Page 33 of Undone, Love Times Three

“I’m just concerned that if you go back to Boston with your non-pal out there, you might get into more trouble.”

His lip kicks up on the uninjured side. His eyes crinkle. Why does that make him more attractive? He keeps his gaze on mine, his eyes full of curiosity.

“How long have you owned this place?” he changes the subject.

Okay, I’ll go along with it. Though it’s odd, getting to know a random man who was involved in a fight in my bar. In my bathroom. Alone.

“It’s been in the family for decades. I took over three years ago.”

“It’s popular.”

“I’m aware.” I try to hide the grin. He looks flustered now and runs a hand through his hair to hide it. He doesn’t seem the shy type. My eyes drop to his hand, which has fallen to his side. No ring.

“I’m Daniel, in case you were wondering,” he states.

“I wasn’t. But thanks for letting me know.”

Now he smiles. I can’t help but smile back. His eyes lower to my lips.

“Adele,” I respond to the unanswered question.

“Huh,” he frowns.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head.

“No, what is it?”

He lets out a short laugh. “In my head, you were called something different?”

“Yeah?” I cock my head to the side. “What?”

He thinks about it for a moment before answering. “Blue.”

“Not the first time someone assumed that.”

He frowns, like the thought of someone else calling me Blue pisses him off. I don’t know why it sends a thrill through me. Something comes over me and I push away from the wall. Daniel watches me, letting the hand holding the ice lower to his hip.

“Do you want a drink?” I ask.

“Back out in the bar?” he replies.

Shaking my head, I walk out of the bathroom and into my office. Daniel follows but remains in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against it as he watches me round the desk and open the bottom drawer. I take out a bottle of scotch and grab two glasses. His brows lift as though surprised. When I hold it up, asking if this is okay, he nods.

Leaving the ice in the bathroom sink, he comes into the room. I pour two fingers each and reach out with the glass. When ourfingers touch, a shiver runs down my spine. It’s the chill from the ice on his skin, that’s all.

We sit. This room is a throwback to my uncle. He used to have meetings here, so there is a seat facing the desk.

I haven’t changed anything since he passed. I remember playing here with my cousins and brother when we were younger. Everything about it reminds me of those times. Even if the bar is mine now, a part of my heart still thinks it belongs to him.

“What is it that you do?”

“I’m in the aviation business.”

“You make planes?”

“No, we own airports.” He says it matter-of-fact, like he isn’t part of a multi-million-dollar business. “Deputy CEO,” he adds. He isn’t bragging.

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