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eyes trained on the guiding light of the sign. Though at this point, my focus lies in relieving myself of the first half of my snakebite.” Then omit the rest of the phrase about bellying up to the bar. So when I hear my name, my last name, I freeze.
    “Brooks?”
    Sam’s the only one who calls me this with any regularity. But Sam’s in Illinois. In fact, it’s not a girl’s voice at all. It’s just my name, a simple word. I hear it all the time. But his is more than a simple voice, though I’ve only heard it twice. And somehow my name means something new altogether, something that lodges my stomach in my throat. “Jordan Brooks, right? Salt-and-vinegar crisps? Unfortunate recipient of unintentional attack by a loo occupant?” His teasing does nothing to urge my stomach back to where it belongs.
    Shit. Turn around, Jordan. Move your feet and turn around.
    I take my third-person advice and pivot to face him.
    “Noah!”
    My hand flies to my mouth on instinct. Though I have every intention of speaking when I face him, I didn’t yell his name. Whoever did must be attached to the arms that wrap around his midsection from behind.
    Noah’s jaw tightens when his eyes meet mine, and I shake my head, a soft, bitter laugh escaping my lips. He breathes out a heavy sigh and conceals whatever he just let me see—Regret? Remorse?—with a lazy smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.
    The girl behind Noah swivels around to face him, her long, honey hair now a barrier between his face and mine. I wonder if when he sees her, his smile fills the rest of his face.
    “I looked for you at the bar but couldn’t find you, and we wanted to get another round of those snake thingies.”
    Her voice, of course, is as gorgeous as her hair, and I don’t need to see her face to know she’s got the whole package. I suddenly feel small and not because of her Amazonian stature. I’m dwarfed by her entire presence, wholly invisible until I hear Noah respond.
    “Hailey, this is Jordan. She was on the train with me from London.”
    Noah’s voice betrays nothing of what happened between us. But I see it, the resignation in his eyes. Hailey gives no hint of noticing, but it’s there.
    He maneuvers her to face me, the relief in him remembering I am here diminished by the formality of his using my first name.
    Of course she has a name like Hailey, bright and bubbly and lovely, like the girl who wears it.
    Only now do I notice Noah’s damp hair and change of clothes. In a black T-shirt and jeans, he stands fresh and showered. My memory reinvents his scent. In the cool, damp Scottish autumn, all I smell is spring.
    Apples, I think. I should be smelling apples. I came here with Griffin, and I can’t believe I gave him shit for being like every other guy I’ve encountered in my college career. I thought Noah and I connected over the power of words, Fitzgerald’s and even my own. But it was nothing but manipulation. I pierce him with my gaze, silently chastising myself for falling for his Gatsby bit. The book is probably nothing more than a hook-up prop.
    “Apples,” I say.
    That wasn’t supposed to be out loud.
    Noah’s brow furrows, but he’s smiling, and my stomach contracts at the sight of it. Good God, something is seriously wrong with me.
    “Cider, from apples,” I continue. “It’s what makes the drink taste so good. Did you get it with black?” Nice save, Jordan. I’m sure neither of them think you’re deranged.
    “No! What’s black?” I want to ignore Hailey’s earnestness, and that she’s beautiful, sweet, and with Noah.
    “Go order a snakebite with black, and you’ll see what I mean.”
    She beams and turns toward Noah. “You want one?”
    Noah raises a pint of Guinness to signal his answer, and Hailey bounces once before heading back to the bar.
    “You weren’t on the bus,” I say it as if I’m owed an explanation.
    He looks at me, cocking his head to the side, and despite my uneasiness about, well,