So,” Zach said. His usually easy-going smile took on a sharp, lascivious edge that Evan had never seen. Raising his brows suggestively, Zach continued, “Is this a… double date?”

Hannah Kabbah cast a disdainful look over Zach, from the tips of his messy hair to his workman’s boots. Having been on the receiving end of that look, Evan knew how quelling it could be. Then she said, with clipped certainty, “Absolutely not.”

Zach blinked rapidly.

Evan bit back laughter.

“I’m here to spend time with my sister,” Hannah said, popping open her jewelled little handbag. She produced a tube of lipstick and somehow uncapped the lid with one hand. Then she began applying it perfectly, without a mirror, while talking. “The two of you are here to do… whatever it is you do. It’s just that apparently, Ruth and Evan can’t be more than ten feet apart at any given time.”

Evan leant against the busy bar of Ravenswood’s only pub and tried not to look as smug as he felt. “There’s only one place to drink in this town. Plus, I’m her ride.”

“Ruth has a car,” Hannah pointed out. “But if you are driving her, you’d better not be drinking at all.”

Evan raised his hands in compliance, one of which was already wrapped around a Coke.

Still, the gaze she flicked over him was mildly disapproving. He didn’t take it personally; disapproval seemed to be her resting state.

Ruth chose that moment to return from the bathroom. She’d insisted on going alone, which had caused her sister to look at her as if she’d grown a second head.

Now, noting the determination in Ruth’s set jaw, the way she rubbed her palms against her legging-clad thighs, Evan suspected she’d been giving herself some kind of pep talk.

Ruth talked to herself. A lot.

He reached for her, but she avoided his hand with a wry smile. “We are not here as a couple,” she said pertly. “So you can’t do couple things.”

He grabbed her anyway and pulled her closer, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “There,” he said. “That wasn’t a couple thing.”

Hannah rolled her eyes.

But Ruth was fighting a pleased little smile, glaring at him without heat. “We’re having a girls’ night out. Go away and do whatever it is you wanted to do.”

“What if I want to chat up the prettiest girl in the room?” He asked. He heard Zach’s groan in the background, heard Hannah’s snort, but only cared about Ruth’s pursed lips, her dancing eyes.

“You can try,” she said primly, “but you will find yourself rejected.” Then she hooked her arm through her sister’s, and the two of them turned to walk away.

But she shot him one last look over her shoulder.

“You two are absolutely sickening,” Zach said.

“Thanks.”

“Actually, you’re sickening. I’m not sure if she even likes you.”

Evan felt a slow grin spread over his face. “I’m sure. I’m very, very sure.”

“Right.” Zach gave him a baffled look. “Shall we sit down?”

They made their way to a table not far from where the girls had settled. Close enough for Evan to keep an eye on them—or rather, on anyone who might approach them. But not close enough for him to hear a word of their conversation, especially over the pub’s cheerful din.

Ruth caught sight of him and gave a slight smile. She’d asked him to come with her tonight. Not with her—she wanted to spend time with her sister. But to be there, in case. She hadn’t said in case of what, and he hadn’t had to ask.

She was nervous. So he’d do this as often as it took, until she wasn’t nervous anymore.

As time passed, Evan relaxed into his seat and into his conversation with Zach. He nursed his Coke, Zach nursed his lager, and hours ticked by while they talked shit about work, T.V., childhood—anything. It was the kind of easy friendship Evan’d had in the army, but beneath it lay a foundation of trust that had snuck up on him. Zach was a good guy. A really good guy, the type that was hard to find. He was also fucking hilarious.

Until he paused mid-joke, the laughter fading from his face, and said, “Evan.”

Evan didn’t have to ask. He followed Zach’s gaze to the pub’s back door, saw Daniel come in from the beer garden with a group of laughing men. They all had drinks in their hands, smiles on their faces, except Daniel. He was subdued, glowering—much as he had been at work, recently.

Evan saw the exact moment that Daniel caught sight of Ruth. The man jolted as if he’d been bitten, his pale cheeks flushing.

Without a second thought, Evan stood. But then Ruth looked over at him, and instead of the worry he’d expected to see on her face, there was only calm. Not the forced blankness that set his teeth on edge, but real, actual calm.

She gave a slight shake of her head.

Evan dragged in a breath. And then, feeling as if his every joint was suddenly stiff, he forced himself to sit back down.

