“I mean it.”His hand found mine across the table, thumb brushing my knuckles.“The way you drive?The way you handle the pressure?Most people would crumble, but you just shine brighter.It’s remarkable.You’reremarkable.”
The sincerity in his voice caught me off-guard.Before he could finish, the wine came, which I appreciated.I took a sip, enjoying how much it didn’t taste like cheap supermarket wine.
“Good?”Ollie asked, watching my reaction with obvious satisfaction.
“Annoyingly good,” I admitted.“When did you become a wine snob?”
“We prefer to call ourselvesenthusiasts,” he corrected with mock offense.“And I’ll have you know I’ve spent considerable time developing a sophisticated palate.”
“You mean you Googled ‘impressive wines’ before dinner.”
His laugh was genuine, unguarded.“You wound me, Blackwood.I can’t show up to nice dinners like a complete philistine.”
He’d planned this.Hewantedto impress me.The realization sent butterflies through my chest—something I hadn’t had since Las Vegas last year.It feltgood.
For a while, conversation flowed effortlessly.Ollie told stories about advertisers demanding he wear branded socks on camera, about the chaos of managing his growing social media presence while trying to maintain journalistic integrity.I countered with tales of my neighbor’s cat, who’d somehow learned to unlock windows back at my condo in London.
Somewhere in the corner, a table of tourists erupted into another round of laughter that bounced off the exposed brick walls.By the time the plates were cleared, I felt genuinely relaxed.The note tucked in my blazer pocket seemed less threatening, the championship pressure less suffocating, the world less complicated.
“So,” Ollie said, leaning back in his chair, “was the duck as good as promised?”
I nodded, resting a hand on my stomach, glad that the race was in the afternoon tomorrow.“You win.The duck was incredible.”
“Of course it was.”His grin stretched wide, self-satisfied in a way that should’ve been obnoxious but somehow wasn’t.“I have impeccable taste.You’ll learn to trust me eventually.”
Eventually.Like this was going to be a regular thing.The thought sent another pleasant flutter through my chest.
I rolled my eyes, laughing, reaching for my glass.From our little table outside, you could see the bustling walkway next to the restaurant.After a few more glances, movement on the sidewalk caught my attention.
An unmistakable figure emerged from the stream of pedestrians.Floppy brown hair caught the breeze and lifted slightly, framing features I’d come to know far too well.His purple jacket was draped effortlessly over one arm, his bag slung across his shoulders.
Henri.
He must have been on his way back from Georgia’s.My eyes watched him, and just as I was about to excuse myself to the restroom in order to avoid the potential awkwardness of him seeing me, his gaze lifted.Our eyes met, and for a heartbeat, I didn’t breathe.
I suspected Ollie noticed.His hand brushed mine where it rested on the tablecloth.To anyone passing, we must’ve looked like a couple leaning in for a private joke.
Henri slowed, just barely.His eyes flicked from Ollie’s hand to my face, then back again, before his jaw tightened.He didn’t stop, didn’t say a word, just strode past, shoulders rigid.
“Hey, Henri!”Ollie called out cheerfully, voice carrying on the sidewalk.
Henri stopped, and for a moment I wondered if he might ignore us completely.
But he didn’t.He turned, that same neutral expression from this afternoon’s press conference strewn about his face.
“Ollie,” Henri said finally.“Blackwood.”
What is it with the last names?
Ollie beamed, leaning back with deliberate ease.“Henri Dubois, in the flesh.Been a while, mate!Come, pull up a chair.”His hand brushed mine again on the table.Casual, but clearly intentional.
Henri’s eyes lingered on that point of contact a second too long before lifting to mine.Something flickered in his expression—something I couldn’t quite read.
“I don’t want to interrupt,” he said, the words polite but distinctly cold.
“Nonsense!”Ollie turned to me for approval, but I cast him a look that clearly said,Stop while you’re ahead.
“How was your sister’s?”I asked, injecting false cheerfulness into my voice.
