Page 31 of VOGUEish

She must not have seen him, because his saying her name caused her to jump in surprise. She teetered sideways at the exact same moment a waitress walked by carrying a tray laden with drinks. The tray and its contents flew through the air.

“Not camera ready,” he heard Isabella mutter right before the room exploded with gasps and the sound of glass breaking.

“Shit.” He rushed to Isabella, whipped an arm around her waist, and pulled her into his arms, shielding her from those who were now gawking at her.

She peeked up at him and sighed.

God, she had beautiful eyes. Hell, everything about her was off the charts. The awkward teenager he’d met years ago had transformed into a woman that could plow down a man’s defenses with a simple lift of her lips. He’d do well to remember that and reinforce his walls.

“Are you okay?” They’d both lied to Nonna when they said there were no sparks. He knew his reason why, but not Isabella’s. In the long run, hers didn’t matter, because he was the wrong guy for her.

She blushed. “I’d be better if I stopped becoming a spectacle every time you’re around.”

“I don’t know. There’s something charming about a woman who keeps falling for a man over and over, like a new take on Groundhog Day,” he teased.

“Do not flatter yourself into believing I’m falling for you,” she said, placing her hands on his chest and pushing ever so lightly. “My ability to cause chaos during the calm is one of my quainter quirks.”

Chandler slowly let her out of his grasp. “I’m looking forward to learning of your not-so-quaint quirks,” he whispered for her ears only.

“Those quirks are not for polite company,” she whispered back.

“I’m intrigued.”

“As well you should be,” Isabella added as she glanced around as if in search of something.

Hell. What was he doing? His plan had been to behave like an ass. Not a guy on an actual date. “Now that you’ve caused a scene and been the center of attention, are you hungry? Or should we skip dinner?” he asked using his fixer voice.

Her lips pursed. “Starved. Do not think for one moment you’re going to get out of feeding me.”

He wasn’t upset at her answer.

“Ma’am, I believe this is yours,” the maître d` said, handing something to Isabella.

“Thanks. I was wondering where it went,” Isabella said.

“What is it?” Chandler asked?

Isabella held up what looked like a prison weapon of sorts. “My heel. It snapped off.”

“So that’s what happened.” He held out his elbow and together they followed the manager to their seat, Isabella one unbalanced step at a time.

“May I take your drink orders?” a waitress asked in a grumpy tone. The same one who’d been the victim of Isabella’s clumsiness.

“I’m so sorry about earlier,” Isabella said to the woman while opening her purse and withdrawing a small tube of something. “I’m sure my date will tip you generously to make up for my clumsiness.”

The waitress glanced at Chandler, who nodded and then she shrugged. “Shit happens.”

“Tell me about it.” Isabella responded.

As soon as the waitress left, Isabella opened the retrieved tube and squeezed something onto the tip of her broken heel and stuck it back where it belonged.

“Is that glue?” Did all women carry glue in their purses for shoe mishaps?

“Not just glue. Magic glue. Ms. Patricia gave it to me when she gave me my lucky heels. The stuff works in three seconds. See?” She held up the stiletto and tugged on the heel, which stayed firmly in place.

He nodded. “Impressive. It’s almost as if it does contain magical ingredients.”

Isabella bent and placed her shoe back on her foot. When she sat up straight, she gave him a bright smile. “I hope I didn’t cause you too much embarrassment back there.”

---