Chapter Six #2
He was tall and lean, with dark hair styled deliberately rather than simply existing.
He wore a camel coat over a blue sweater that looked so much like cashmere Eva could practically feel it from across the room.
His smile, when he flashed it at the bartender, was the work of orthodontics that someone had paid dearly for.
“Oliver! How are you, mate? Gin and tonic, double lime,” he called, his accent more London than Yorkshire.
“Aidan! As I live and breathe,” the bartender replied. “Haven’t seen you since summer. What brings you up from London?”
At the bar, Charlie straightened, his shoulders tensing visibly. He drained his whiskey in one swallow but didn’t immediately leave.
“Business, unfortunately. Though it’s always good to be home. How’s Nancy?”
“Pregnant. Again.”
“Congratulations! Or condolences. Whichever’s more appropriate.”
Eva watched the exchange with interest, trying not to be obvious about it. The new arrival—Aidan—had the easy charm of someone accustomed to being welcome anywhere. He scanned the pub as Oliver prepared his drink, and his eyes landed first on Charlie, then on Eva.
Recognition, followed by something else—curiosity, maybe—flashed across his face. He collected his drink and, rather than acknowledging Charlie, headed straight for Eva’s table.
“You must be the American staying at Florence’s,” he said, his smile turning up a notch. “I’m Aidan. May I?” He gestured to the empty seat across from her.
God, word does travel fast around here, doesn’t it?
Eva thought to herself. Suddenly conscious of having vinegar and grease on her fingers and probably her face, she wiped her hands hurriedly on a napkin.
Eva wondered if she had tartar sauce on her chin, but quickly realised that if she did it was far too late to try to save the situation.
Nothing like meeting an impossibly polished man while you’re mid-bite into fried food.
“Eva,” she said, making a quick calculation that refusing him would be awkward in a place this small. “Please, sit.”
He slid into the booth with the kind of grace that suggested he’d never awkwardly bumped a table or knocked over a saltshaker in his life. “So, what brings you to our little corner of England? Most Americans stick to London and Edinburgh.”
“I needed a change of scenery,” Eva said, which wasn’t exactly a lie. “York seemed … interesting.”
“Interesting is one word for it,” Aidan said, sipping his drink. “I’d go with ‘stubbornly resistant to the passage of time.’”
“You don’t like it here?”
“I grew up here. It’s complicated.” He gestured around the pub. “Places like this—they’ve got charm, history, atmosphere. But they’re dying. They can’t adapt, can’t compete.”
“With what?” Eva asked.
“Progress. Chain hotels. Modern amenities.” He leaned forward slightly. “Most people say they want authentic experiences until they realise authentic means draughty rooms, weird plumbing, and Wi-Fi that works when it feels like it.”
Eva thought of the Riddle he clings to the past. That’s always been our difference.”
“Your ‘future’ tends to come with eviction notices for whoever gets in the way,” Charlie said quietly.
“My future comes with jobs and investment. But we’ve had this argument before.” Aidan sipped his drink. “No point rehashing old debates in front of company. Eva doesn’t want to hear this crap does she?”
Eva watched the exchange, wondering about their history. They clearly knew each other well enough to know exactly which buttons to push, but there was something deeper here than a silly schoolboy rivalry. There was a fundamental disagreement about what York should be.
Charlie’s jaw worked for a moment. Then he looked at Eva. “Be careful,” he said simply, before turning and heading back to the bar.
“Don’t mind Charlie,” Aidan said once he was out of earshot. “We’ve never seen eye to eye. Different values, different visions. He thinks I’m destroying York’s soul. I think he’s keeping it trapped in amber.”
“How long have you known each other?” Eva asked, watching Charlie’s rigid back at the bar.
“Since we were boys. Went to the same school, ran in the same circles for a while.” Aidan’s expression grew thoughtful. “We were even interested in the same things once upon a time. But that was a long time ago.”
Eva wondered what—or who—they’d been interested in. If only she knew what they competed for, maybe she’d understand more. She didn’t dare to ask.
“Anyway,” Aidan said, brightening again. “I actually wanted to ask—I’m having drinks with some investors later in the week. Nothing formal, just a nice wine bar. I’d love to show you the parts of York that might actually have a future. If you’re interested?”
Eva looked at him carefully. In Nashville, this would be simple—a good-looking and successful man asking her out.
She’d jumped when Richard had looked her way.
He’d been exactly what her mom had said she needed.
But here, everything felt different. She wasn’t the same Eva who’d dated Richard, who’d planned her outfits around his preferences, who’d laughed at jokes that weren’t funny.
