Page 13 of Izzy and Her Off-Limits Love

Admittedly, I’m a little out of practice. Maybe my flirting game is way off? Either way, the shock on Izzy’s face seems sincere, so I have no choice but to believe she really didn’t know.

And now I have to make this right.

Behind us, another server pushes out of the kitchen, his tray coming dangerously close to knocking Izzy in the side of the head.

I tug her toward me, and she lifts her hands to my chest, but as soon as the server has moved into the bar, she pushes away from me, following after him.

“I need a minute,” she says over her shoulder, hustling away.

I have no idea where she’s headed, but I don’t want to lose her in this crowd, so I follow behind, trying to give her space while also staying close. When she passes our table and heads toward the door, I stop long enough to grab my suit coat and Izzy’s bag, shrugging my shoulders at Alisa, who is watching with interest.

I finally catch Izzy at the edge of the parking lot, standing in the yellow glow of a streetlight. I stay a few yards back, balancing my desire to give her the minute she asked for with a desire to keep her safe. Because I don’t love the idea of her being out here alone, especially when her phone is in the bag I’m currently holding.

“Sorry,” I say when she looks my way. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted to be done for the night or if you planned to go back in. I grabbed your stuff just in case, and my stuff too, since I drove you here. Which I clearly don’t need to tell you because you were there. I’m just saying, if you want to be alone, I could stand over there and wait.” I point behind me to the opposite side of the parking lot, realizing too late that I’m babbling, and take a deep breath. “I don’t feel okay leaving you alone out here. Just purely from a safety perspective.”

She lets out a little chuckle and shakes her head, her lips finally lifting into a small smile. “I remember this about you,” she says.

“Me being overly protective?”

“No. You talking a lot when you’re nervous. Do you remember when you thought you got caught sneaking sodas from Eloise’s secret stash? You talked to her for ten minutes about dinosaur bones.”

While I love thinking about all our shared memories, I’m not sure babbling when I’m nervous is what I want Izzy to remember. Being protective sounds much more manly than spouting off about paleontology. I’ve come a long way since then though, so I smile. “I think she would have given me a soda just to shut me up. I’m happy to talk about dinosaur bones anytime, by the way. Not just when I’m in trouble. Just throwing that offer out there.”

Her smile is a little warmer, a little wider. “Thanks.”

“Are you okay?” I ask, all serious now. I take a tentative step closer.

“Yes? I think?” She lifts a hand to her arm, rubbing it up and down like she’s chasing away a chill. “Sorry I ran. I just got a little overwhelmed by the crowd.”

It’s a lie. Izzy has never minded a crowd. She’s been confident and comfortable in her own skin as long as I’ve known her.

But I get the sense she needs me to believe her, so I simply nod. “I know what that’s like. Take all the time you need.”

I study Izzy’s profile, thinking about how brilliant she was today.

I barely got through my walkthrough of the Make Change software, and I could see it click with her. And then she spent the rest of the day nailing it like she’d been using the program forever. She’ll probably do a better job training the staff than I will, which makes it all the more ridiculous that her boss has her essentially doing busy work in a cubicle when she’s so insanely brilliant.

I stand with Izzy for a few more moments until a breeze whips through the parking lot, sending a chill down the open collar of my shirt. “Do you want to go back inside?” I ask.

She frowns but otherwise doesn’t respond, so I try again.

“Or I could take you home?”

Still nothing.

“Or we could go get you a cheeseburger somewhere? We skipped right over dinner and went straight for drinks. Which in hindsight might not have been the best idea.”

Izzy’s eyes light up, and she points. “That one. A cheeseburger.”

The breeze gets stronger, and Izzy sucks in a breath. Savannah never gets full-on winter weather, at least not for more than a few days at a time, but it’s probably in the low fifties now, and Izzy doesn’t have any kind of coat.

I slowly walk forward, closing the distance between us, and lift my suit jacket, wrapping it around her shoulders. “A cheeseburger it is.”

I slide my hand to the back of her neck, gently pulling her hair loose from the collar of my jacket. A simple touch, but it somehow feels so intimate that there’s a catch in my chest.

“Riley’s has great burgers and also gluten-free bread,” she says. “I could marry their sweet potato fries.”

Though I’m well versed in navigating the world of dining out while managing my celiac disease, I still appreciate Izzy remembering and thinking of me.

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