‘Hi,’ he said.
‘Hi,’ she replied.
At last, one of the diners on table ten put his hand up and did the age-old sign for the bill.
‘Here,’ Etienne said to Isabella, pulling out a stool at the bar. ‘Have a seat. I’ll be right with you.’ He watched her climb up onto the stool, cross her long legs and run her hands through her wavy hair as the diners paid and packed up their things.
Closing the door behind them, he turned the sign to closed, then flicked the restaurant lights off, leaving just the cosy glow of the bar.
‘Whisky?’ he asked and when she nodded, he set about the drinks, adding an oversized cube of ice into each of the heavy glasses. They clinked. He leaned on the bar from the serving side, facing her.
‘I hope you don’t mind,’ Isabella said. ‘I needed some company. I was driving myself mad over there.’ She sipped and sighed.
‘Not at all,’ he said.
‘And just because I’m here doesn’t mean I want a foot rub.’ She spoke sternly, looking him directly in the eye.
He laughed, liking her straight talking as he remembered the way she’d put Andy in his place at The Bolthole.
‘Your feet are safe with me,’ he said, thinking the rest of her might not be. ‘Bad day?’
‘You don’t want to know.’
‘Try me.’ He put the bottle of whisky between them on the bar and pulled up a stool. ‘I’m a good listener. Comes with the territory.’
An hour later, Etienne knew the whole story. Her marriage to a man with floppy hair. His cheating. The divorce. And now the proposal. He asked questions, which she answered. But in the main, he just let her talk. It was a story he wouldn’t have expected her to tell. He admired her honesty, but could feel her hurt. It was obviously a raw wound.
‘I feel like such a fool. Again,’ she finished. ‘He’s moving on– and I’m not.’ She lifted her drink and threw it back. Etienne filled a glass of water and put it next to her on the bar.
‘How can you say that?’ he asked. ‘Look at what you’re doing with your restaurant. I can’t believe you’re doing all that on your own. That’s what I call moving on. Setting up a whole new life.’
She pursed her full lips, and he felt a jolt of desire.
‘That’s because I promised myself I’d have my new life up and running in a year.’ She hid a smile as if something was funny. ‘I gave myself three hundred and sixty-five days to reinvent my life. Isabella 2.0. I want to prove that I can be single and successful.’ He noticed the jut of her chin.
‘Prove to yourself– or to him?’ he asked. She smiled ruefully.
‘Both, probably.’ She shrugged. ‘I just want to prove I can do it.’
Etienne poured them another measure and she added the ice from the bucket. He sipped slowly and thought about his own ambitions. To never allow a woman to come in between him and his brother. To never let his brother down again. He knew that his mistake to Alex reinforced his loyalty to his Brothers from Another Mother too. He’d do anything for them, and would always be there to help, whether it was making dinosaurs for Fox’s son or propping Walker up on the anniversary of his grandmother’s death. He put them above any one-night stand. They were his priority until he could prove to Alex he was trustworthy. That he had his back. Now, his chance was almost here. He would pay the money back for Alex and have his brother back in his life.
‘But my year is almost up,’ Isabella said, swilling the amber liquid in her glass over the ice before taking a long swallow. ‘And I’ve still got a long way to go. So, until then, no distractions.’ She leaned closer across the bar and wagged her finger at him. He caught it in his hand, holding it between them.
‘Like what?’ he asked, their faces mere inches apart.
‘Like you,’ she said breathily. Her face was flushed and her eyes held his.
Damn. At exactly that moment he’d been thinking he’d like to distract her until she couldn’t think straight.
He grinned and saw her eyes spark.
‘You never know, it could be good for you. Moving on. You know what they say. . . to get over someone. . .’
‘You get under someone else. . .’ Her lips were slightly apart and he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face.
Time stopped. He loved these moments. The anticipation. The knowledge that in a moment, he’d feel how soft those lips were. He’d wind a hand in the hair at the back of her head and expose her neck for his mouth to taste.
‘Not me,’ she said softly, and he wasn’t sure if she was trying to clarify it for him or reaffirm it to herself. ‘Ipromisedmyself a year of no sex.’