“Take a breath, mate. Relax.”

He didn’t even look at Zach as he answered. His eyes narrowed, pinned to Ruth’s table, Evan said, “No.”

* * *

“You okay?” Hannah murmured.

Ruth straightened in her seat, because a month ago she would’ve slouched. Would’ve made herself small to shrink away from the men approaching their table.

Things were different. She was different. She said, “Yes.” And then she added, “Are you?”

Hannah’s gaze darkened. “You mean, will I control the urge to glass him?”

“Hannah!” Sometimes, out of no-where, Ruth’s proper, sensible, caring sister would come over rather terrifying. It was, frankly, fantastic.

“What?” Hannah demanded, feigning confusion. “Glassing him would be quite restrained, all things considered. Don’t you think?”

And so, when Daniel and his gang finally arrived at their table, the sisters were laughing.

Daniel glared down at them, arms folded, as if he were a teacher catching out unruly students. Ruth felt the carefree humour coursing through her fade away, like champagne going flat.

But fear didn’t arrive in its place. No; the emotion that filled her at the sight of Daniel’s sharp, green eyes was anger.

Ruth stirred the straw through her vodka and orange, and said calmly, “Can I help you?”

Daniel couldn’t have looked more furious if she’d insulted his long-dead mother. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” He demanded. His voice, already deep and strong thanks to his barrel chest, carried. He was drunk.

Oh, great.

Ruth raised her brows. “I’m having a drink with my sister. You know Hannah, Daniel. You identified her—”

“We were at school together,” Daniel interrupted sharply. “Obviously, I know Hannah.”

Hannah, who was currently staring at him with more disgust than she would stare at dog shit on the pavement. Hannah, whose gaze he studiously avoided.

Ruth didn’t miss the feverish gleam in Daniel’s eyes or the slight flush on his cheeks, the one that spoke of panic, of pressure. She took a sip of her drink, watching him closely.

Then she said, “Anything else?”

He shifted. Around him, his friends hovered like dandelion seeds half-blown from the clock. Usually, Daniel surrounded himself with men who made their presence intimidating, men who punctuated his every word with supportive jeers and pats on the back.

These men were familiar faces to Ruth. But they weren’t acting in a familiar manner.

He set his jaw and took in a deep breath—which meant he was searching for the best possible insult. But he must be very drunk indeed, because all he managed to come up with was, “I know you spoke to my father.”

“I’m sure,” Ruth said. “It wasn’t a secret.”

He appeared nonplussed by that. And Ruth noticed, slowly, the realisation trickling into her brain, that the pub had grown quiet. Tense. Whispers bubbled beneath a thick film of silence, and all eyes were pinned to the town’s live melodrama.

Let them watch.

Across the table, Hannah put down her gin and tonic with a sigh. “Look,” she said. “I don’t know if you can tell, but Ruth doesn’t want to talk to you. And I certainly don’t want to.”

Daniel’s flush deepened, until his cheeks were almost as red as his hair. “Is that what you’ve told her, Ruth?” He demanded. “That you don’t want to talk to me?”

Ruth frowned. “I don’t want to talk to you. Why the hell would I?”

His mouth worked for a moment, his nostrils flaring, before he stepped closer. He leaned over the table as if wanting privacy, but when he spoke, his words were embarrassingly loud.

“I know you told me to stop,” he said. “But that’s what you said before! And I kept trying. I waited—”

“This isn’t like before,” Ruth clipped out, awful understanding washing over her. “We were kids. It was pathetic. But I’m not playing hard to get right now, Daniel. I don’t want you to convince me. I want to be left alone.”

Without warning, Daniel slammed a hand against the table, knocking over her drink.

She heard the scrape of multiple chairs as people rose to their feet, heard voices overlap.

“Come on, now, mate—”

“Calm down—”

“Just leave her be—”

Ruth wasn’t paying attention to any of it. She wasn’t even paying attention to the slow drip of liquid spilling from the table’s edge onto her legs. Instead, she sought out Evan, found he and Zach both on their feet, and glared. Hard.

Don’t you dare come over here.

Evan glared right back. You can’t be serious.

She mouthed, clear as day, “Sit.”

He stared at her for a moment, his chest heaving. Then, slowly, he sat.

