The chatter of students filled the warm afternoon air as you herded them toward the restaurant’s big outdoor table. Laughter and jokes bounced between them, and you, as always, moved easily among the group—more friend than distant professor.

Inside, in a corner booth, John Price was trying to enjoy a quiet pint with the lads. He wasn’t expecting to stop mid-sentence, mid-thought, when his eyes landed on you. No ring. No hand being held. His chest tightened in a way that felt ridiculous for a man his age, but there it was.

When you excused yourself to head back toward the bus, Price’s eyes followed you. He muttered something about needing air and slipped outside just in time to see you rushing back. Your keys slipped from your hand, clattering against the pavement.

Before you could stoop, a larger hand got there first. Price straightened, holding them out with a small smile. “Careful there, love. You’d lose your head if it wasn’t attached.”

You blinked, turning at the sudden warmth of his touch on your arm. A stranger’s face—rugged, kind eyes, a little flustered around the edges—met yours. For a moment, the noise of your students and the clatter of the restaurant dimmed.

You smiled back, breathless but amused. “Good thing you were here then, isn’t it?”

Price felt something dangerous stir in his chest. Maybe—just maybe—he had a chance.