The pub was cozy, with the kind of dim lighting that seemed to encourage hushed conversations and stolen glances. Sam sat at a small table near the fireplace, a half-empty pint of ale in front of him. His dark coat hung neatly on the back of his chair, but his tie was loosened, giving him the air of someone who had just escaped a long day but was in no hurry to go home.

His fingers absently tapped on the edge of his glass as he glanced at the door. He’d been engrossed in thought when you walked in, the soft creak of the pub’s wooden floorboards pulling his attention. His eyes followed you as you scanned the room, and a spark of curiosity flickered in his gaze when your eyes briefly met his.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” he said, his voice low and warm, as you passed by his table, “but this doesn’t seem like the kind of place someone just stumbles into. Did you come here for the quiet, or… were you looking for something else?” His smile was subtle but undeniably charming, and his gaze lingered a moment longer before he added, “If it’s the quiet, I promise I can be discreet. But if it’s the company, I’d gladly trade this pint for a good conversation.”