“Everythingokay?” she asked, her brows furrowing.
“Everythingis absolutely wonderful,”Ideclared, leaning back in the chair. “Whatelse canIdo to help?”
“We’regood,” she replied. “Sorry,Idon’t have any salad.I’dplanned on going to the market for some things after work tonight asIwas getting low on staples, but…”
Sheleft the sentence unfinished.Notthat she needed to explain.Iknew exactly what had happened to distract her from grocery shopping.
Iappraised her. “I’mglad you felt comfortable enough to invite me in.”
“I’mstill getting used to everything.”Sheflashed a small smile, revealing a dimple near the left side of her mouth.Onceshe sat back across from me, she picked nervously at her bread. “Ieat whenI’mstressed.”Thenshe laughed without humor. “Nota good thing.”
Whenshe didn’t elaborate,Iprompted, “Why?”
Sheblinked at me. “Mybody.”Thenshe took a healthy sip of wine.
Icocked my head. “Whatabout it?”
Shelaughed without mirth and motioned to herself. “Weightgoes right to my hips, andI’ma little too short to pull it off.”
Mybrows drew closer, andIshook my head.Hercurves were so luscious, andIached to touch them. “Ithink you’re beautiful.”
Hereyes widened as she gaped at me.Thenshe scoffed with a light wave. “Youdon’t have to say that,Hugo.Iwasn’t fishing for a compliment.”
“Iknow,”Ireplied. “Butfrom the first momentIsaw you in the library,Ithought you were stunning.”
“Stunning?” she repeated as if she were, in fact, stunned right then.
“Yes.”
Shestudied me with a quizzical look and then glanced down at her plate.
Ileaned closer to her. “Doesme thinking you’re beautiful make you nervous?”
“Notnervous exactly, but…”Sheadjusted in her seat and took a sip of wine.
“Butwhat?”
“Thelast manIdated—he said some mean things about my appearance.”Sheshrugged. “AndIguessIbelieved him.”
Istraightened, my spine as stiff as a rod, and took a deep breath. “Hewas a fool,”Ispat.
“You’resweet.”Shemet my gaze and smiled.Aftershe took another bite, she said, “Everythingabout you seems—mysterious.Wherewere you even born?”
Ileaned back in my chair. “Iwas born here inQuebecand raised in theRoquefortclan.”
Shegave me a questioning glance. “Likethe cheese?”
“No.”Ichuckled. “Likethe gargoyle clan.”
“Aclan of gargoyles.”Hervoice was tinged with awe.
“Whatabout you,LittleOne?Wherewere you born?”
“InMontreal.ButIended up living in many places inQuebec.”
“Yourfamily moved a lot?”
“No.”Shechewed her bottom lip. “Myparents died whenIwas young.Igrew up in foster care.”
