Page 43 of Bitter Beats

Alfred’s eyes crinkle like he’s trying not to chuckle.

I huff out a breath and unfold myself from the back seat, thanking Drew before I stride inside. I bypass the hostess, my gaze locked in on the beauty sitting in the corner. All by herself.

It’s a wonder she hasn’t spotted me yet, but I slow my steps since Mckenna’s gaze is trained outside the window on theopposite side of the restaurant’s entrance. I take a second to drink her in. Study her.

And it hits me like a sucker punch.

Mckenna’s hair, long, soft tresses of auburn with strands of glinting gold, is perfectly blown out. When she turns her head, her hair falls around her delicate shoulders.

She’s dressed in a long, navy patterned skirt that skims the toes of sensible, black boots. The skirt, fun and flirty and so unlike anything I’ve seen her wear in recent months, is paired with a simple black sweater, tucked in and tight. It hugs her curves, grazes her breasts, which are always hidden under baggie hoodies, and ties in a bow right under her chin. It’s a small flourish, a detail I instantly note and like.

Mckenna faces me, and her eyes widen as I approach the table.

She’s wearing makeup, and although it’s subtle, it amplifies her natural beauty.

“You’re here,” she breathes, slipping from her chair to stand before me.

I feel the eyes of other patrons on the center of my back. In between my shoulder blades. I know we’re being carefully watched. Studied and scrutinized.

I reach Mckenna and my hands grasp hers. I stop a few steps away and dip my head, my mouth brushing over her ear.

I inhale, letting her light, citrus scent wash over me. My lips find her cheek, and I kiss against its softness. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mckenna.” My voice vibrates sincerely.

Right now, I am sorry.

“You look lovely.” I give her hands a little squeeze before dropping them.

She stares at me, dumbfounded. I smile, and a surprised chuckle falls from Mckenna’s mouth.

Her blue eyes, more night sky than stormy sea in the soft lighting, crinkle at the corners, much like Alfred’s did. I wonder if she’s trying not to laugh. Her lips curl upward, and she shakes her head slightly.

Mckenna sits across from me and tucks her hair behind her ear. I have the urge to reach out and run the pads of my fingers along that strand, feel its silk against my skin.

I clear my throat and lift my chin toward her wineglass. “How many have you had?”

“Oh, Mav,” she sighs, tilting her head. Her eyes gleam playfully, and I lean closer. I’m not used to this version of Mckenna. Is she already drunk? “I ordered the bottle.” She bites the corner of her mouth, giving me a sheepish look.

At her honesty, I tip my head back and laugh.

Mckenna joins in.

And the patrons seated at the other tables go back to eating.

It’s as if the entire restaurant let out a collective sigh. A group exhale.

I pour myself a glass of wine and top off Mckenna’s, waving off the approaching server. I lift my glass toward the beautiful enigma seated across from me.

“To tonight,” I say. My voice is low and gruff. I clear my throat again.

Mckenna dazzles me with another smile. “Cheers, Mav.”

We drink.

“I like this version of you, Mckenna,” I admit, as she pushes the menu closer to me.

“Tipsy?”

I smirk. “Relaxed.” I scan the menu.

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