Page 28 of Ice To Meet You

“She’s my cat,” I added quickly. As if that clarified anything.I opened my mouth to elaborate, but Matteo stood, drawing my focus. His smile sent heat straight to my cheeks.

“Esmé,” he said, “It’s …”

Before he could say more, another man scrambled to his feet. He had sandy blond hair, a shiny suit, and practically trampled over two other guests to get to my side.

“Esmé,” he said. “Please, will you join us?”

I blinked at him, then glanced around the booth, my gaze landing on Lola. Her perfectly contoured and highlighted cheeks plumped in a smile. She looked radiant, and I fought a scowl. How had she touched up her face since leaving work? Did she carry a professional makeup kit in her handbag? A personal glow-up team on call? I struggled to apply eyeshadow.

“We’re so glad you could make it,” Lola said, her smile staying firmly in place. “Some of us more than others.”

“What do you mean?” Was she regretting inviting me?

Her eyes widened. “Oh, just that my friend Bruno has been champing at the bit to meet you.”

The blond man stepped even closer, and I stared at him. Immediately, I wished Lola hadn’t used a horse metaphor. Her friend had a long face and an enormous nose. He was quite good looking, but I couldn’t un-see his equine features. His profile reminded me of a thoroughbred, sleek but undeniably … horse-like.

“Bruno,” he said, offering me his hand in greeting. “I’m delighted to meet you at last. I’m such a big fan.”

I took his hand on autopilot, my skin crawling at his clammy skin. Was he kidding? Last time I checked, gallery owners weren’t celebrities. We didn’t havefans.

“Why don’t you sit down?” Matteo asked, pulling my attention.

I turned to find him, and the second our gazes met, the corners of his eyes crinkled. My heart burgeoned.

“You look lovely,” he said, his voice barely audible.

Did I really, though? I glanced down at my outfit, mentally revisiting my choices. It’d taken me twenty minutes to decide what to wear. I didn’t want to look too dressy, like I’d made a huge effort, but I didn’t want to look like I’d spent eight hours on my feet, either.

I’d settled on a short, long-sleeved dress and patent leather boots. They resembled something you might wear to go riding, so at least I’d dressed appropriately for Bruno.

“Yes, you do,” said Bruno, pressing my hand again. I’d completely forgotten he held it. “Here, come and sit beside me. I have so many questions.”

“Yes,” said Lola, reaching from her seat to pull on Matteo’s arm. He sank into the banquette next to her, his smile disintegrated.

Bruno grinned. He made space for me on the end of the couch, landing an elbow on the table, gazing at me like a puppy waiting for me to throw a ball. “Tell me about yourself,” he said.

I glanced around the table. Everyone else stared at me, too. “Er … what would you like to know?” The way his eyes bored into me, I wondered if he wanted my bra size, my body count, my favourite sexual positions or all three. I moved as far away from him as possible without falling off the seat.

“I, for one, would like to know what you want to drink,” Matteo said from the other side of the table. “Wine, champagne, or something a little stronger? I know it’s been quite a day.”

It had been. Mostly because I’d occupied myself by ignoringhim. That Iris had noticed me blushing over Matteo made my stomach churn.

“Whatever’s open,” I said, eyeing the bottles on the table.

“Allow me,” said Bruno. He stood again, the fabric of his suit rustling like crinkling paper. He poured a glass of red wine before handing it over. The moment our fingers touched, astinging bolt of static passed between us, and I let out a little gasp.

His eyes widened. “I’m so sorry,” he said, his cheeks glowing crimson.

He looked crestfallen, mortified, and a line of perspiration sprang above his upper lip. I smiled and patted the seat beside me. “How about you tell me a little about yourself first?”

With a sheepish grin, he sat down next to me. Did I really want to hear all about Lola’s friend? No, I didn’t. But that didn’t stop him from obliging.

His hands trembled in his lap, but I listened to him talk about the bank he worked at, his love of poetry, and the impact of fishing quotas on the foreign exchange markets. At the first mention of his collection of cactuses, my mind—and my eyes—wandered.

Matteo and Lola sat directly opposite, pressed together in the booth. He talked—annoyingly quietly—and she giggled, touching her hair and looking up at him from under her long lashes. My gut sank. They looked beautiful together.

I glanced around.Allof Lola’s friends were beautiful, young, and glamorous. Only Maurice and I looked out of place. We were the only two who likely had ties and commitments.

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