The sun had slipped lower, staining the horizon in shades of orange and violet. The bar had grown busier, voices and laughter rising around them, but Katherine found her attention circling back to the man at the next table.
He hadn't moved to join her. He hadn't even properly introduced himself. Yet somehow, she found herself wanting to keep the thread of conversation alive.
"You said you watch people," she reminded him, her glass turning slowly in her hand. "And what exactly do you see when you do that?"
He gave her a look that was more thoughtful than curious. "Patterns. Who's pretending. Who's hunting. Who's trying too hard." His mouth curved faintly. "Like that man earlier. He walked over knowing he'd already lost."
Katherine arched a brow. "And you didn't?"
"No." He took a measured sip of his drink. "Because I didn't walk over."
The answer was simple, but it settled in the space between them with weight. Katherine leaned back in her chair, studying him openly now.
"You're confident," she said.
"Not particularly." He shrugged. "Just not interested in chasing."
That disarmed her more than she cared to admit. She was used to people clawing for her attention—whether it was a board member, a journalist, or a suitor in disguise. This man's calm detachment was unsettling in its own way.
"And yet," she said slowly, "you're still talking to me."
He smiled at that, but didn't rush his reply. "Because you answered back. That's different."
For a long moment, Katherine didn't know what to say. The scotch burned pleasantly as she drank, and the noise around them seemed to dull. She felt the knot in her shoulders ease, only slightly, but enough to notice.
"I came here to get away," she said before she could stop herself.
His gaze flicked toward her, steady and quiet. "From what?"
The question was casual, but it reached deeper than she expected. She hesitated, the old instinct to guard her words tightening in her chest. Telling strangers the truth had never been her habit. But maybe that was the appeal. He wasn't asking for details, and he didn't look like a man who read business pages or recognized her name.
"Noise," she said finally. "People with too many opinions. People who don't know when to stop talking."
He chuckled once, low and genuine. "I know the type."
She found herself almost smiling again. "Do you?"
"Yes. They're everywhere." He tilted his glass toward her, as if in agreement with her complaint. "But they don't sit at your table unless you let them."
The words lingered. Katherine looked out at the water, the lights of the town flickering against the waves. She didn't reply right away. Something about his tone made her feel… steadier.
After a while, she asked, "And what about you? Why are you here?"
He leaned back, his expression unreadable in the dim light. "Same reason. To get away. People tend to expect too much."
The simplicity of it almost made her laugh. It was the first honest-sounding thing she had heard in weeks.
"I'll drink to that," she said softly, raising her glass.
His glass met hers with the faintest clink. "Salute."
The accent slid out more clearly this time, and Katherine caught it. Smooth, controlled, but undeniably Italian. She wondered how she had missed it before.
She didn't ask his name. He didn't ask for hers. Somehow, it felt better that way.
---
The morning air was lighter than the night before, carrying the salt of the sea and the chatter of tourists spilling into cafés. Katherine had walked further than usual, a coffee in one hand and her sunglasses shielding her from the sun that glittered across the Amalfi coast.
She hadn't expected to see him again.
But there he was. At a quiet corner table overlooking the water, the same air of unhurried ease around him. A folded newspaper sat untouched at his elbow, and he seemed more interested in watching the boats drift across the horizon.
He glanced up once, as if her shadow crossing the cobblestones had caught his attention. And then he smiled—small, almost knowing.
Katherine slowed, debating whether to keep walking. Before she could decide, he tipped his head toward the empty chair across from him. Not insistent. Just an invitation.
For reasons she didn't bother to analyze, she sat.
"You again," she said, her voice dry but not unkind.
"You sound surprised," he replied.
"I am." She set her cup down. "Most men I meet aren't so easy to find twice."
"Maybe they're trying too hard."
She gave him a look. "And you're not?"
"No." He leaned back, unbothered. "Trying implies I want something."
The remark was strange, but it landed with a kind of clarity she couldn't dismiss. Katherine crossed her legs and studied him more carefully. He was dressed simply again, nothing branded, nothing loud, but carried himself like a man who didn't need to prove a thing.
Silence stretched between them until she broke it. "I didn't get your name last night."
He smiled faintly, as though he'd been expecting the question. "Alessandro."
"Just Alessandro?"
"That depends on who's asking." His tone was light, but the undercurrent was deliberate.
Katherine arched a brow. "Do you always answer like that?"
"Only when it works."
She almost laughed, despite herself. There was something infuriating in his evasiveness, but at the same time, it wasn't the arrogance she was used to. It was… intrigue. A kind of mystery that drew her in rather than pushed her away.
"Fine," she said, tilting her head. "Katherine."
He held her gaze as if memorizing it. Then, with the same calmness, he said, "Nice to meet you, Katherine."
The sound of her name in his voice sent an odd ripple through her, though she ignored it, busying herself with her coffee.
"Do you live here?" she asked, trying to redirect.
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes," she repeated, unimpressed. "You're not much for details, are you?"
"Depends on the company." He glanced toward her cup, then back at her. "You're not here on holiday."
The statement—not question—caught her off guard. She narrowed her eyes slightly. "And what makes you say that?"
"You don't look like someone who came to relax." He gestured idly, almost amused. "Even now, you're counting minutes."
Her lips parted, a retort ready, but she shut it again. Because he wasn't wrong. Even here, away from the boardrooms and family whispers, she had felt the tension of a clock ticking in the back of her head.
"That's an interesting observation," she said carefully.
"Not really." He folded his paper and set it aside. "Some people carry their world with them, no matter where they go. You're one of them."
Katherine stared at him, caught between irritation and curiosity. It had taken most people in her world years to see past the surface. This man had done it in two conversations.
And worse? He wasn't even trying.
---
To be continued...