“I’ll take another,” Ian said, sliding his empty glass across the bar with a faint clink. The bartender nodded and turned to pour another whiskey. Ian glanced to his left, where a woman with dark, wavy hair was leaning against the bar, her fingers tapping lightly on the edge of her wine glass. “Rough day?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tessa looked up, her hazel eyes catching the dim light of the bar. She was wearing a fitted black dress that hugged her curves, and her lips curved into a faint, tired smile. “You could say that,” she replied, her voice soft but edged with something sharper. They’d been sitting near each other for the past hour, exchanging occasional glances but nothing more. The bar was quiet for a Thursday night, just a few regulars scattered around, the hum of low conversation filling the space.

Ian leaned a little closer, his tone casual but curious. “Want to talk about it?” Tessa hesitated, her gaze flicking to his face, then down to her glass. She swirled the wine, the deep red liquid catching the light. “Maybe,” she said finally, her voice dropping. “But not here.” She glanced toward the door, and Ian followed her gaze, noticing the way her shoulders tensed. Something—or someone—had her on edge.