’d given him a chance, and he’d cheated on me.

I would email him the story tomorrow without having to get close enough to fall into an old habit.

It was actually fun to chat with people I hadn’t seen in a while.

It felt as though work wasn’t our only connection.

I didn’t exactly get caught up on the gossip , since I was now the outsider, but I did feel genuinely welcomed.

However, as I always thought in a room with other people in our industry, You don’t have friends anymore, only contacts. Those wise words from our editor.

“How are you getting on, Isla?” one of my old desk mates asked.

“Trying my heart out,” I said.

“Can you get some PR or comms work to see you through?” The usual backup for journalists who’d lost their jobs.

“I’m still a bit untouchable.” I didn’t have to remind her that my fall played out in public. “I’ve been filing at the local council to pay the bills.”

She winced. “You’re too good a journalist. Someone’s going to hire you.”

“Fingers crossed. I’ve got two months of savings left. And then I’ll have to take on a full-time filing gig.”

“Oof.” She squeezed my hand. “Well, let me get you another drink.”

While she was away, I was sure someone behind me said, “ All washed up.” The hip-hop music thumped along with my frantic thoughts, making my heart pump faster too. Were they talking about me?

Block them out. Get out of here quick, I chanted to myself, like I used to in high school. But I was pinned against the table in the crush.

My mouth opened for a breath of air, but my throat had seized up. Clutching the table, I fought to pull myself together.

A drink appeared next to my clenched fingers. I thanked my old desk mate who’d bought it, raised it to my lips, and gulped it down, my knuckles white from tension. The liquid warmth spread through me, relaxing my tight throat and stomach.

Another drink and I was feeling better. Two more, and I was merrily tipsy.

Some of my old female colleagues were dancing on a big table. “C’mon up, Isla,” one sang.

Why not? It looked fun up there. A couple of them reached down, and taking off my stilettos, I scrambled up, hoping I didn’t flash my knickers.

It seemed like minutes, but it must have been hours later when Shay and Bato reached up to tell me they were leaving. Bato would return to walk me home when I was ready.

I was still dancing on the table, wine splashing from my glass, when the crowd started thinning. A guy was staring at me, gobsmacked. No wonder. When I got going, my dance moves were fairly dazzling.

“Wobbly,” he yelled up to me, all rugged mountain man on vacation, with his hair tied back, beard, and hippie beach pants.

Wait—was he talking about my thighs? Rude .

“Table’s a bit wobbly,” he shouted over the music. I’d been safely up here for hours, but he seemed concerned. “Let me help you down.”

I went one better, calling out, “Catch.” I leaped into the air toward his terrified face.

He caught me easily, his strong hands tightening around me.

My legs gripped his waist, and our faces were so close I could see his eyes were sparkling prisms of green, his ponytail spilling over like an angel’s halo.

My mouth touched his. His slow smile brushed against my lips, sending a jolt through me, zinging down to my toes and back up to my…

His eyes were more devilish than angelic. “Hi, I’m Declan. I’d ask you to dance, but I’m not as good on tables as you.”

“Isla. Guess I can make an exception tonight.” I grinned. “Let’s take the floor.”

He slid me down his long, hard body—oh God, the bumps and divots of heaven—and swept me out to arm’s length.

Hey, what happened to the long, hard body?

Kneeling before me, he grabbed my shoes from under the table and slipped them on my feet.

Impressed he’d noticed where I’d left them!

Soon, I was swirling in his arms like a… debutante?

“Hey.” I gazed up at him. “Are we waltzing ?”

As he twirled me, his mouth hitched mischievously at the corner. “Well. You are thirty-four.”

“Hang on.” I narrowed my eyes. “How do you know my age?”

Instead of answering, he dipped me low. The strain of holding my entire weight caused his biceps to bulge from under his T-shirt, and the question slipped right out of my head. A lovely, dreamy interlude followed as we floated around the room. Time seemed to stand still.

He stared down at me. “I hope you’ve had a happy birthday. ”

“I’ve had the best birthday ever, thank you.”

“So many of your workmates turned up. Pays to be popular,” he teased. “What do you do?”

“Journo. Was. Is. Am.” I side-eyed him. “Hey. I’m usually the one asking the questions.”

“I’m interested in you.” He regarded me intensely—like a scruffy Jim from The Office —and I felt myself blush at his earnestness. “One more question? You’re a Kiwi, right? A New Zealander?”

“Oh, thank God you didn’t say Australian.”

He laughed. “Ah, yeah, I keep hearing about this rivalry. Because Kiwis and Aussies are so, sooo different.” His lips twitched with amusement, and his eyes twinkled.

“Hey. We are so different. For example, how we say the number six. Kiwis say sucks , Aussies say sex .”

His shoulders shook with laughter. “I’m not going near that one. Except to agree that’s an important distinction.” Something about him made me want to examine that distinction. Closely .

Most everyone slowly bid us good night. Finally, the bartender rang the bell.

Exhausted and bleary-eyed, I considered taking up Declan’s offer of walking me home rather than waking Bato to come and get me, since it was a five-minute walk around the garden square.

There was something about Declan that I trusted, even though I didn’t know him.

I spotted two of my workmates who lived around my way, and they agreed to walk with us.

Taking off my stilettos, I tapped the heels on Declan’s biceps to test whether they were still strong and capable. “My feet hurt like hell. Any chance you could carry me?”

“Part of the service.” He shrugged on his coat and scooped me up .

I grinned up at him, surprised and impressed he’d agreed. “Five-star review.”

My work friends oohed. “Any more where you come from?” asked one.

I wrapped my arms around his lemon-scented neck and tucked my head under his chin, chatting with my old work friends as we made our way home around the now-sleepy garden square.

Back at the flat, Declan made gentlemanly noises about leaving, but I tugged him into my bedroom.

A playful push from me, and he did a funny backward fall onto the bed. Teddy leaped up beside him and growled. Declan calmly turned his face, releasing himself to the sniffing and licking. Ecstatic at making a new friend, Teddy wagged his little body from side to side like a dancer.

I sighed. Clearly, this was the man for me.