The woman from the balcony.
But seriously, there’s no way in hell that she could be referring to my Travis.
Did I just refer to him asmy Travis?
Like a cat that doesn’t know how to mind its business, I turn to search out that French accented voice to find who she’s talking to. To appease my wayward nerves that she’s definitely not speaking to my—that Travis.
The moment I see his face and know for certain it’s not who my mind keeps tricking me into believing it is, I can go about my work in peace.
Given the darkness of the decor and low lighting, it’s difficult to make out the man’s face at first. But then the crowd shifts and his profile comes into clear view.
My knees are the first to go.
I come close to dropping the empty glasses that sit on my tray. But some amount of unidentifiable grace keeps me from dropping everything.
It’s him.
This I know for certain as I, unwittingly, inch closer to the group of people talking. Though I keep my distance, I get close enough to make out his face among the shadows and reflections cast off by the candlelight from the tables.
That hard jawline that’s now clean shaven whereas there was more than stubble over two months ago, that perfectly clear bronze skin, the short, curly, light brown locks that’s tapered at the sides and back.
And I could never forget those seafoam green eyes and that mouth that forms a perfect, elegant bow.
As I continue to stand there, I’m assaulted by memories and images from Las Vegas. The way he turned my panic into laughter in that elevator when the walls started to close in on me. The arresting stare in his eyes as he watched me eat his final morsel of food in his hotel suite.
Then there’s the way he spent the rest of the night worshipping my body in ways I’d never thought a man I barely knew could.
And he left you the next morning.
I clear my throat as the voice of reason shocks me back into reality. When I become aware of my surroundings again, I realize I’ve gotten too close.
The good news is he hasn’t noticed me.
The bad news is that to get to the back kitchen, I need to pass by his small group without being seen.
Not that he’ll remember you anyway.
I swallow the bitter truth down.
I could probably walk right up to him, look him square in the eye, and he’d have no idea who I was.
That stings more than it should.
I start toward the kitchen doors but am stopped short when another server intercedes.
“Alyssia,” one of my fellow servers calls my name, wrapping his hand around my tray. “I’ll take this back to the kitchen for you. Here’s a fresh tray,” he unhelpfully says with a grin.
I bite back my original reply and mumble, “Thank you,” instead.
“Travis,Éléanor has already told me not to ask you about this season, so instead I will ask, are you seeing anyone lately?”
My feet refuse to move. I can’t, for the life of me, get my body to listen to me to pass this group before Travis notices me.
The man who was out on the balcony earlier just asked this question. I tell myself I’ve stopped only to ensure the glasses don’t tip over again, but a part of me thinks I actually want to hear the answer to his question.
“No time for dating,” he answers flatly.
The man makes a noise at the back of his throat. “That’s a shame. Such a good-looking man as you deserves to have a beautiful wife and possibly children sooner rather than later.”
