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Dan intercepted her at the edge of the stage while she was working out the fastest route to the exit.

“Now that was a good match,” he said. It didn’t sound like a consolation. It sounded like praise. And possibly like flirting. Tempest’s heart was off to the races again.

“Thanks. You too.”

“Can I buy you a drink? There’s a decent place two doors down, if you’re not in a rush.” He smiled, and this time it was closer to the one she remembered from the bookstore. The real one. “I’d love to chat some more with you.”

“Sure,” she said before she could stop herself.

The bar was sleepy, crusty and old, with fixtures and fittings that seemed to have been there for the better part of a century. Tempest loved it. It was an atmospheric sort of place that always seems to materialize in movies but is much harder to find in real life. She and Dan had the dark wood, brass fittings and red vinyl seats almost all to themselves.

Dan ordered without cracking a menu and Tempest said she’d have whatever he was having because she couldn’t bring herself to stop staring at his philtrum. She had no idea what was in an Old Fashioned, but she was game to try it.

The drinks arrived quickly, with smoke still swirling on the surface. Impressive for an Ordinary bar. Tempest took a tentative sip. Her eyes flew open. How had she never ordered one of these before? It was the perfect blend of smoky, sweet and tart. She hadn’t expected that. But then she hadn’t expected any of the things that were happening tonight.

She settled back into her seat, willing herself not to stare at Dan too much. He was so beautiful. Meanwhile, the scarf on her head was slipping and she could feel her hair growing larger, escaping its silky confines. It had been hours since she’d reapplied her lipstick and there was a chili oil stain on her shirt. Why hadn’t she noticed that earlier?

Fortunately, Dan was very easy to talk to. He asked good questions, the kind that showed he’d been listening to the previous answer, and he had opinions she didn’t always agree with, which made it interesting. It was so much better than writing in the margins of his book. Despite her overwhelming self-consciousness, he somehow made her feel at ease.

At one point, they argued about the scoring format. Dan thought the buzzers weren’t fair and that they penalized slower processors.

“Some people need an extra second or two to convert knowledge into language,” Dan insisted.

Tempest disagreed.

“Two seconds won’t make a difference. If you know it, you know it,” she said. “There’s enough time. The buzzer’s not testing how fast you think. It’s about forcing you to commit.”

“That’s a very unique way of looking at it.”

“It’s the correct way of looking at it.” She grinned.

Dan smiled back at her, not conceding, just reacting to her enthusiasm. She stared down and swirled the cherry around the ball of ice in her drink.

They agreed about the quality of the quarter-final questions. He mentioned a category that had gone wrong in the third round, and she saw him frown and recalibrate something when she reminded him she hadn’t watched that round, because she’d been in the opposite bracket.

“Right. Of course,” Dan said. He paused, turning his glass on the table. “I don’t know why I keep thinking we crossed paths earlier.”

Tempest wrapped both hands around her cool glass and said nothing.

“You seem so familiar,” he said, not pressing, but noting it. He’d picked up a beer-branded paper coaster from the stack on the table and pulled his pen from his pocket. “Have you been on the circuit long?”

“Just a few months.”

“Hmm.” He was turning the coaster over, drawing something on the back. She watched his hands without meaning to. He had good, strong, hands. The kind that looked equally comfortable holding a pen or building something. She was thinking about his forearms when he suddenly stopped what he was doing and pushed up his sleeves.

If she was a more powerful witch, she might have chalked it up to an accidental compulsion charm. But much as she’d been dying to get a better look at his arms, she didn’t think she was that witch.

Tempest felt a guilty blush creeping across her face. Reluctantly she tore her eyes away and tried to return her gaze to his face. This was not any easier, as it happened. His eyes were so blue. That gorgeous, irresistible, tropical ocean blue. She wanted to dive in.

“Where did you start out?” Dan asked.

“Start out?” she asked, absent-mindedly, still lost in his eyes. Were his pupils expanding?

“I think what I meant to say is where are you from?” Dan nudged her playfully. His touch was warm.

“Oh.” Tempest smiled. “Of course. I’m from the west coast,” she said, answering vaguely.

Dan considered this, still not looking at the coaster he was doodling on. “I don’t get out to the west coast often but I was in the Pacific Northwest recently. Portland, specifically. There’s an awesome independent bookstore there that does signings. Maybe you’ve heard of it?” He glanced down at what he’d been drawing, seemed mildly surprised by it, and pushed it a few inches toward her across the table.