Page 29 of Promise Me Ever After
Ugh. He was right. Say we had gone through with it and I had become Mrs Russ O’Connell. Being divorced at thirty wouldn’t be great. If I thought about it rationally, finding out when I had was actually a blessing in disguise.
“Why did you come here though?” he pressed. “You could have stayed where you were and kicked him out, right?”
“Yeah, true. But I didn’t want to run the risk of bumping into him. He and my sister’s hubby-to-be work for the same company. Fraser and Darcy used to live in Bristol too, until she decided she wanted to run the shop here. The company allows Fraser to do most of his work from home, which meant he doesn’t have to be in the office. Knowing they were here, it made sense to join them. And when I found out Anna’s Kitchen was hiring; everything fell into place.” I was rambling, the result of too much alcohol making me word vomit. But Alex asking about Russ had opened the old wound, and I found I was bleeding all over him.
“Don’t you miss your friends?”
I chewed on my lip as I considered his question. Over the past few months, I’d come to realise that ‘our’ friends were actually Russ’s friends, people he worked with or had gone to university with. My friends had mostly been at the restaurant and, with a couple of exceptions, tended to be transient. I wasn’t really in touch with anyone from that life and I didn’t miss them at all.
“A bit,” I fibbed. “But I’ve got my sister here and Ems is becoming a good friend.” I picked up my glass, only to find it empty again. When I reached for the port, that seemed to have disappeared too.
“I’d like to think she’s not the only new friend you have.” Alex extended his hand across the table to cover mine, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles.
His touch ran a direct line down to my core, causing goose bumps to break out over my exposed skin.
Fuck.
There I was, telling myself I needed to hold back, when Alex Kane was causing that reaction. We could be friends; we didn’t have to be anything more.
Then he lifted my hand to his mouth, turned it over and brushed his lips over my palm. Breathing heavily, I snatched my hand away and stood up so quickly that my chair fell to the floor. My heart beat wildly in my chest, so loud I’m sure he must have been able to hear it.
“Shall I get us something else to drink? Coffee perhaps?” I bustled around the kitchen, aimlessly picking up pots and pans, making sure my back was to Alex so he couldn’t see how my cheeks flamed.
“Sure.” His tone flattened. “Can I use your bathroom?”
“Of course. Top of the stairs, it’s on your left.”
I heard his chair scrape back, then footsteps leaving the room. Sagging against the counter, I exhaled hard. Did he think I didn’t like him? Problem was, I did. But given everything I’d just told him; did he think I was an easy target? If we went down the more-than-friends route, what sort of issues could it cause?
Breathe, Georgie. It doesn’t have to go anywhere. Sure, he’s hot… those eyes, that body you’ve imagined he’s got under those chef’s whites, he’s good with his hands…
Conflict flooded me.
A fun fling with a work colleague?
Shit idea. Look what had happened when Russ did the same thing. I should enjoy the rest of the night and then move on.
Having made the decision, my spirits lifted, and I set about picking up my discarded chair, clearing the table, stacking the dishes to be washed by the sink. While I waited for him to come back — what the hell was he doing in the bathroom? — I found some decent coffee and made a plunge pot. Grabbing mugs from the cupboard, I put them on the table. And because I needed even more Dutch courage to get through the rest of the evening, I found a bottle of whisky to go in the coffee. When he still hadn’t returned, I pulled on a pair of Marigold dishwashing gloves, ran some hot water, tipped in some detergent and made a start on the washing up.
Seriously, what was he doing up there?
12
Alex
I pacedabout the tiny bathroom, wondering what the hell to do. Georgie had pulled away from me when I held her hand, yet for most of the evening had been sending me signals that said otherwise. Talking to her, finding out more about her, even including the revelation of her whirlwind engagement and how it had ended, made me want her.
But what disturbed me more was the thought that I didn’t want to shag her and then move on. This feeling was different to the waitresses I’d seen over the summer. A few quick knee-tremblers without the promise of a future or anything more.
At times like this, I wished Justin and Curtis were around. They’d tell me what I should do. Given how loved up the pair of them currently were, I was certain their advice would be to go for it.
But if she turned me down, could I handle it? We would still have to work together after all.
What I should do is pack up my stuff and head home.
What Iwantedto do was something entirely different.
Head versus heart.
