Page 62 of VOGUEish

Ryder shrugged. “Ms. Birdie is a dear woman. Over the years, we’ve often had the same views on life.”

Was that true? Did Isabella have the energy to find out? Honestly, no. The next time she had a conversation about Chandler, she wanted it to be with Chandler. Just Chandler. Time to move on to a new topic. “If you and I are firmly in the friend zone, then tell me, how is it you know so much about women’s shoes?”

“Let’s just say, once upon a time, I was given a lesson on them by a woman dear to my heart who was determined I would know everything there was to know on the topic.”

The next hour and a half were spent talking and laughing. During all that, Isabella tried to discover more about the woman who’d taught him about fashion, but he dodged the question every time other than saying the shoe education took place in a small town called Harmony.

When the waitress brought them their dessert and coffee, Isabella stopped trying to find out more. “How did you come to know Chandler and Ms. Birdie?”

“Nonna and my foster mom, Clarabelle Peabody, grew up in the same neighborhood. Chandler was the first friend I made after Mom adopted me and my brothers.”

“Are Ms. Birdie and Clarabelle still friends?”

Sadness dulled his eyes. “Clarabelle died several years back, but up until then, they stayed in contact.”

Ugh. Way to bring down the mood. “I’m sorry. What did she do for a living?”

“She was a…chef.” He closed his eyes. “And the best mom my brothers and I could have ever asked for.” He opened his eyes and shrugged. “Our bio mom wasn’t mom material.”

That she could relate to. Not that she didn’t love Mom. Mom just wasn’t good at being one. “Do you see yourself adopting some day?”

He buttered a piece of bread and took a bite. After chewing and swallowing, he replied. “It will depend on my wife, but yes, I would love that.”

She grabbed for a slice of bread herself. For a date that wasn’t really a date, it kind of felt like a date. “If we’d met at a different time in my life, I’m pretty certain you would have been my soulmate.”

He chuckled, a deep booming sound that drew the attention of others. “How did you meet Chandler?”

“It’s not that I mind sharing, but some of the story isn’t mine to tell, and without that part of the story, the rest won’t make sense.”

He raised a brow. “I get it. I have a few bizarre secrets of my own I’m not at liberty to share with anyone other than my future…wife.”

“Paint me intrigued in pink.” She noticed how he’d paused before wife. Were his secrets getting in his way of finding a wife? “But I will likewise honor your right to your secrets.”

He picked up his fork and took a bite of the pie she hadn’t finished. “I’ll have to be honest, I kind of wish you’d taken me up on my offer to lob a grenade at Chandler to shake him up. I don’t care how great the reason is for the two of you not to pursue a relationship, the man is an idiot for letting you go.”

She avoided a reply by pulling out her phone. “How about a selfie? We can post it to our socials. Not exactly a grenade but something to make him squirm.”

“Excellent idea.” He moved around to share her side of the booth. Took the phone from her. “I’m told my long arms are wonderful for selfies.” He dropped one arm around her shoulder and held the phone out with the other.

She snuggled into him, laying her head on his chest.

“Say cheese,” he murmured.

The picture was perfect. They both looked happy and relaxed and full of promise. Why shouldn’t it look like that? They weren’t under the constraints of trying to impress one another on a first date.

She posted the image on IG with the hashtag #blinddate.

He did the same.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Chandler wanted to crush everything in his path. He’d been pacing the length of his living room waiting for Ryder to text him and let him know how the date had gone. A date that should have ended an hour ago if it had stopped at dinner.

Theoretically, Chandler had been fine with the idea of Ryder dating Isabella. It wasn’t until she’d waltzed out of Naked Runway looking like a runway model that it had all stopped being theoretical and become blindingly real.

It was during that moment of clarity that it hit him just how much he didn’t want the two of them to hit it off.

Selfish bastard that he was, while he couldn’t have Isabella, he wasn’t ready to let her go, either. Not that she was his to let go in any sense of the word, but fuck.

---