Oliver’s halfway through his third pint of lukewarm and watery ale when he half-hears, half-feels, “You’ve been following me,” warm and a little damp against the side of his neck. He can’t quite check his half-smile; Edward obviously takes this as an invitation and slides a knee between Oliver and his right-hand neighbor (a half-troll with uncomfortably broad shoulders and beautiful table manners), then sits sideways on the bench.
“I know I am, of course,” Edward says, “an almost irresistibly attractive man,” still very close and more than a little yeasty-smelling, “but after four towns in a row without you so much as saying hello—”
“Six,” Oliver corrects, then takes a sip of his ale. “I’ve been following you since Lowencaster.”