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Eloise Bridgerton had always considered herself immune to pub crushes. Mostly because pub crushes usually involved men named Josh who collected vinyl records and said things like “I just think capitalism is a construct, y’know?” before asking to split the bill down the middle
But the man sitting alone at the far end of the bar was dangerously attractive.
“Stop staring,” Penelope murmured into her drink.
“I am not staring.”
“You’ve been looking at him for so long that if this were Regency England, you’d already be compromised.”
The man was tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a dark green jumper with the sleeves pushed up his forearms in a way that should have been illegal. He had glasses and every few moments, he would absentmindedly push them higher on his nose while reading something on his phone.
Eloise wanted to climb him like a tree.
Halfway through her second pint, she was wearing a deep wine red dress with black velvet patterns curling across the fabric like dark flowers. The neckline dipped low enough to feel dangerous, held together in the center by a tiny black ribbon, while the long sheer sleeves brushed against her wrists dramatically every time she lifted her drink.
It was, in Penelope’s words, a “someone absolutely gets kissed tonight” dress.
“Oh, he looked again,” Penelope announced casually.
Eloise nearly inhaled an olive.
“He did not.”
“He absolutely did. Specifically at your chest, actually.”
“Well.” Eloise straightened instinctively. “Good for him.”
Penelope snorted into her drink.
The man really was absurdly handsome. Tall, broad, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he sat alone near the bar nursing a whiskey like he belonged in the opening scene of a romantic drama aimed exclusively at women with unresolved issues.
And every single time his eyes drifted across the room toward her, Eloise felt heat crawl up her neck.
“I’d love to take him home,” she muttered.
Penelope’s grin turned immediately feral.
“Oh, this is excellent.”
“What?”
“You fancy him.”
“I do not fancy him,” Eloise scoffed. “I simply think he looks like he could ruin my life in a tasteful way.”
“Go talk to him.” Penelope’s eyes sparkled with pure chaos.
“No.”
“Coward.”
“I’m not a coward. I just don’t approach strangers in pubs.”
“Fine. Then send him a note.” Penelope leaned back in her chair.
“A note?” Eloise blinked.
“Yes. Like secondary school flirting, except with alcohol and adult consequences.”
“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Which means you’re considering it.”
She looked back at the man. He was even prettier now somehow. Completely unaware that a slightly tipsy woman across the room was internally debating whether she should embarrass herself for sport.
“Do it.” Penelope slid a napkin and pen toward her.
“Why did you decide today to be an agent of chaos?”
“Because none of your siblings are here to do the job.” Eloise grabbed the pen dramatically.
“If I die, tell Hyacinth she still owes me forty quid.”
“You’re not going to die.”
Slightly tipsy, Eloise slid the pen across the paper.
“Are you a thunderstorm? Because you left me dripping wet.”
Penelope inhaled so sharply she almost ascended into another dimension.
“ELOISE.”
“What?”
“You cannot write that to a stranger!”
“You told me to flirt!”
“Not like you’re auditioning for pornography!”
Eloise was already laughing too hard to function as she folded the napkin.
“Well,” she declared, standing up unsteadily, “if I’m going down, I’m committing to the bit.”
“Godspeed, soldier.”
Crossing the pub suddenly felt like traversing a battlefield. He looked up as she approached, confusion flickering across his face.
“Hi,” Eloise said, entirely too loudly.
“Hello?”
She slapped the folded napkin onto the table like she was delivering classified information.
“This is for you.” She turned and walked away before she could physically dissolve from humiliation.
Penelope was wheezing by the time Eloise collapsed back into her seat.
“You’re insane.”
“I know.”
“Oh my God, he opened it.” Eloise immediately buried her face in her hands.
“I can’t look. Tell me if he dies.”
Penelope made a strangled noise.
“Oh, his eyes nearly popped out of his skull.”
Eloise peeked through her fingers just in time to see the man stare at the note, then across the pub directly at her.
His expression was somewhere between shocked, delighted, and deeply, deeply interested.
“…oh no,” Eloise whispered.
“Oh yes!” Penelope corrected.
Eloise contemplated faking her own death.
“He’s coming over here.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He stopped beside their table, still holding the napkin. Up close, he was even more handsome. Which felt rude, honestly.
“I’m Phillip,” he said, visibly trying not to laugh.
“Eloise.”
“Was this line workshopped beforehand, or did you come up with it all by yourself?”
“Please let me die with dignity.” Eloise groaned.
“I don’t know,” Phillip said thoughtfully. “I think it would ruin my night if I let you die right now.”
