Chapter 3
Philip
Up close, he’s trouble.
Not in an obvious way.
There’s nothing loud about him. No performance, no edge that warns you off. If anything, it’s the opposite. He looks like someone you’d trust without thinking about it.
Which is significantly worse.
“Hi,” he says.
His voice is lower than I expected. Calm. Like he’s not trying to impress me and doesn’t need to.
I take a sip of my drink before answering, mostly to give myself a second.
“Hi.”
Effortless. Truly.
He doesn’t seem to mind.
“I’m Mark.”
“Philip.”
He nods once, like that’s all he needs, then glances briefly at the table I sat with my friends before looking back at me.
“Good night?” he asks.
I follow his glance. The chairs have already been claimed by someone else. The glasses are gone. It’s like we were never there.
“It was,” I say. “Very educational.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Apparently I’m both indispensable and impossible to replace. Which I assume means they’ll be absolutely fine without me by next week.”
His mouth curves slightly. “Work thing, then?”
“Mm.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m an editor.”
“That fits.”
“I’m not sure how to take that.”
“You listen first,” he says. “Most people don’t.”
That lands a bit too cleanly.
I take another sip of my drink. “Careful. If you keep being observant, I’ll have to assume you’re interesting.”
“Bit of a risk.”
“It is.”
“Worth it?”
I meet his gaze. “Undecided.”
Something flickers there. Quick. Contained.
“You changing jobs?” he asks.
I hesitate, just for a second.
“Something like that.”
His eyebrows lift slightly. “Sounds intriguing.”
“I’m moving to Toronto.”
“Oh. When?”
“Wednesday.”
“That’s soon.”
“Alarmingly so.”
He exhales quietly, not surprised exactly, but like he’s adjusting something in his head.
“Not a small change, then.”
“No. I do like to commit to my bad decisions.”
That gets a proper smile. Dimples on full display.
I take another sip of my drink and immediately regret engaging at all.
This is how complications start.
“Can I get you another?” he asks, nodding at my glass.
I look down at it. Still half full.
“I’m pacing myself.”
“Right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“Not really.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
I shake my head with a grin. “Fine. Yes. You can get me another. But if this turns into a series of increasingly questionable choices, I’m holding you responsible.”
“Seems fair.”
He turns to the bar, orders without fuss.
“Same again,” he says, then, “and a Coke.”
I glance at him. “Coke?”
He looks back at me, easy. “I’m not a big drinker.”
“Oh.”
I'm not sure why that surprises me.
The bartender brings the drinks. Mark slides mine towards me, keeps the Coke for himself.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
We both take a sip.
“So,” I say, because apparently I’ve decided to keep this going, “do you often just walk up to strangers in bars and introduce yourself, or have I been specially selected?”
“Don’t usually,” he says.
“So I am a special case.”
“Yeah.”
I raise an eyebrow. “You’re either very honest or very good at this.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“Still undecided.”
He smiles again, softer this time.
Right.
This is a problem.
I shift slightly, suddenly aware that I’ve been standing here longer than intended. That I haven’t even considered leaving.
That I don’t particularly want to.
“Do you want to sit?” I ask, nodding towards a small table in the back. “Before someone else claims the idea of it.”
He glances over, then back at me. “Yeah.”
We move through the crowd together, not quite touching, but close enough that I’m aware of him in a way that feels new.
I set my glass down and sit. He takes the chair opposite.
“So,” I say, leaning back slightly, “tell me something interesting.”
He watches me for a second.
“I’ve got a place by the sea,” he says.
I blink. “That’s your opening line?”
“You asked for interesting.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of hobbies. Or a mildly tragic childhood anecdote.”
“Those can come later.”
I take a sip of my drink. “Where's your place?”
“Whitstable.”
“Nice,” I say. “Very… oysters and weekend escapes.”
“Something like that.”
“And you just casually drop that into conversation with strangers.”
“Not usually.”
“Right. Special case again.”
“Yeah.”
I shift slightly in my seat, aware of the way the air between us has changed without quite being able to pinpoint when it happened.
“And what about you?” he asks.
“What about me?”
“You always this easy to talk to?”
I let out a short laugh. “Absolutely not. This is highly unusual behaviour.”
“Good to know.”
“And what are you suggesting?” I ask, quieter now.
He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.
“Come away with me,” he says.
I frown. “When?”
“Tonight.”
I blink.
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s…” I let out a short breath, half a laugh. “That’s even worse.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. It absolutely is.”
“Whitstable’s an hour and a half.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Maybe not.”
I sit back, running a hand through my hair.
I plan. I think things through. I don’t get invited away by a man I met—what—twenty minutes ago and even consider it.
And yet.
I am considering it.
Which is, frankly, more concerning than the invitation itself.
“I don’t even know you,” I say.
“You know enough.”
“You planned this?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “But I’m ready for it.”
I stare at him.
At the steadiness. The lack of hesitation. The fact that he’s not pushing, not trying to sell it, just… putting it there.
“I have things to do,” I say. “Packing. Work. Actual responsibilities.”
“You’ve got four days.”
“Five.”
“Close enough.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “This is ridiculous.”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re fine with that.”
“I am.”
I look down at my drink, then back at him.
“This is a terrible idea,” I say and I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince him or me.
“Probably.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“And you’re still suggesting it.”
“Yeah.”
I shake my head again, but there’s no real conviction in it.
Because the truth is—
I haven’t said no.
And that’s the part that unsettles me most.