“Just to be clear, this isn’t a date, right?” she said finally.
Aidan looked taken aback for a moment, then laughed. “Hey, I was offering you a networking opportunity, but it can be whatever you want it to be Eva,” he said smoothly. “No pressure. Just a local showing a visitor the best of York. The real York.”
“The real York,” Eva repeated, glancing towards where Charlie sat hunched at the bar. “Everyone seems to have a different definition of that.”
“Well, my version comes with decent wine and heating that actually works,” Aidan said. “What do you say?”
“Why not?” Eva said, surprising herself. “I’ve got to be upfront with you though, I recently got out of a relationship, and I’m not looking to—”
“Say no more,” Aidan held up his hands. “Like I said, you’ll be amongst friends. No pressure.”
They chatted a bit more, with Aidan asking about her travel plans, whether she’d been to London, if she’d visited Paris or Rome—anywhere, it seemed, but here. When Eva mentioned she was researching local history, specifically someone named Margaret Wells, Aidan’s response was tellingly brief.
“Margaret Wells,” he repeated with a slight shrug, swirling his drink. “Oh yes, one of those local stories. York’s full of them—everyone’s got a tale about someone who did something once upon a time.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, have you been to the Met in New York? That’s real culture.”
As they finished their drinks, Eva couldn’t help wondering what Florence might say about Aidan and his development projects. The way Trinkett had spoken about developers turning pubs into luxury flats, she suspected she might have strong opinions.
“Well, I should get going,” Aidan said, sliding gracefully from the booth. “Meetings with investors wait for no man.” He pulled out his wallet and dropped enough money on the table to cover both their bills, waving away Eva’s protest. “Please. It’s the least I can do to welcome you to York.”
“Thank you,” Eva said, still feeling off-balance. “For the drink and the conversation.”
As Aidan prepared to leave, he paused by Charlie’s spot at the bar. Eva couldn’t hear what was said, but she saw Charlie’s knuckles whiten around his glass. Aidan clapped him on the shoulder—a gesture that looked friendly from a distance but made Charlie flinch—then strode out into the night.
Eva waited a moment, then found herself walking to the bar. “Are you okay?”
Charlie didn’t look at her. “You should be careful around him.”
“Because he’s a developer?”
“Because he’s very good at making people think he cares about what they care about.” Charlie finally met her eyes. “Right up until he doesn’t need them anymore.”
“You two have history,” Eva said softly. It wasn’t a question.
“Ancient history.” Charlie’s laugh was bitter. “The kind that’s well and truly buried. I’d appreciate it if you just dropped it.” He stood abruptly, Tilly immediately at attention. “Enjoy your evening, Eva. Try not to let him sell you any bridges.”
After he left, Eva lingered at the table, finishing her drink. Aidan was certainly charming. Polished. Professional. Everything Richard had aspired to be, down to the cashmere sweater and perfect teeth.
And yet.
There was something about Charlie—gruff, difficult Charlie with his ink-stained hands and disdain for tourists—that felt more genuine. More real. The way he’d looked when she’d defended his maps, like she’d handed him something precious he’d thought lost.
The green book sat in her bag, a constant reminder of why she was really here. Tomorrow evening, Aidan would show her what he considered to be the ‘real York’—whatever that meant.
But watching the two men interact, Eva wondered if she’d just witnessed something more real than either intended to show.
Old wounds, old competitions, different visions for the same beloved city.
And she wondered why being caught between them felt like being asked to choose between two different versions of the same story.
She paid for her own meal (leaving the money Aidan had set down for the bartender as a generous tip) and stepped out into the cold night air.
York was beautiful at night, the medieval buildings lit with a soft glow that blurred their edges against the dark sky.
The sound of laughter and music drifted from pubs and restaurants, and the Christmas lights strung across the narrow streets cast star-like reflections in puddles.
Eva walked slowly, in no hurry to return to the inn. Here, in this moment, she felt oddly free—not Eva Coleman, daughter of Sandy, ex-girlfriend of Richard, passed-over employee of Monarch Music. Just Eva, following a mystery through an ancient city, with no expectations other than her own.
And definitely not the Eva who’d thought a meal deal counted as experiencing British cuisine. Florence would never let her live that down and neither would Courtney (she regretted texting her friend that update now).
But she was also no longer the Eva who would have automatically sided with the polished, professional man, with the voice of her mother in the back of her mind. Something in York was changing her, helping her see past surfaces to what lay beneath.
For now, that was enough.