Page 57 of Ewan

My smile brightens as I move closer to the table.

It’s a large oval table for eight. Four people sit at the table, men and women, when a group of guests inches closer to their seats.

I slow down so everyone claims their seats before I casually let my eyes rove over the newcomers when my heart stops and my eyes go wide.

Abruptly halting, I almost make the server behind me stumble. I apologize profusely and move swiftly to the side, letting the other people walk by.

Am I seeing things?

This can’t be the man who kissed my lips on Friday night, and sent me into a tailspin ever since.

I tried to ignore his kiss and talked myself out of the idea that it was more than a random thing.

Besides his kiss was the puzzle piece that didn’t fit.

After all that banter and sexual undertones, getting a pure kiss from him made zero sense.

It was a goodbye kiss, I could tell.

He didn’t want to stay. Had no reason to do that.

Besides, he had mixed feelings about me and being there, while I had mixed feelings about him.

Despite all that, I’d invited him in and offered him coffee. I’d probably hoped that maybe we could figure out what our irresistible attraction to each other was all about.

Maybe his semi had nothing to do with me, and he is sporting one whenever he wears red pants.

But maybe it had to do with me as I truly affected his body. For sure, he affected mine, although my reaction to him has been dismissed by that part of my brain that wanted everything to be clear and safe.

There is nothing safe about Ewan.

Seeing him here now makes me breathe with difficulty, which only confirms that.

I don’t even know who he is, I realize, staring at him.

He rocks a sleek, slim-fit, fashionable suit with a starched dress shirt and a big smile that is not directed at me. It’s not overly flirtatious or charming, either.

It’s the smile of someone who is spending some time with his friends in this expensive, posh place.

As baffled as I am about his presence here, in an unexpected moment of clarity, I glance around the table, anguished at the idea that I might find a woman paired up with him.

I count five men and three women. Some men have brought their women with them. Two haven’t. And he is one of them.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, I attempt to learn more about their gathering by looking at them.

The women.

Are they their wives?

Girlfriends?

Hired for the evening?

The women are friendly with each other, which makes me think this isn’t the first time they’ve gone out as a group. Could they be escorts supplied by the same agency?

It’s not entirely out of the question. But why would I think about that? Because they all have something in common.

They’re young and pretty.

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