Page 16 of The Billionaire's Kiss
Chapter Seven
Warner
Although it was three in the morning, I wasn’t ready to end the night. “I know this little place that stays open all night where we can get breakfast. They make omelets, waffles, and their breakfast sausage is killer. Are you up for it?”
“I slept all day,” she said with laughter laced in her voice. “Of course I’m up for it.”
Whisking her away from the party scene on Sixth Street, I made sure to stop back by the artist to grab the painting he’d done of her before we hopped into the truck and headed for Hattie’s All Night Café and Dojo. Hattie’s son had a passion for karate, and she’d given him some room in the back of the place. It proved to make for an interesting meal whenever they were practicing.
We were seated in a corner booth across from each other in no time, reading their extensive menu. “So, how are you liking your adventure to Austin, Texas so far?”
“You’ve made it rather amazing.” She looked over the menu. “There are so many things to eat here. I’m having a hard time making a decision. I do love that they have pictures on the menu. That’s nice.”
“I’m going to have the Belgian waffles with breakfast sausage. They bring with it an assortment of syrups—delicious. I like to use a bit of each.”
“That does sound good. Do you think they serve sweet tea at this time of the morning?”
I had to laugh. “This is Texas, honey. All places serve sweet tea at all hours of the day and night.”
Nodding, she seemed happy with my answer. “I don’t know what it is about that stuff, but it’s most definitely addicting. I had three glasses with dinner. I never have three glasses of anything.”
“Perhaps you should make some kind of a cocktail out of it back home,” I offered an idea.
“Oh, heavens no. That would be like giving my patrons crack in a glass. That stuff is way too addictive to pair with any alcohol. But I will want you to help me find what I’ll need to make some when I get back home. I think I’ll die from withdrawal if I can’t ever have it again.”
“Lucky for you, it’s remarkably simple to make. Some tea bags, sugar, and water, along with ice cubes, and you’ve got it. If you’re feeling adventurous, you could also add some lemon or mint. I’ll take you over to my place one day and show you how it’s done.” I could show her how so many things were done.
Putting the menu down, she propped her elbows on the table, then cupped her face in her hands. “You’re the nicest man I’ve ever met. I mean it. You’re not intrusive at all. You give me your attention, but you don’t force it on me. I like that.”
“I like seeing the world through your eyes.” Watching her as she took in all the sights of the night made me appreciate this city all the more.
The waitress came and took our orders, and in moments we had our iced teas in front of us. The way Orla’s eyes twinkled as she looked at the frosty glass told me that she was indeed addicted to the nectar-like drink. Lifting the glass to her lips, she took a long sip. “Ah. That’s the good stuff right there. I wonder why no one in Ireland has ever thought of this before.”
“Who knows, really. My guess is that it has something to do with it being on the cooler side of the world. Naturally, you guys crave warm drinks rather than iced ones.”
“I think you might just be right about that.” Looking at me, she sat back in the seat. “So, this tattoo of yours. It’s been on my mind all night. A broken heart with angel wings, you said. I’ve been forming possible stories in my mind about why you would have such a thing permanently etched onto your flesh.”
Biting my lip for a moment, I wasn’t sure if this was the place or time to tell her about my tattoo. So many years had passed since I’d gotten it. But sometimes, I still got choked up when I talked about it.
Moving her hand over the table, she ran her fingers over the back of mine. “It must have a deep meaning for you to be this silent about it. I can feel the pain radiating from you, Warner. Is it a memorial tattoo?”
“Two people that were very important to me passed when I was young.” The woman could read me so well. And I was known to be a rather elusive person who wasn’t easy to get to know, at least from what other women had told me about myself.
“Your parents,” she stated as if she just knew it. “How old were you?”
“Thirteen.”
“So young.” Slowly, she shook her head. “How unfortunate for you to have lost them right when you’d become a teenager, with all the woes that go along with those years. Not yet a man, no longer a child.” Her hand moved over mine, her empathy and compassion almost a physical warmth spreading through me. “How did it happen?”
“A house fire,” I whispered, as it was hard to talk through the knot that had formed in my throat. “I was at school. Seventh grade. No one was home but Mom and Dad. The school nurse came and pulled me out of science class. She took me all the way to her office without saying a word.”
“You knew something was wrong though, didn’t you?” she asked.
“My heart was pounding in my chest so hard that I thought I was going to pass out the entire walk down that long hallway.”
“And when she told you?”
“I didn’t react for a few minutes. It just didn’t seem possible. I just sat there, on that little chair next to her desk, and looked at the floor. As it seeped into my brain, I thought about what I was going to do without them. I wondered if we would be sent to an orphanage. I wondered if they’d been afraid. And that’s when I cried. I cried hard and long. I felt like I was losing my mind.”
