CHAPTER TWO HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN – THE BARMAN

The door to The Rusty Anchor swung open, letting in a gust of salty sea air along with a newcomer. Charlotte glanced up from the bar she was wiping down, her eyebrows raising slightly at the sight of the handsome stranger. He was tall and lean, with artfully tousled chestnut hair and a roguish smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Though his clothes were simple - a white linen shirt and brown trousers - he wore them with the casual confidence of a man well-accustomed to admiring glances. "Well now, what do we have here?" The smooth baritone voice matched the rakish good looks perfectly. "Surely the village elders haven't been hiding such a rare flower away in this old dive?" Charlotte felt her cheeks warming at the obvious flirtation, though she couldn't quite stifle her eye roll. "I'm afraid you've got the wrong impression, sir. I'm just a simple barmaid, not some exotic bloom." The man chuckled easily, swaggering up to the bar and propping his elbows casually on the worn woo