Relieved, Ruth turned back to Daniel. His friends had hold of him now; one man gripped his shoulder firmly, even as he spoke in soothing words. Another grasped Daniel’s wrist, stilling his right hand, speaking sharply under his breath.

Daniel tugged away and muttered, “I’m fine. I’m fine.” And then he narrowed his eyes at Ruth and spat, “You think I don’t know your latest victim is in here? Watching you like a lapdog?”

Ruth arched a brow, unimpressed. Daniel had always had a way with words, and with metal, and not much else. “I’m assuming you mean Evan,” she said. “My boyfriend.”

Daniel spluttered. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes. It means a man with whom I am in a committed relationship. It’s kind of like how Laura is your wife, only without the legal aspect.”

“You’re jealous,” Daniel spat. “You’re jealous, and it’s petty.”

“I’m tired,” Ruth corrected. She wouldn’t bother pointing out the irony of his words, because he’d never realise it. He’d said them to her years ago, over the phone, when he’d told her about the engagement—casual as anything—and she’d told him to go to hell.

God, this man was exhausting.

“I’m tired of you,” she repeated. “I’m tired of your gifts. I’m tired of your insults. I’m tired of your pathetic, teenage attempts to hold power over me, and I’m tired of telling you no. If you don’t leave me alone…” She took in a deep breath, and felt Hannah’s foot nudge hers beneath the table. A reminder. I’m here.

Everyone was here. The pub’s occupants stared openly now, straining to hear every word. Let them.

Clearing her throat, Ruth said loudly, “If you don’t leave me alone, I will report you to the police for harassment. For—for stalking.”

Daniel clenched his jaw, rising up to his full height despite the fact that he was swaying on his feet. “You wouldn’t do that to me.”

Ruth couldn’t bite back her astonished laughter. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I? You pressed charges against my sister.”

“She destroyed my Porsche,” he replied, painfully serious. “What the fuck was I supposed to do? That was a vintage 911, Ruth!”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” she snapped. “Shut up about the fucking car. I am asking you, nicely, to leave me alone. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

Daniel straightened up, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking around the pub. Apparently for the first time, he realised that almost every patron was staring at their little table. She saw the gleam of sweat on his pale brow before he adjusted the cuffs of his designer shirt.

Then, turning on his heel, he barked at his friends, “Come.” Without waiting for their response, he strode off towards the door.

For a moment, the men he’d come in with stared after him in shock. Then, one by one, like trickles of water, they trailed out after him.

The last, a tall, dark man Ruth only vaguely recognised, paused. He nodded at Ruth, then at Hannah, and said roughly, “Sorry about that, girls. One too many.” And then he left.

The sisters stared after him in shock.

“Did he—did he just apologise to us?” Ruth asked, her voice dreamlike.

“He did,” Hannah said slowly. “Holy shit. What the fuck?”

“I don’t even know. Jesus, that was weird. Wow.” And then, after a moment of dazed contemplation: “Poor Laura.”

Hannah snorted. “Poor Laura?! Laura, who tells everyone who’ll listen what a man-eating slut you are? Laura, who campaigned to have me banned from the town centre as an unsuitable person?”

“You know, I’m sure that was just a rumour,” Ruth soothed.

“Was it fuck. She’s bonkers.”

Right. She was also with Daniel. And Ruth had never convinced herself that he’d treat a wife better than he’d treated her. It wouldn't matter who he was with, how he was with them, what ‘kind’ of woman she was. Daniel was Daniel. Daniel hurt people.

She imagined being his wife, carrying his child, and felt slightly sick.

“At the end of the day,” Hannah said decisively, “she treated us like crap.”

“Yeah,” Ruth murmured. “And I bet it didn’t improve her life one bit.”

Hannah stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. Then she opened her mouth, probably to say as much—but was interrupted by Evan’s arrival.

“You okay?” He loomed over the table, reaching out to run a knuckle over Ruth’s cheek. Another casual touch that felt anything but casual. There were so many. She’d never expected to love them or need them like this.

“I’m fine,” she said, and realised that it was true.

“Do you want to leave?”

She looked past him, her eyes circling the room, meeting the gaze of anyone still staring. And, one by one, they all looked away.

“No,” she said finally. “I think I’m having fun.”

A smile spread over Evan’s face, and he squeezed her shoulder. “Okay. Good.”

As the evening went on, that word turned out to be fitting. Good.