Page 51 of Isla

"Why does that matter?" I ask, eating a potato coated in garlic butter. So fucking good.

Henry shrugs. "Maybe it doesn't. We always thought we could dabble with cooking for the pub, but Greer is such an amazing chef, we wouldn't want to cramp her style."

"I have a feeling Greer will want to step back soon. Maybe not completely, but she has responsibilities outside of the pub that she'll have to take care of. It could be the perfect time to stretch your wings."

"That's terrifying," he admits.

"If I can start completely over, you can cook a couple nights a week for strangers."

"I've never had to cook for more than a handful of people before."

"This won't be any different; it's just a little more fast-paced. Plus, everyone will be so excited for something new that they won't care how long they have to wait."

"The community here really is something special," Henry says, setting his empty plate down and picking up his glass of wine. "I already feel more at home than I ever did in my hometown."

"Really?"

"Really. It makes me never want to leave."

"Leave?" My heart stutters in my chest.

"We're here on a tourist visa, Isla. There may be a day when we have to leave if the government won’t grant us a start-up visa."

Why hadn't I thought to ask them about this before? "But you can't work on a visitor visa," I protest, confused.

"We're not taking any income from the pub, so technically, we're not doing anything illegal."

"You only have six months?" He nods. Fuck. "I wish I could go back to a minute ago when I was blissfully unaware."

"Hey." He angles his body toward me, sliding his hand over my jaw and turning my head to meet his gaze. "We'll figure it out. It's not your responsibility to worry about."

"But what if–"

"No. No what ifs." He looks up suddenly. "Look!" I follow his gaze, catching the tail end of a meteor streaking through the sky. "Come here, Isla." He pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me. We sit like that for a long time, watching stars shooting across the sky. When our necks start hurting, he takes out his phone and pulls up the playlist he made. He presses play and sets it in the cupholder,pushing me from his lap as he stands. He grabs my hand and spins me under his arm, pulling me in and holding me close as we dance beneath the shooting stars. It's impossibly romantic.

"Thank you," I whisper, laying my cheek against the soft cotton of his T-shirt.

"For what?" he asks, his lips moving against my hair.

"For planning this." I look up at him, not bothering to hide the emotion in my eyes. "For making me feel worthy of something as romantic as this."

"You're worthy of everything your heart desires, Isla. I'll spend my entire life trying to prove it to you if I have to. I’ve never met someone that works as hard as you do. That has a bigger heart. You put everyone's needs above your own, so I’m making it my personal mission thatallof your needs are met.

Emotion swells in my chest with every word that comes out of his mouth, eventually spilling out of my eyes in an uncontrollable stream of tears. I don't hide them. I don't need to. Tears leak out from under my eyelids as he turns my face up to his, swiping his thumbs across my cheeks, catching the tears as they fall. "You're so beautiful, Isla," he murmurs, licking a teardrop from my lips. “So fucking sweet under that prickly exterior.” I push up on my tiptoes and press my mouth to his, needing to lose myself in him. He growls against my lips, banding his arm around my waist and pulling me up. I wrap my legs around him, his cock settling between my legs, stoking the flames until I’m sure I’m being burned alive.

“I need you,” I say against his lips, my voice desperate and unfamiliar to my ears.

“You have me,” he murmurs, peppering kisses along my jaw.

“I need your cock. In me,” I say, rocking my hips against him.

“I don’t have sex on the first date,” he says, his lips moving against my neck, licking a path down to my collarbone.

“Fuck you,” I groan, dropping my head to the side to give him easier access.

“Yes, please. But not until date three.”

“Henry.” I straighten, my eyes meeting his. “Are you serious?”

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