My hand drops, trailing my fingers down the side of her neck, then I pull back. "I forget. It's been ages since I've even considered going on a date." I hesitate. "About that. Hanna, how old are you? "
"Twenty-two." She bites her lip. "You?"
"Thirty-three. Is that okay?"
She looks up at the ceiling, tipping her head back and forth. "Well, it means you have all that important life experience. I don't." Her eyes meet mine, then she rolls them. “Just crazy overprotective parents, and now my aunt, who I'm staying with for a few months."
"But we've both lived dozens of lives through books, right?" I grin. "We're both ageless."
She smiles while nodding. “Sure, let's go with that."
The restaurant has cleared out a bit, and Hanna looks around before leaning close. "People have pretty much stopped watching you, by the way. Just in case that makes you feel more comfortable."
It's sweet of her to point that out. Then it hits me. "Hanna, you're shy around people, aren't you?"
She slowly nods. "Around strangers I’m a bit awkward, yes."
I take her hand under the table, loving the way her thigh twitches slightly as my wrist lands on it. Her fingers feel so perfect entwined with mine.
"I avoid strangers myself. It feels like everyone on this mountain thinks they know me and expect me to behave a certain way, but I don’t know what that is." I exhale, then meet her eyes. "Wow. I've never told anybody that before." We both smile. "What makes you feel awkward around strangers?" I ask.
“Customers are usually okay. I help them and they leave. Simple.” Hanna’s gaze drifts to the smudges of chocolate on our empty plate. "My family…" Her nose crinkles. "You're alwayssupposed to love your family. But a lot of the time I don't reallylikethem."
I squeeze her hand. "I get it. You just don't click with some people, family or not."
"And if my own family aren't nice to me," she practically whispers, "I guess I expect strangers will be even worse. Does that make sense?"
Dammit. Her whole energy changes when she mentions her family. It’s as if she’s resigned to her fate. I have no idea how I'm going to fix this, but I’m going to.
"Why was your aunt being such a bitch to you?" I ask bluntly.
Hanna's eyes roll again. "I'm living in the apartment over her garage and working in her shoe store for a couple of months. My parents are so overprotective that they only let me take jobs with people they know. At the same time, they only helped pay for one year of college. So they shipped me out here to a small town on the mountain. Apparently, it’s safer to work for Aunt Blaire."
"You're twenty-two years old. Shouldn’t your parents have backed the hell off by now?"
"Well, they both lived at home until their late twenties. So they think that's the way."
My jaw clenches. "Family traditions are supposed to be things like opening one present on Christmas Eve, not deciding how your entire life unfolds."
Hanna laughs. "It's ridiculous, right? I thought that a couple of months wouldn't be so bad. Work experience with someone I know, that I thought would be a decent boss.”
"But she isn't?"
Her head shakes. "No. I think she wanted to have a young woman at the store so more men would come in." She shudders. "It's a shoe store, so when I'm sizing men’s feet, I'm basically kneeling in front of them." Her shoulders pitch forward again in that way that makes my stomach clench.
I’ve always hidden myself away, hoping that people won’t recognize me. This is one of those moments where a moment of discomfort will serve a higher purpose.
I lift her chin with my fingertip. "Hanna, look at me."
When her eyes lock with mine, I smile. "I could make it so that none of those men would ever dare treat you with anything other than the utmost respect. Would you like that?"
For a split second, she gives me a hopeful smile. Then she pauses. "Wait. You clearly don't like everyone staring at you. You're not thinking of making this…public or anything, are you?" She squeezes my hand and shakes her head firmly. "I can already tell you're not comfortable with that. So, no thank you. I'm doing fine. I’ll just have to get used to it."
This gorgeous woman “getting used to” being treated as anything less than a princess?Not on my fucking watch.
I turn to glance to catch our server Jamie’s eye, and she comes over. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Wolfe?"
"No, thank you. It was a wonderful meal. Please thank the kitchen for me."
