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“No?”

Tristan was looking at her the way he always did. Boldly and straight into her eyes.

“No.” She pointed off into the distance to a structure she could not identify from here. “What is that?”

“The mill,” he said as they approached a two-story building. While the lower roof was made of stone, the upper layer was some sort of clay that seemed to have been mixed with hay. A sign depicted a fox and a goose, though it gave no other indication of what was inside.

“What is it?” she asked as he opened the door.

“A tavern,” he said. “The Fox and Goose.”

She turned back to give him a look that said, Seriously? That was the name of the tavern? Apparently he was. The name was as clever as the one Allie had given to the family cat when they were kids. She and Caroline teased their little sister mercilessly for naming her “Kitty.” But to be fair, they had gone along with it.

When she stepped inside, Hannah smiled. For a moment, she felt like she was back home. At least the old-style taverns in Boston had gotten something right. Wood everywhere and a stone fireplace, which adorned one wall, made it distinctly British-looking. Darker than it should be given that it was daytime, it was also much busier than she expected. Shouldn’t the men be working in the field?

“So many people here,” she whispered.

“During high season, it might be unusual for such a crowd this time of the day. But during low season?” He shrugged. “And it’s nearly time for dinner,” he said.

“You mean lunch,” Hannah teased.

“My lord.” A serving girl winked at him as she walked by.

“She literally winked at you.” Hannah sat opposite Tristan at a small table near the back of the hall.

“I won’t ask what that means,” he said, raising his hand in the air.

A moment later, another woman, this one much older, approached them.

“My lord?” she said. “Ale and a meal?”

“Aye,” Tristan said, his smile making the serving maid flush. She couldn’t be a year younger than fifty, but his appeal was ageless.

“It means,” she whispered as Tristan seemed to nod and smile at every single person in the room, “that she likes you.”

He turned his attention to her. “Does it now?”

Was he really that dense? “People don’t just go around winking at each other willy-nilly. And certainly not at the lord, unless . . .” She stopped talking. “Oh.”

Of course, she couldn’t care less if they’d already slept together. Hannah only glanced back at the girl . . . nay, she was very much a woman . . . out of curiosity. When she shifted her attention back to the table, Tristan was looking at her.

She didn’t like that look. God help her, she could not resist that look.

“Aye?” she asked. Hannah loved that word. If she ever made it back home, she was taking it with her. She smiled. Everyone would think she had gone batshit crazy.

“We are at the tavern. Now what do we do?”

“What do you mean, now—”

The cad.

Tristan sat back and crossed his arms, waiting for her to understand what he’d done. She couldn’t resist the smile that spread across her face.

“A date,” she said, though it wasn’t quite a question. “You think we’re on a date?”

Hannah’s pulse pounded as the day took on a whole new meaning. So he’d intended this from the start? Why?

Why else do people date, Hannah? Don’t be thick.