Page 89 of All Your Fault

I wasright about the restaurant anyway. It was absolutely five-star. Along with the renovations to the lobby and the new spa area, the restaurant looked like it was brand new, even though we’d learned from the chatty staff person down at the spa registration that the hotel had been here for over fifty years.

“Same family running it too,” the woman said, with a note of pride in her voice. “Pillars of the community. Or they were until Mrs. Kelly passed last year.”

I felt like I knew more about Eli’s family now than I ever needed to—especially since I was still mad at the man for breaking my sister’s heart and trying to buy his way out of his guilt.

Which, granted, he didn’t have to do.

Still, what kind of guy has a torrid affair with someone without telling her he’s moving back to his hometown? Telling her he wants to be friends when, clearly, she fell head over heels at first sight?

We were seated at a small round, white-clothed table in the darkened room, right next to the broad floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the same valley view as the lobby. Outside, there was a wide terrace that looked like it would beautifully host some spectacular parties in warmer weather. Now it was covered in a thick layer of snow.

The hostess who seated us didn’t look remotely like he was related to Eli, thank god. Soft jazz music played over the speakers, though there was a stage set up opposite us.

While we settled in, the manager from the front desk walked briskly through the restaurant. I watched over Reese’s shoulder as she spoke urgently to a man with his back to me who then strode out of the restaurant at a clip himself.

Now she definitely looked stressed. Everyone working here seemed kind of stressed, actually, except for the woman down at the spa earlier. But then again, she worked at a place that pumped Tibetan singing bowl music and lavender mist around her all day.

“What are you going to eat?” Reese asked, bringing me back to the present.

I looked back down at the menu. “I’m looking hard at the filet mignon,” I said, though to be honest, I wasn’t all that hungry. We’d ordered a late lunch to the room after the hours we’d spent down in the spas. But damned if I was going to waste the opportunity to eat a good meal.

“How about you?” Reese shrugged as she took a sip of her cocktail.

I’d asked her when she ordered if she wanted to wait until dinner—she’d only picked at her lunch and had downed two full glasses of champagne. I knew she was trying to quell her nerves, but I also worried she might overdo it.

Well, so what? If there was one night of the year to overdo it, it was New Year’s eve I supposed. I sat back in my chair, trying not to think of what Will was doing right at that moment. He was probably at home, scowling over a glass of scotch in his beautiful brick home. Maybe trying not to text Remy to tell her to start the new year without Draco.

Be single, like me.

My stomach turned.

“Lobster,” Reese said.

“What?” I said, startled back to the table.

“For dinner. He’s covered it, right?”

“Right,” I said. “Good choice.”

“Cheers,” Reese said.

After our server took our order, Reese and I clinked glasses, chatting for a bit about how amazing the spa had been.

Then the lights flickered and we were plunged into darkness. A few patrons gasped and a moment later a terrific crash exploded next to us, nearly making me shriek.

Then the lights came back on.

A man had walked right into a server carrying a tray filled with steaming food.

“Oh my god,” Reese said, jumping up. The man looked hurt—something hot had sloshed on his hand and he was holding it against his chest, grunting.

“I’m so sorry,” the server was saying, trying to pick up broken dishes. She was young and looked terrified, her hands shaking.

“Napkin, please,” Reese said to me. I tossed her a linen napkin from the table next to us.

“Don’t touch the plates like that,” Reese said to the server, “You might get hurt. Come over here and hold this on—what’s your name sir?”

“Abe,” the man said.

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