At 6:15, Halliday walks into the restaurant’s bar in a fitted black dress and heels. I rise from my seat and signal to her.
She walks to me and kisses me on both cheeks. “You’re early.”
“So are you.”
A smile curves her lips. “Can I take this as a sign of you being keen to meet Juliette?”
“You can take it as a sign that a gentleman should always be first, so he never keeps a lady waiting.”
“Ah.” She sits as I pull out a chair for her. “So in this instance, it’s me who was on the gentleman’s mind?” she teases.
“Indeed,” I murmur. “I believe you’ve been on it ever since you suggested my kissing needed work. A man doesn’t easily forget a woman who suggests such things.”
She laughs as I wink at her and take the seat beside her, signaling the bartender. He takes our order, then leaves.
“Don’t take it personally. I ask everyone that question.”
“And do they?”
“Do they what?” Halliday’s eyes are bright as she looks into mine.
“All require work?”
She pokes her bottom lip out, and the urge to suck it past mine and see what it tastes like smacks me like a punch to the jaw. She’s barely thirty. Not much older than my daughter. The daughter who hired her to find me love with a womanmy age. I’m the proverbial dirty old man, having impure thoughts about my relationship coach.
My gift, as Sinclair reminded me when we spoke earlier.
“Almost always.” Halliday holds my eyes, hers twinkling. “But they get to work on it once I match them, so…” She shrugs. “I don’t think they mind putting in the work.”
“I see.” I chuckle as the bartender returns and places two glasses down.
“You didn’t want something stronger?” I ask as she takes a sip of her orange juice.
“I don’t drink.” Her smile thins before she places her glass down.
I nod and lift my brandy to my lips.
Her phone chimes in her purse, and she pulls it out.
“Rory?” I enquire.
She’s frowning as she looks at the screen, then her features soften into a beautiful smile. She turns the phone toward me.
“She spoils that dog,” I say as I look at the photo of Monty wearing a sweater with a cupcake printed on it.
“She says it’s his birthday soon?” Halliday types a reply to my daughter, then slides her phone into her purse.
“It is. I got him as a gift for her shortly after…” I swirl the amber liquid in my glass before lifting it to take a large gulp, savoring the burn that runs down my throat.
“I’m sorry.”
Soft, warm fingers curl around mine on the tabletop. Pale pink nails glisten back at me.
“Thank you,” I murmur, something shifting in my chest as I stare at her hand on mine. It should look wrong against mine. It shouldfeelwrong.
I turn my wrist and entwine my fingers with hers until there’s one beautiful, slender finger followed by a rougher, weathered one.
One, then the other, over, and over.
