Page 14 of Where Quiet Hearts Scream
“Sera. I check out in 2 days. Would you like to join me today for lunch? Andrew.”
My heartstops.
I glance up at Angela who is biting back a grin. “Is this for real?”
She nods and glances about before leaning into me and lowering her voice. “You should go. Like he says, he’ll be leaving soon. There’s no way I’m going to stand between you and a date with the Obscenely Gorgeous Man.”
“It’s not a date.” My voice quivers.
“Call it whatever you want. He hasn’t asked anyone else here to join him for lunch, you know what I’m saying?”
I stare at the note. “How am I supposed to reply to him?”
Her chin drops and she arches a brow. “I don’t think you ‘reply’ to someone like Andrew Stone, Sera. You just do as he asks.” She shrugs and logs into the computer. “He’ll show up when it’s time.”
I re-fold the note and slide it into my pocket whereit burns hot against my hip. I wish I’d worn a little more make-up, or chosen a slightly looser-fitting uniform today since I’m struggling to grasp enough air. But it’s too late now. Andrew Stone will just have to take me as I come—au naturel, trussed up and short of breath.
I watch the clock slowly tick toward midday. My shift finishes at twelve and I have no idea where I’m supposed to meet Andrew. At exactly one minute before, he appears at the check in desk, his usual crisp-cut suit and shoes replaced by dark jeans, a black T-shirt and black Nikes. His eyes seem lighter, an air of playfulness dancing on his lips.
It’s not a date, it’s not a date, I repeat to myself, hoping it calms the nerves in my belly. Even so, my mouth suddenly feels very dry and I have to swallow a few times before I can speak.
“Hi!” I smile, a little too brightly. “It’s a beautiful day. Shall we sit on the terrace?”
He pushes his hands into his pockets, throws back his shoulders and looks down through his lashes. “Sure. That sounds good.”
I wave to Angela, nervously, then follow Andrew out of the lobby to the terrace. Once in the fresh air, I take a deep breath, but I still feel as though oxygen is being unfairly rationed.
He chooses a small table tucked away in a corner in the shade and pulls out a chair for me to sit. Nerves suddenly thump through me like a jackhammer and a shiver physically wracks my spine.
“Are you cold?” he asks, his dark eyes narrowed in concern.
“Oh, no, not really. I just need to acclimate after being indoors all morning.”
I cross my legs, pull the hem of my skirt lower and twiddle my fingers beneath the table. I feel like a fourteen-year-old girl—it’s ridiculous.
Needing to fill the quiet with something, I flick my lashes up at him, shyly. “Thanks for the invitation.”
“I told you I wanted to see you again.” His voice is low and intimate and my stomach has turned to actual jelly. He has one leg bent, his ankle resting across his knee. With that pose, along with his perfectly chiseled jaw, flawless skin and hooded eyes, he wouldn’t look out of place in a tourism brochure.
I avert my gaze, coasting it along the foliage surrounding the terrace. I feel as though looking directly at him will burn my irises. “I wanted to say thank you for letting me drone on about your birth chart. Not many people like me to talk too much about those kind of things. They believe it’s the work of Satan or something. I think it scares them.”
When he doesn’t reply, I look up and suck back a breath. He seems closer somehow. Or maybe it’s just his gaze wrapping me up in his orbit, making me feel as though I’m the only other person in his world.
His low voice vibrates through me, drawing me in deep. “Nothingscares me.”
I swallow, hard. The intensity of his focus makes me a little uncomfortable, as though I need to make light ofhis comment. I force out a short laugh. “You’re lucky. Most things scare me.”
He watches me carefully. “That’s because you don’t know who you are. Yet.”
I shift uneasily. His observation hits a little too close to home.
“It’s not a bad thing,” he continues. “Just means the best is yet to come.”
My insides smile at those words and a lightness spreads across my chest. The sun is reflected off the small pond in the center of the terrace, casting him in a rippling gold light. I suddenly want to remember this moment. Even if I never see Andrew Stone again, his words have made me feel something and I want to freeze time just for a second so I can absorb it.
“Can I take your picture?” I ask, surprising myself.
His lips curl a touch, softening his frown. “Sure.”
