2

The first sip of her cocktail tasted wonderfully cold. She closed her eyes for a second longer than necessary. Bliss. Perhaps she should start doing this more often. Not waiting until she felt completely exhausted before allowing herself an hour to breathe.

She spent so much of life moving from one responsibility to another that she had almost forgotten what stillness felt like.

Her gaze wandered across the room. Two elderly gentlemen argued cheerfully over a crossword. Three women dressed for a night out attempted to take a group selfie, dissolving into laughter every time someone blinked. Near the bar, a man in a suit gestured dramatically while telling what looked like an embarrassing story to his colleagues.

It all felt reassuringly ordinary. Exactly what she needed. She reached into her handbag for the novel she had been reading. The bookmark remained stubbornly halfway through chapter twelve. She managed perhaps three pages before realising she had read the same paragraph four times without taking in a single word.

Her mind simply refused to settle. Instead, it drifted back to work. Had she attached the correct document to that final email? Would Martin notice she had reorganised his entire schedule? Should she have spoken up during the afternoon meeting instead of apologising when Simon interrupted her?

She sighed.

Overthinking really should qualify as an Olympic sport.

"You look thoughtful."

The waitress had returned to clear an empty glass from the neighbouring table.

"I think too much."

She smiled knowingly.

"Most people in here on Fridays are trying to stop thinking."

"I might borrow that strategy."

"It usually starts with a second glass."

Amelia laughed.

"I'll see how brave I feel."

When the waitress disappeared again, Amelia found herself smiling. Small conversations with strangers had always come more naturally than large conversations with people she knew. There were no expectations and no pressure. Just tiny moments shared before both people carried on with their evenings.

She liked that.

Outside, dusk had begun softening the edges of the city. The lights inside the bar grew warmer as daylight slowly faded beyond the windows. Amelia rested one elbow on the table and watched the world continue around her. Then, without quite knowing why, she felt the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

It was not dramatic. Not frightening. But it was simply enough to make the tiny hairs on the back of her neck rise.

She looked up.

Across the room, standing near the bar with a pint in one hand, was a man she did not recognise. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, neatly dressed in a navy shirt with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. At that exact moment, their eyes met.

He smiled politely.

Amelia instinctively smiled back before looking away. Perhaps she had imagined it. People looked around bars all the time. It hardly meant anything. She picked up her book again. Another paragraph passed without registering.

When she looked up a second time, the man was still there. Not staring exactly. Just... looking. Every so often his attention drifted elsewhere before returning in her direction.

She frowned slightly.

Maybe he thought he recognised her. That happened occasionally. Or perhaps she reminded him of somebody. She certainly was not the sort of woman strange men watched across crowded bars.

She had never considered herself particularly remarkable. Perfectly average height, perfectly average appearance. The sort of person who disappeared happily into crowds. She tucked a strand of honey-blonde hair behind one ear and returned her attention to the room.

Don't be ridiculous. He was probably waiting for someone.

A woman entered through the front doors. For one hopeful second Amelia assumed he had been looking past her all along. Instead, the newcomer joined a completely different group.

The man remained exactly where he was.

She took another sip of wine.

Stop it. You are inventing stories again.

She had always done this. One tiny observation became ten imagined explanations before she even realised she was overthinking. It was entirely possible he had not looked at her once. Entirely possible she had simply noticed him because there was nothing else demanding her attention.

She checked her phone again. No new messages.

The city outside continued glowing beneath the deepening evening sky. Inside, conversations rose and fell in gentle waves. She was just beginning to relax again when curiosity tempted her into one final glance.

The man was still there.

This time he looked down into his glass for a moment before finishing the last mouthful. He placed the empty pint carefully onto the bar. Then, after a brief pause, he picked it up, thanked the bartender with a nod, and turned.

His eyes found hers once more and a small, confident smile touched his face.

With his drink now empty and nowhere else to be, he began walking across the room towards her table. Amelia's fingers tightened ever so slightly around the stem of her wine glass.

She had the distinct feeling that her quiet evening was about to become considerably less ordinary.