4: Unwind

CIARA

Fate? That was the last thing I expected to hear from someone this manly. Honestly, he didn’t seem like the type to believe in fate, or destiny, or anything that couldn’t be touched or proven. But maybe I was wrong.

Maybe I really couldn’t judge a book by its cover.

“So… where are you taking me, mister?” I asked, suddenly realizing how quickly I’d agreed to leave with him. He’d just said he was going to unwind, and for some reason, I’d gone along with it, barely thinking twice.

“My friend owns a bar around here, and tonight’s the soft opening,” he said, hands buried in the pockets of his leather coat.

Walking beside him, I felt so much smaller than usual—it was almost strange, but not in a bad way. There was something about it that made me feel protected. He reminded me of Austin, but this guy was taller, broader, more solid than Austin ever was.

“I see, then I guess I’ll accompany you. I need a drink anyway.” I shrugged, following him through the busy sidewalk, people moving past us in waves, until finally we arrived at the place he’d mentioned.

The moment we stepped inside, I couldn’t help but like it. The bar had a quiet, comfortable feel, nothing like the noisy, crowded places I’d been to in New York. It was relaxed, with enough privacy that you could breathe.

“Yo! I thought you said you couldn’t make it.” The bartender with red hair grinned at us as soon as we reached the counter. His eyes lit up when he saw me, and his smile grew even wider. “Wait, did you finally bring a girlfriend?”

“No, she’s not my girlfriend.” The guy said it simply, pulling off his hat and revealing his low ponytail. He then tugged out a barstool and gestured for me to sit, his eyes flicking over to me for a second. “I don’t even know her name.”

“You’re joking, right?” The bartender made a face, then leaned across the counter in my direction, concern and curiosity mixing in his gaze. “You’re okay, miss? He’s not dragging you into anything, is he? This guy might be handsome, but he’s dangerous.”

“No, don’t worry, I’m sane enough to follow him here.” I answered, glancing around at the bar again before turning my attention to the man beside me, completely ignoring the comment about him being dangerous, “Actually, I don’t know his name either.”

“Well, don’t you think this is our cue to introduce ourselves?” He smirked, and there was a note of challenge in the way he extended his hand toward me. I hesitated, just a moment, before taking it. His palm was hot, almost feverish that shot a ripple of awareness up my arm.

“I’m Rowan,” he said.

“Ciara.” I kept it brief as the warmth of his grip lingered. The way his eyes seemed to pin me in place made my skin prickle.

“Drink’s on me tonight, Ciara.” He drew his hand back at the exact moment my phone buzzed in my bag. I fished it out, already telling him what I wanted to drink. Then I glanced at the screen.

My younger brother’s name flashed.

[What’s with the picture you sent? You’re in Paris?] I couldn’t help it. I giggled, picturing his face scrunching up in disbelief.

I replied back a quick yes; told him I’d be home in a week. But just as I started to type more, a new message arrived—a photo that stopped me cold.

Though the picture didn’t show her face since it was shot from behind, I recognized the short hair instantly. It was Yuri. But the man beside her? Somehow, it didn’t seem like Austin. Even from the back, I could tell it wasn’t him. The height, the build, and hair, it was a different man.

[When did Yuri get a boyfriend? :(]

[What?] I typed back, [That’s not her boyfriend.]

[What do you mean? I saw them kiss before I took the photo.]

I froze, my mind going blank for a second, the last message ringing in my head while I stared at it, numb, until another ping jolted me. This time, Shawn said Austin had come by our house that morning, looking for me, because I wasn’t in my apartment and hadn’t answered his messages or calls.

I pressed my lips together, unsure what to reply. Then, as if it couldn’t get any worse, my phone died in my hand, the screen going black, shutting me out completely.

“Shit, I forgot to charge my phone,” I muttered, only half to myself. Rowan then tapped the counter, drawing my attention back to the present.

“Using your phone when you’re unwinding kind of defeats the purpose, no?” His tone was half-teasing, half-knowing, as if he could see right through my distress. 

Well, I guess, it was obvious. So, I slid my phone back into my bag with a deep sigh, determined not to let my brother’s message rattle me further. 

“Right,” I managed, grabbing the glass in front of me and downing the drink in a single, desperate tilt. The burn seared a path down my throat, bitter and unfamiliar, but it didn’t matter. I pushed the empty glass forward, signaling for another, as if the extra alcohol could scrub away the thoughts in my head.

“By the way, how old are you?” Rowan asked, pausing to push his eyeglasses up the bridge of his nose. His gaze settled on me, steady and unblinking, even as he took another drink.

“Twenty-four. You?” I asked back, watching him lean into the bar, elbow propped, knuckles pressed to his cheek. He faced me with a kind of lazy confidence, as if he had all the time in the world.

“Guess,” he challenged with an amused smirk.

I snorted.

“Early forties?” I said, exaggerating on purpose. Both his eyebrows shot up, pure wounded pride written across his face, which only made me laugh. “See? That’s exactly why you shouldn’t ask a stranger to guess your age.”

“So? How old are you really, mister?” I pressed.

“Stop calling me mister. I’m only thirty. You’re making me sound old,” he protested, shaking his head as he straightened his posture.

“Well, a six-year age gap makes you practically one,” I said, grinning, letting the words roll out before I could think better of it. My gaze then flickered to his ring finger; I had to check if he was married because if he was, I’d bolt right then and there, no questions asked. But his hand was bare, not a trace of a wedding band in sight. Still, just to be sure, I blurted, “Are you single?”

He tilted his head, lips curving into a smirk. “Why? Are you interested in me?”

The question caught me off guard, heat rising to my face.

“What? No! I’ve got enough problems as it is,” I retorted, grabbing my drink, maybe a little too quickly. “Just making sure I’m not adding to the mess by drinking with someone who’s already taken.”

I took a long sip, trying to steady myself, and heard his low chuckle.

“Understandable,” he said, and then added with an easy shrug, “But don’t worry, I’m single.”

I eyed him suspiciously, thinking for a moment why he was single. However, I didn’t dare ask him outright, instead, I just fixed my gaze on my drink and let it go.

“I see, that’s a relief.” The words barely made it past my lips, soft and distracted, because my mind had drifted straight to my brother’s message from earlier. But even before I could chase that thought any further, Rowan spoke again.

“So, what’s the problem you’re carrying? I don’t mind helping you let it out, since it seems like you’ve been holding it in since I saw you at the men’s restroom.” I turned to look at him, caught off guard by his sudden straightforwardness.

Then, I hesitated, chewing over whether it was okay to share something so personal with someone who was, essentially, still a stranger. But since my problems were, quite literally, the two people I always ran to whenever something was wrong, I figured, why not just tell the stranger anyway?

So, I started. I told him about that night at the restaurant and my history, every detail I could remember. I kept drinking as I talked, the cold liquid blurring the edges of my thoughts, and Rowan just sat there, listening quietly. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush me, just let me spill everything that had been trapped inside my chest.

By the time I reached the end, I could feel the tears welling up, the same ones I’d fought to hold back since that night. This time, I let them fall. I cried softly, voice barely above a whisper as I expressed how hurt I was.

Just then, I felt a large hand slide over my back. I turned to Rowan, his other hand was already reaching for my face, gentle but firm, brushing away the tears that had slipped down my cheeks.

It should have felt strange, maybe unsettling to be touched like this by a stranger, but surprisingly, it didn’t; instead, there was something almost soothing about it. Oddly enough, it even struck me as intimate, in a way I hadn’t expected.

At that moment, I had this urge to lean forward, and as if I was possessed by some force greater than myself, I actually did it.