“Of course,” she assents. “May I take your coat?” She directs this toward Ryan, who currently looks like she’d prefer to pull it over her head.
“Allow me,” I put in. Ryan turns, and I help slip it from her shoulders, which means it’s too late for this wave of ... second thoughts, probably caveman-style. But I can see right down the front of her dress, which means most other people will be able to see down it too. I suddenly want to cover her back up, then pickher up, before carrying her out of this place. Keep all this loveliness for myself.
But I can’t do thatandshare with them how much she means to me. Not in one sitting, anyway. So we follow the hostess. Or rather, Ryan does. Meanwhile, I followmi mujer, my woman, and the hypnotic sway of her hips.I’d follow this woman anywhere.
“Here they are!” Fin stands first as we approach the table, all smiles and welcome and well-bred bonhomie. Oliver next, his manners and suit impeccable. Introductions are made, Evie and Mila doling out hugs and effusive greetings.
“Oh, my gosh, you are stunning!” Evie grabs Ryan’s hand, sending an accusing look my way. “You didn’t tell me you were punching, Matt.”
“Hush, don’t tell her. She might leave.” I lower my voice as though sharing a secret. “I got my claws into her at a low moment, just the way Oliver taught me.”
“Charming,” Oliver murmurs, amused or unimpressed. It’s hard to tell.
“It’s okay, baby,” Evie says, chucking his chin. “I love you anyway.”
“And Matt likes his women pregnant,” Fin says as I press my hand to the small of Ryan’s back, guiding her into her seat.
“Like a fetish?” Ryan asks with a chuckle before turning those baby blues my way. “Am I not the first?”
“You’re like ...” I pretend to count on my fingers. “At least my twelfth. But my fetish isn’t for pregnant women. It’s for christening cake. Who found this place?” I ask, glancing around the restaurant. We’ve been given a private room that’s not technically closed off from the main space, so still part of the general atmosphere.
“Mila did,” Evie offers up. “Or one of her projects did. It’s great, right? I keep expecting a young Evelyn Waugh to walk in.”
“Who’s she?” My mouth curls, and Evie sends me an unimpressed look. But I get what she means. The place is ... of an era, I suppose. Sophisticated and sexy, thanks to a moody color scheme full of tactile furnishings and lamps made from ostrich plumage. It’s a distinctly 1930s kind of vibe without being overly kitsch.
“Har-har,” Evie says, overstressing. “Well, I think this place is like the Bloomsbury set and Jay Gatsby had a restaurant baby.”
“It was Abena who told me about it,” Mila offers up. “She was the interior designer who planned your home office?”
“Ryan’s home office,” I say, glancing fondly her way. “She’s in there beavering away most days.”
“Matt says you’re investing for him,” Mila says, turning her way.
“A little.” Ryan nods. “Just keeping my hand in.”
“As the vicar said to the actress.”
“Oh, my God!” Evie exclaims. “My husband made a funny!”
“Maybe we should ask Abena to design the nursery,” I murmur low in Ryan’s ear. Although where that will be is anyone’s idea. Upstairs? Downstairs? I’m not even sure what we need. I know Letty and Ryan went shopping, but my sister said they bought very little. She said Ryan seemed overwhelmed, but that there’s still plenty of time. But is there really? Aren’t pregnant women supposed to nest at some point? Not like pigeons or anything. “What do you think?” I ask when she doesn’t answer.
“Maybe,” she hedges, her gaze slipping away.
My expression flickers, ice dropping into my evening warmth. We are turning a corner, aren’t we?Don’t expect too much too fast,I remind myself as I slide my hand to the small of her back, finding the muscles tense there.
“I’ll send her a message if you like?” Mila offers.
Ryan adjusts her position in her seat. “That’s okay. I have her number.”
“You okay?” I whisper as the conversation moves on.
She gives a quick nod and an even quicker smile.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” I say. “It means a lot to me.”
“Of course.” Her next smile is genuine, and it holds. Even in the low light I see the color in her cheeks.
“Have I told you I love how you blush?”
