Page 53 of Must Have Been Love

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too.” I end the call and look at my freshly made-up face in the mirror. If I can face my demons, having to face Hudson Fitzgerald should be a cinch.

I just have to keep telling myself that.

seventeen

HUDSON

The porch lights above the bar are on, which feels like a good sign. Like not only is she expecting me, but she doesn’t want me to trip over my feet and land on my ass on the wooden deck.

It’s a low bar, but Skyler not wanting me to break my neck is a good thing, right?

I park the car in the dark lot behind the bar, instead of parking on the strip of grass facing the ferry like I usually do. I tell myself it’s because I know she won’t like people talking about me being here at night.

When I reach the door, I rap my knuckles lightly on the wood and she opens it.

I have no idea what it is about this woman that sends every sense I have into overdrive. But seeing the way she looks at me with those thick lashes sweeping down makes me want to scoop her into my arms and bend her over the damn bar.

“Come in.” She looks at the bag I’m carrying. It has the Grand Liberty Hotel logo on it. “You really did bring dinner.” She sounds surprised.

“I said I would,” I tell her, following her inside, carrying the food I asked the hotel’s chef to prepare for me.

Skyler’s wearing a denim dress today. It’s western style, with buttons from the collar to the hem that skims her bare thighs. I like the way she’s dressed. Casual yet sexy.

It takes every ounce of self control I have not to reach out to start unfastening those metal stamped buttons.

“Where shall we eat?” I ask her, looking beyond her to the private apartment. I’ve been in there a few times. Mostly when Wayne was in a bad way and I’d carry him to bed.

“I thought here.” She points at a table at the center of the bar area. I look at it, frowning.

“Wouldn’t you rather be somewhere more private?” I ask.

“I don’t think we’re about to get overrun by tourists.” Her lips curl as she looks at me. “And I think this would be best.”

I open my mouth to protest, but then close it again. I’ve pissed her off enough since she arrived on the island. If she wants to eat in the damn bar, then that’s what we’ll do.

“Anyway,” she says. “It’s kind of like a final goodbye to the way this bar looks. Tomorrow it’ll be ripped out. There’s this guy with way more money than sense that’s paying for a full remodel.”

“He probably has an ulterior motive,” I say, putting the bag on the table and starting to unpack it.

“I’m pretty sure he does. But luckily for him I know what’s best for him.” She moves over to help me with the food.

“What is best for him?” I ask, handing her the plates and silverware, which she lays out neatly.

“Somebody who doesn’t drive him up the wall.” Her eyes meet mine and I feel a shot of desire rush through me.

A smile pulls at my lips. “Maybe he likes that.” I open up the starters the chef made at my request. A simple shrimp salad made from local catch. Martin worked in Michelin starred restaurants in New York and L.A. before his wife passed and he realized he needed to change his lifestyle, and you can tell by the way he’s paid attention to every single detail.

And yet, it’s not the food I’m interested in. It’s this woman who feels like a fucking dream dancing on a breeze. Something I want to catch but keeps slipping away.

I plate up the food and pass it to her, and she looks at me like she’s trying to work me out.

Good luck with that, sweetheart. I’ve been trying the same thing all my life.

“Is that why you came tonight?” she asks. “To handle me?”

I take a mouthful of the shrimp. Christ, it’s good. “Eat,” I say after I swallow it down, pointing at her untouched plate.

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