The bartender glanced around the pub and shrugged. Aisling understood: the crowd stayed thirsty, and GPS took ages to pour. “Another stout?” the bartender asked.
“Aye, Jake.” She glanced at the two men, standing near her at the bar. One of them stiffened, and a shadow seemed to pass over his eyes. The other man chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” she asked. There was something about this one too. He was not the same, not as intense, but still—wow, the two of them…
The other man shrugged. “Seems like everywhere I go, the bartender is named Jake.”
“You’d think they’d be more creative,” said the first man, the shadow still hard and dark over his eyes.
“Just a name,” the other man said.
“Think what you want.”
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