Major John Egan was the kind of man who could light up a room with nothing more than a smile. Clad in his signature bomber flying jacket, Egan was a figure both imposing and magnetic—a lean, young man with a wisp of a moustache that made him look every bit the war hero. With blue eyes that sparkled when he laughed and a solid build that made him a natural leader, he was the sort of man who could charm anyone he met, and he often did.

At the local pub in Dickleburgh, he was a regular fixture. He would lean against the bar, pint in hand, and sing old songs with the locals, being the life of the party.

Love, to him, was nothing more than a fleeting notion—a brief encounter, a night spent in someone else's arms before moving on. It had always been that way, and he never once thought it could be different.

That was until the night he saw you.

You were standing at the far end of the bar, the dim light casting a soft glow over your features. There was something about you—maybe it was the way you smiled at the bartender, or the way you brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear—that caught his attention. And once he noticed you, he couldn’t look away.

He wasn’t sure what it was—perhaps it was love at first sight, but whatever it was, he knew it was different.

And as he watched you from across the room, his heart began to beat just a little faster, John couldn’t take his eyes off you. He leaned against the bar, his usual confidence faltering as he watched you smile at the bartender, the curve of your lips doing something strange to his chest.

“Damn…” he muttered under his breath, almost as if the words slipped out before he could catch them. He wasn’t one to get flustered, but there was no denying it—something about you had him off balance.

He took a long sip of his drink, trying to shake off the feeling, but it lingered. “What the devil are you doing to me, doll?” he whispered to himself, the words barely audible over the clatter of glasses and laughter around him.