Page 33 of We'll Meet Again

“It’ll be your first time out of town, right?” she continued.

“Yeah, and I’ve been told that means it’s time for my initiation,” he said. “Though I ain’t got a clue what that means.”

She smirked. “I know.”

He raised an eyebrow. “No chance of you telling me, is there?”

“Nope,” she said with a firm shake of her head. “It’ll ruin the initiation if I do.”

“Can you give me a hint?”

“No.”

“Anything?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Dang,” he chuckled. “Now I’m all on tenterhooks.”

She gazed at him a moment, letting that sink in. He definitely didn’t share a lot of common phrases with Londoners, but that one wasn’t just from a different geographical area. That was out of a different time. Almost like when he offered his handkerchief. She didn’t even realize she’d stopped until he slowed to stand beside her.

“You’re a very unique person,” she said, hardly thinking.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he returned lightly.

“It is one.”

With that, she kept walking.

The restaurant was a cozy place, clearly family owned and operated, with tables so close together, turning sideways was required to get through them. True to his gentleman form, Ethan pulled out Billie’s chair for her, and waited for her to be settled before taking a seat himself. A waitress promptly appeared to take their drink order.

“Just water for me,” Ethan answered, and spied her name tag. “Thank you, Rosa.”

Rosa blinked at him in surprise, clearly unaccustomed to being addressed by name. “Uh… sure thing.” She faced Billie. “For you?”

“A glass of Cabernet, please,” Billie said.

“Be right back,” Rosa said, with one last bewildered look at Ethan before departing.

Billie met his gaze from across the table, his green eyes looking like glittering emeralds in the low candlelight.

“Where’d you learn that habit?” she wondered. “Getting people’s names?”

He cleared his throat and shifted in his seat. “Well…I’ve got some experience with being made to feel unimportant, so I decided a long time ago that I’d never let anyone I came across feel that way. I believe that starts with their name.”

She had never even thought of the importance of a name before, but it made sense. For the first three months of her time at Stanmore, Tony kept calling her Bella, and it definitely made her feel like less of a person. As if anyone could be in her position and she was just a stand in. To bother to learn someone’s name, even in a simple interaction, just to humanize them and make them feel seen was a kind of generosity Billie could barely fathom. Especially for someone with his level of fame.

“How are you like this?” she blurted out, and when he shot her a puzzled look, she elaborated. “I mean, how is it that you’re a footballer with all this fame and money and talent, and yet…you never turn your nose up at anyone?”

“I wouldn’t be where I am if there wasn’t somebody to not turn their nose up at me,” he answered. “And believe me, people did.” He paused to swallow. “I was a poor boy from a trailer park with a…troubled mother and no father. Nobody gave me the time of day.”

“Until someone did,” she guessed, and he nodded. “Who was it?”

“My first coach, Larry Lowe,” he said. “My mom, she…Well, she forgot to pick me up from school one day, so I started walking. The soccer fields were on my way, and he invited me to play. I guess he saw potential there because I’ve been playing ever since.”

“How old were you?” she asked.

He dropped his gaze to his lap for a moment before looking at her again. “Six.”

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