Well,thatwas true, she thought. On more than one level. They had no idea who she really was.
Feeling guilty, Abby finished her wine. “That was delicious. I probably drank it too quickly.” Her head spun a little but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling. Certainly not enough to make her regret her decision.
“I’ll get you another glass.” He half rose but she shook her head regretfully.
“Tempting, but no. I only ever drink one glass.” Another glass and she might stop hiding who she was and spill the truth.
“One glass? That’s it?”
“I have boundless self-discipline. My mother insisted on it. She thinks it’s important to always be in full control.” She sighed. “Also, I’m working tomorrow.”
Tristan sat back down again. “How’s that going? You’re enjoying it?”
“I’m loving it.”
And that was unexpected.
She gazed through the wooden gate to the fishing boats in the harbour.
She’d come here to focus on the business. To learn more about the hotel and the people. To assemble sufficient information to enable her mother to make a decision, whatever that would be.
But this no longer felt like business to Abby. It felt personal. And it was confusing.
There were gaps in what her mother had told her and suddenly the past felt murky and indistinct.
She thought back to the phone call. When she’d asked the question about Edward, her mother had cut her off, saying that she had another commitment. And it was probably true, becauseher mother never wasted a minute of her day and Abby had been late on the call, but still it felt as if she’d been using it as an excuse to avoid the question. Or was she overthinking it? It would be in character for her mother to be annoyed by her lateness and to cut the meeting off to make a point.
But she wasn’t only a member of staff, was she? She was her daughter! She should be allowed to ask questions of a personal nature. And her mother should be asking her personal questions too, not just enquiring about the business.
Frustration simmered inside her.
“I’ve been here for more than three weeks and she hasn’t once asked me if I’m enjoying it. How it feels to be here. My mother doesn’t do feelings or emotions. I know that. And this is supposed to be work, after all, although it’s interesting that the people I’m working with have asked me more questions in the few weeks I’ve been here than my mother has asked me in a lifetime. It shouldn’t bother me. It doesn’t usually bother me.” She fiddled with her empty wine glass. “But for some reason tonight it bothered me.” She broke off. “Sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“For spilling my problems all over you. Anyway, enough of me. Isn’t tonight supposed to be piano night? Shouldn’t you be in there, revving up the crowd?”
“Yes. Unfortunately Ray is ill, so people are going to have to sing a cappella tonight. No doubt the complaining will start when I go back inside. Which is why I’m lingering out here with you.” He finished his beer. “I’m letting Matt take the flak for once.”
She decided he really was very attractive and wondered why it had taken a glass of wine to make her see that.
Or maybe it wasn’t the wine. Maybe it was because he was smiling at her for the first time.
She wondered how it would feel to kiss him.Complicated, shethought. It would feel complicated. And she had all the complicated she could deal with right now.
“I could do it.” The words spilled out of her before she had time to overthink it and stop herself. “I can play.”
He gave her a curious look. “Do you know any sea shanties?”
“No, but if you have music I can sight-read. And there are other things I can play. Piano rags? Your customers might like those, and if not I can play something else.” It had been ages since she’d performed but she remembered that occasionally music had made her forget everything but the moment. If she was lucky, that would happen tonight. She badly needed the escape.
“I thought you were the classical type—Chopin, Beethoven—”
“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”
“You already have. Have you ever played in a pub before?”
“No.” She thought about the concert halls she’d played in as a teenager. The featureless practice rooms. The grand piano in her mother’s home. “But a piano is a piano. At least, I assume it is.”