“Well! I’m going to the loo for… twenty minutes.” Penelope abruptly stood.
“Penelope…” Eloise looked back at Phillip.
“So,” he said, leaning back in his chair slightly, “do you always open conversations with aggressively filthy weather-related metaphors?”
Eloise covered her face with one hand.
“Can we please let me move past that moment spiritually?”
“Unfortunately, no.”
“I didn't think you were the cruel type.”
“I’m fascinated by you,” Phillip admitted, grinning over the rim of his glass. “You looked far too confident for someone who immediately tried to flee the scene afterward.”
“I was confident,” she argued. “For approximately four seconds.”
“And then?”
“And then I remembered shame exists.”
His laugh was warm and low enough that Eloise immediately decided she wanted to hear it again.
“Well,” he said, “for what it’s worth, it’s the best pick-up line anyone’s ever used on me.”
“That’s either flattering or deeply concerning.”
His hand hesitantly touched hers on the bar, and she made no move to push him away.
“So what do you do when you’re not terrorizing innocent men in pubs?” Phillip asked.
“I host a podcast.”
“Really?” His eyebrows lifted.
“Social commentary, mostly. Feminism and Politics. Occasionally me yelling about historical inaccuracies in period dramas.”
“That last one sounds particularly personal.”
“Oh, it is.” She pointed at him dramatically. “If I see one more corset being tightened incorrectly onscreen, I will become a supervillain.” Phillip laughed again.
“So what do you do?” she asked, tucking one leg beneath herself on her chair.
Phillip swirled the whiskey in his glass once before answering.
“I restore antique books and manuscripts for the university archives.”
“…I’m sorry?” Eloise blinked.
“That reaction usually isn’t promising.” A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
“No, I just…” She stared at him. “That is ridiculously attractive.” Phillip actually laughed.
“You think restoring books is attractive?”
“You repair ancient literature with your hands while looking like that?” Eloise gestured toward him vaguely. “You were already unfairly handsome. Now you’ve become intellectually devastating.”
The tips of his ears turned slightly pink.
“And what exactly does restoring manuscripts involve?” she asked, leaning closer despite herself.
“A lot of patience, mostly. Cleaning pages, repairing bindings, preserving damaged text. Sometimes recreating missing sections if we have enough references.”
“Oh, so you’re delicate too.” She pressed a hand dramatically to her chest.
Phillip shook his head, smiling helplessly into his drink.
“And you like it?” she asked more softly.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I really do.”
“You should see him when someone folds a page corner,” a voice interrupted suddenly.
Both of them looked up as a bartender appeared behind the bar with fresh drinks.
“Michaela.” Phillip sighed immediately.
“He nearly had a breakdown once because a student used a highlighter in a first edition,” Michaela informed Eloise gleefully.
“It bled through the paper.”
“He looked like he’d witnessed a murder.”
“It was a murder.”
Eloise laughed so suddenly she snorted and Phillip looked absurdly pleased about being the cause of it.
“And he wears those little white gloves sometimes,” Michaela continued mercilessly.
“Oh my God,” Eloise whispered, staring at him. “You’re secretly the hottest man alive.”
Phillip muttered something into his whiskey that sounded suspiciously like “please kill me.”
Michaela cackled and disappeared back toward the bar.
Eloise rested her chin against her hand, still grinning.
“So,” she said softly, eyes fixed on him, “what else are you hiding, Phillip Crane?”
He held her gaze for a second too long before answering.
“Two children.”
Her entire expression melted instantly.
“You have kids?”
“Twins.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“How are you alive?”
“Questionable honestly.”
“How old?” She laughed.
“Six.”
“And they let you leave the house voluntarily?”
“Their grandmother kidnapped them for the weekend.” His mouth curved into a small smile. “Apparently I looked tired.”
“You do look tired.”
“Thank you.”
“It looks sexy.” Phillip nearly choked on his drink, Eloise beamed proudly.
“What are their names?” she asked.
“Oliver and Amanda.”
“And are they tiny nightmares?”
“They are deeply committed to chaos.”
“That sounds like your offspring.”
“That’s unfair. You’re the one sending pornographic thunderstorm notes to strangers.” Phillip pointed at her.
“True,” Eloise admitted.
Phillip grinned into his drink.
Eloise's phone beeped with a new message from Penelope.
“Are you alive or are you pregnant?”
Eloise replied:
“busy”
“OH MY GOD!!!”
By midnight, the pub had thinned out considerably and they were already completely engrossed in their conversation. Eloise already knew about the twins, that he liked to read scientific treatises and poetry but not novels and definitely not works of philosophy. He liked the rain. His favorite color was green. He had never traveled outside of England. He did not like fish.
