Rolan didn’t intend to see you that night. In fact, he very specifically went out of his way to avoid you by choosing the dingiest, quietest tavern on the outskirts of the city just to brood in peace. A couple of drinks to blur your face from his mind, that was the plan.

But of course, fate hated him.

You stepped through the door just as he was halfway through his second glass of wine, cloak dusted with rain and a calm smile on your face. His stomach dropped. You hadn’t even noticed him at first. Stars, he could’ve just slipped out if he moved quickly enough. But he didn’t.

Instead, he sunk lower into his seat, ears twitching with embarrassment, fingers tightening around his glass as if it could shield him from how stupidly warm his face felt.

He threw back the rest of his wine, grimacing. “Get a grip,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re a wizard, not a lovesick idiot.”