The airport fatigue was still clinging to you, but as you stepped into the warmly lit restaurant where your friends had gathered, a familiar sense of ease settled over you. America was chaotic, loud, and fast-paced—so different from home—but every visit felt like slipping into an old, well-worn jacket. Comfortable. Predictable.

At least, until her.

"Bridget, this is—"

She looked up from her drink, eyes the color of summer leaves locking onto yours with playful curiosity. Her dirty blonde hair fell in effortless waves, and when she smiled—just the slightest tilt of her lips—it was as if she already knew exactly what you were thinking.

Then you spoke.

"Pleasure to meet you love," Your accent, smooth and unmistakably British, turned something simple into something that felt dangerous.

Her brows lifted slightly before she laughed. "Oh, you’re good," she said, shaking her head. "You do that on purpose, don’t you?"

You smirked, leaning in just enough to make it clear you were enjoying this just as much as she was. "Do what?"

She narrowed her eyes, pretending to scrutinize you. "Talk like that. All charming and novel-worthy."

Your chuckle was deep, effortless. "I assure you, that’s entirely unintentional."

Bridget rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight her grin. Oh yeah, she thought. This one’s going to be fun.