At some point, Phillip had moved closer without either of them acknowledging it.
Eloise had long since stopped pretending she wasn’t watching his mouth when he spoke. He looked at her like he’d forgotten there was anyone else in the room.
“You know,” he murmured eventually, turning his glass slowly between his hands, “when I first walked over here, I expected you to be terrifying.”
“I am terrifying.” Eloise smiled lazily.
“Oh, I believe that.” His eyes flicked over her face carefully, fondly. “I think you could dismantle someone emotionally in under thirty seconds if properly motivated.”
“I absolutely could.”
“And yet…” His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth again.
The butterflies in Eloise’s stomach became fully weaponized.
“And yet?” she asked quietly.
Phillip leaned close enough now that she could catch the scent of whiskey and soap and something distinctly him.
“I could get completely lost in the depth of your eyes.” There should have been laws against men saying things like that in low voices while looking at women like that.
Eloise tilted her head slightly, trying very hard to appear unaffected despite the fact that her entire nervous system had just burst into flames.
“I should know you're trouble,” Phillip smiled warmly and unbearably genuine, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d found himself here with her tonight.
“I want to be more than trouble to you,” he said softly.
Most men flirted with Eloise like they were trying to win something, Phillip spoke to her like he was simply enjoying her.
It was horribly unfair how attractive that was.
She looked down briefly, suddenly smiling into her drink despite herself.
“You’ve been pretending all night that you’re cooler than you actually are.”
“How dare you.” Eloise gasped theatrically.
“You’re secretly soft.”
“I sent you one of the filthiest opening lines in human history.”
“And then panicked so badly you nearly sprinted into a wall afterward.” His hand had drifted closer on the table at some point.
The air between them shifted suddenly.
Eloise became acutely aware of everything at once: the warmth of his hand, the slow look in his eyes, the way his thumb almost grazed hers before stopping himself.
Phillip swallowed once.
“You’re very beautiful, you know that?” he said quietly.
Eloise smiled faintly, suddenly shy in a way she deeply resented.
“Well,” she murmured, “that was alarmingly smooth.”
“I think the whiskey helped.” Phillip huffed a quiet laugh.
A comfortable silence settled between them after that, warm and heavy and intimate in a way that made Eloise feel almost dizzy. Around them, chairs were beginning to scrape against the floor as people filtered out into the night. Michaela passed by again carrying empty glasses.
"Last orders were ten minutes ago, you two. Time, please.”
Neither Eloise nor Phillip moved immediately.
Instead, they both glanced at each other at the exact same moment and laughed softly.
“Well,” Eloise said, draining the last of her drink, “I suppose society is forcing us apart.”
“Devastating, honestly.” Phillip stood first, reaching automatically for her coat before she could.
The gesture was so natural it caught her completely off guard.
And then he held it open for her.
Eloise stared at him as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.
“You restore ancient manuscripts and have manners?” she asked. “This is becoming unrealistic.”
“I contain multitudes.” Phillip smiled, slow and warm.
“Oh, are you trying to rain over me again?” She asked playfully.
“I’m trying to impress beautiful women.”
“You can’t just say things like that without warning.” Eloise pressed a hand dramatically to her chest.
His eyes lingered on her as he gently adjusted the collar of her coat. The butterflies in her stomach became genuinely unmanageable after that.
Outside, the night air was cool against her flushed skin as they finally left the pub together. Neither of them moved away once they reached the pavement.
Phillip looked down at her with that same amused warmth from earlier.
“So,” he murmured, stepping closer, “should I assume the note was wishful thinking… or a promise?”
Eloise laughed helplessly.
“Phillip Crane, are you flirting with me?”
“I think I might be.”
“Good.” She stepped closer.
Phillip’s hand settled carefully against her waist like he was giving her every opportunity to pull away.
His thumb brushed once against the fabric of her dress, slow enough to make her breath catch.
“Tell me if I’m misreading this,” he murmured.
“Oh my God,” Eloise whispered, smiling helplessly. “Please kiss me before I lose my mind.”
Phillip laughed softly against her mouth just before he did.
The kiss was warm and deep, like neither of them could quite believe this absurd night had somehow led here.
Eloise’s hands slid instinctively up into the front of his coat, and Phillip made a quiet sound against her lips that nearly finished her off entirely.
When they finally pulled apart, both of them slightly breathless, he rested his forehead briefly against hers and laughed under his breath.
After that first kiss, Eloise reached two conclusions:
One, Penelope would never let her live this down.
And two…
She was absolutely taking him home.
