Page 10 of Where We Bloom

“I’d like her check added to mine,” I reply, gesturing toward Billie.

“You got it.” He nods and walks away, and I notice that the rest of the table has gone quiet, but I don’t care.

I’m not even sure I need to be a part of this meeting.

“Sir, we can wrap this up if you’d like,” the manager says, and I nod.

“Thank you. I’ll be heading back to Bitterroot Valley today.”

“But we thought?—”

“It wasn’t a question,” I reply and shake both of their hands, dismissing them, and then I sit alone and watch Billie as she finishes her dessert and checks her phone again, smiling at something she sees. Is it a message from another man?

The mere thought makes my hand fist and my jaw clench, which is completely unreasonable.

It’s none of my business if she’s seeing someone. She made it clear a couple of weeks ago, when I dragged her into the supply closet at her shop, that she wants nothing to do with me.

“I won’t do this with you,” she says, her voice shaking. “No more. No more kisses at dance recitals and family dinners and at the fucking coronation of a king. No more messing with my head, Connor. I’m sure it makes you happy to know that I enjoyed fucking you. I can’t help myself from responding to you when you touch me, but Iam done letting you use me. You don’t get to do that anymore.”

I’ve tried. I’ve kept my distance over the past few weeks and made sure that if she was going to be somewhere, Iwasn’t.Yet the thought of staying away from her forever is pure fucking torture. Each day is getting harder and harder. All I want is this woman.

The server approaches her table, and she asks for the check, but he shakes his head and must tell her it’s been taken care of because she frowns.

I stand and start her way.

When she sees me coming, her gorgeous eyes widen, and all of the blood drains from her face as if she’s seen a ghost. Or her worst nightmare.

I fucking hate that.

“Thank you, Travis,” I say. The young man nods, and then he’s gone, and I take the seat across from Billie.

“What are you doing here?” she asks with a scowl.

“I own this place.”

She blinks at me, then seems to wilt. “Youown this? The hotel, too?”

I nod, fiddling with the silverware on the table.

“Well, shit. I love this place.”

“You do?” I lift an eyebrow in surprise and feel oddly … proud.

“It’s a beautiful hotel. I’ve never stayed here, but I always eat here whenever I come to town.”

“And how often is that?”

She nibbles her lip. “Once a month.”

“You make a four-hour drive once a month?”

“It’s closer to eight hours because I go back the same day. I’m actually about to head out now. I just wanted to eat first.”

“I’ll walk you to your car, then.”

She doesn’t argue as I stand and button my suit jacket, and with my hand pressed to the small of her back, I lead her out the front door to the footpath.

“I’m that way.” She points to the left, and without thinking about it, I link my hand with hers, walking beside her, making sure she’s on the inside of the footpath.

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