Page 79 of Sexy as Sin
He took off his own and said, “Has to be Disney.”
“Yes.Enchanted.Is this bothering you? I could watch in the bedroom.”
“No. You know... dance lessons are a thing. We could take a few sometime. How long has it been since you did it? Waltzed?”
“Oh.” She laughed, sounding a little breathless. “Not since I was little, dancing on my dad’s feet one night. That’s my waltzing experience. He told me I’d be ready, when I was old enough to go along to parties. He was joking, I realize now, but I believed him. It was a special night. By the time Iwasold enough, though, that part of my life was over. Things don’t turn out the way you expect, do they?”
“No,” he said. “So rarely. But there could be something good around the corner all the same.”
If he’d been able to run up the steps to the fountain now, he would have. Instead, she ran down to him, and what could he do but take her in his arms and kiss her like he’d missed her?
“Nice coat,” he said when he could say something again. “No coyote fur, though.”
“I took it off,” she said. “You can laugh, but I’ve surfed with dolphins. I can’t wear something’s fur. Please don’t mention the lamb biryani I had on the plane. Cute little fleecy baby lambies, and I ate them.”
“All right,” he said. “I won’t.”
“Also...” She unzipped the coat a few inches and showed him her neckline. His necklace, sparkling like a promise, and a deep purple sweater. Awrapsweater. If he’d been allowed to, he’d have put his hand there. “Are you happy?”
“Yes,” he said, and it was true.
“Good. Let’s go have lunch.” She lifted the paper shopping bag in her hand. “Steelhead fresh off the boat, boy, and a bottle of Chardonnay from right here in Oregon that the bloke swore would be brilliant with it. Winter veggies and fresh herbs, because local and seasonal is always best. That’s your dinner, though. For now, let’s have pizza at the Crown, because I need to try it and see what’s so special, and then I’ll go back to your house and make the magic happen.”
She should really,reallybe thinking about Nourish. Amanda hadn’t answered her email, and she needed to talk to Brett about what that meant, and what she did now. Dinner was soon enough, though, surely. For now, she wanted to hear about his meetings, and to know that he wanted to tell her.
It wasfreezing.She hadn’t known there was cold like this in the world. Her coat was warm, and she’d bought leather gloves and a fuzzy hat at the saleswoman’s insistence, but her face felt like it was cracking, and she might as well not have been wearing the jeans at all. If Montana was colder than this, which she couldn’t imagine being possible, she was going to be a block of ice.
She was thinking it, seeing the restaurant’s name written on the window, when she realized she was walking by herself. She whirled, thinking,He’s fallen. The cane. Ice.
He hadn’t fallen. He was standing still, looking through the plate glass. She took a few steps back and asked, “All right?”
He looked at her with blank eyes, then blinked and said, “Sure. Let’s get out of the cold.”
“You’re worried we won’t get a table,” she said. “I booked ahead. Or did you not want pizza?”
“No,” he said. “It’s fine.” He’d withdrawn, though, back behind his smooth, polished mask, and she couldn’t see why.
They went inside, and shewasglad to be out of the cold. When she took off her coat, though, Brett didn’t look at her sweater in the way she’d expected. Instead, he was studying the menu, then giving his order like she wasn’t there. She wasn’t sure what to say about that, or whether to say anything at all.
A work thing, probably. He was back in his element, and however busy he’d seemed, being in Oz had been a holiday for him. Holidays didn’t last forever.
A shadow fell over the table, but when she looked up, it wasn’t the waiter. It was a brunette in a jewel-blue knit skirt and matching wrap jacket not too different from what Willow was wearing, except that there was so much more body under it. The woman had to be in her late thirties, from the few faint lines at the corners of her eyes, but the word “bombshell” had surely been created just for her, from the lustrous mink-brown hair pulled back into a knot to her perfectly cut cheekbones to her black suede heels, and so had the word “confident.”
Some Italian star from the middle of the last century, that was who she reminded you of. “Sultry.” That was the other word. You could fully imagine her pulling her hair out of its knot, shaking her head, kicking off her heels, crooking a finger, and not even needing to smile. The man in the picture would follow her anywhere.
“Hello, Brett,” she said. “It’s been a long time.”
Brett had stood, and now, his face defined “wooden.” He said, “It has. This is my friend Willow. This is Nia Hernandez, Willow.”
“Brett’s ex-wife,” the brunette said, putting out a hand, then looking down at Willow’s as she shook it. One of their hands had a perfect wine-colored manicure. The other had—well, completely unpainted nails filed to practical length, and fingers marred by scars from knife cuts and old burns. Because she was achef.
“How are you?” Brett asked. “I see you in the news from time to time. You did well in that real-estate fraud case. That made some waves in the industry. Still keeping me honest. How’s Aaron?”
“He’s switched jobs,” she said. “You probably don’t know that. He’s been teaching high school for a year and a half now. Chemistry, and he coaches the debate team, too.”
“Really,” Brett said. “That’s very... noble.”
“We’re having a baby. He wants to be there for her.”
