“Yeah. Long way from Seattle,” he says.
I’m not from Seattle, but I’ve been there enough to pretend I am.
“Not too long,” I say. “I like the city.”
And I like Ella, too.
That’d be overkill to say, even though it’s true.
Suddenly, Ella moves closer to me. Her attention shifts between her plate and the person waiting to be seated by the maître d’—a blonde guy, clearly a frat boy in his heyday, and clinging to it. He’s a similar age to us and hasn’t noticed Ella, but she’s definitely noticed him. When she reaches for her glass, her hand shakes.
Guy notices too and looks over. He huffs.
“I’ll get him to leave.”
“No,” she says quickly. “It’s fine. He won’t do anything.”
I don’t ask what’s happening, because Ella is clearly shaken up.
But then Frat Boy spots her. They lock eyes, and he smirks before being led into the restaurant.
Hello, dead man walking.
I rest my hand on her back. “Are you okay?”
“Yep. Fine.” Her phone rings, and when she sees Matilda’s name, she visibly relaxes. “I’m gonna answer this; I’ve been missing her calls all week. I’ll be back. Dad, be nice!” She disappears to answer the call.
“Who was the guy?” I ask, eyes still on Ella.
“Asshole ex-boyfriend,Brent,” Guy says, fingers drumming against the tablecloth.
“What kind of an asshole?”
Guy is obviously considering how much he should say because this is Ella’s private life, and I’m just a new guy on the scene.
“Enough of an asshole to shake her confidence once upon a time,” he says finally. “And Ella isn’t easily shaken.”
I assume if it had been physical, Brent wouldn’t be around anymore—not with the way Guy is looking at him.
Emotional abuse, maybe?
Either way, I’m on my feet.
“Men’s room,” I say by way of explanation.
I head into the restaurant but not before kissing Ella quickly on the cheek to let her know I’ll be back. She beams at me, still talking to Matilda, and I stride inside.
Brent is heading to the bathroom, too. Bingo.
I don’t wait. I sweep by him, grab his collar, and pull him around a corner that likely leads to the kitchen before shoving him against the wall.
“What the fuck!”
“I’m going to give you one warning,” I say quietly. I’ve mastered the art of putting my point across without having to yell—something I learned from Gable. “You look at Ella again, you smile at her again, especially how you did just now, and it’ll be the last thing you fucking do.”
Brent smirks.
Big mistake.
