Page 62 of Where We Bloom

“Good.”

The server returns with waters and a basket of bread with garlic piled on top of it. Billie grabs a slice and keeps talking.

“Sometimes Miller’s with you, and sometimes he isn’t. Why is that?”

I take her free hand in mine and rub my thumb over her knuckles. She’s not wearing any rings, but she has on the necklace I gave her.

“Miller’s with me most of the time,” I admit. “Some days, I go out on my own, but that honestly pisses him off.”

She lifts an eyebrow, but we’re interrupted by the server. I place our order, and when we’re alone again, she takes my hand once more and sips her water.

“Why do you have him with you?”

“For protection.”

She blinks at that, her eyebrows pulling together in a frown, and my angel suddenly looks concerned. I don’t ever want her to worry about anything. “What do you need to be protected from?”

I shake my head, ready to brush it off, but her hand tightens in mine.

“Don’t fucking sugarcoat it,” she says, her voice low enough that no one else can hear her. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t always deal with good people. I can be ruthless in business. I don’t care if I’m liked as long as I get what I want.”

“People want tohurtyou?” Her jawfirms, and she squares her shoulders. “You don’t need Miller. I’ll kill them myself.”

“I have no doubt you could do that.” I can’t help the smile that spreads over my face because she looks so fierce. It feels good to know that she’d try to defend me in any way she could. Not that I’d ever let her put herself between me and anyone else. “But you don’t have to worry about anything. It’s mostly a precaution, and that’s the truth of it. Also, when he drives, I can work.”

Her gaze searches mine as if she’s making sure I’m telling the truth. She must believe me because she nods. The Italian nachos are set in front of us, and I discover I’m hungrier than I thought I was.

“What are your questions for me?” Billie asks.

“What are you wearing under that dress?”

She doesn’t even pause in her reply. “Something that will make you sweat when I get you home.”

I reach over and brush her hair behind her ear. “All you have to do is exist for that to happen.”

She smirks, but I don’t miss the satisfaction that moves through her eyes.

“How long have you been divorced?”

Ah, here we go. After our talk yesterday, I wondered when she’d dig into this topic. Not that I have a problem discussing it with her because if the roles were reversed, I’d want to know, too.

“More than ten years. Maybe closer to twelve now, actually.”

She reaches for another nacho and chews. “Was it amicable?”

“As much as divorce can be.” She’s watching me with serious eyes, and I lean back in the chair. “I was twenty-three when I married her and almost twenty-eight when it was over. I’d known her a long time. Her family and mine are friends, and when it was suggested that we’d make a fine match, I didn’t balk at it.”

“It was anarrangedmarriage?” Her eyes widen at that, and I smile.

“Not like that, no, and she’d be mighty chuffed if she thought I said so. It was …easy, I guess is the word for it. Fiona’s a lovely woman. She’s pretty”—Billie narrows her eyes, and I squeeze her hand, enjoying her wee show of jealousy—“and we got along well. We still do, but just as friends.”

“So you married her because you liked her well enough and she fit into your world?”

“Those were my reasons.” Our entrée is set in front of us, and when we confirm that we don’t need anything else, the server leaves. Billie and I both grab a fork and eat from one plate. “She would likely tell you that she thought she was in love with me at the time.”

Billie nods thoughtfully, but there’s no judgment there. “Interesting.”

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