Page 23 of Right With You
No.Just no, brain.
I would do this for Luc to get Callum off my back, to get myself out of the funk I’d been in, to avoid stewing in my worry about the business, and to help a nice person. It would be a purely fictional pairing with this lovely man, a person I’d never partner with left to my own devices, and it would be a distraction. Maybe a little fun. Like living in a live-action romance book or something. Nothing else.
Period.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Luc
Elise agreed to meet for dinner that evening.
I’d expected a longer wait, but was relieved to see her suggestion. We didn’t know each other, and if we were really going to convince my grandfather I was in love with her enough to propose, and not simply in reaction to his desire to marry me off to an advantageous match and avoid losing the trust, we’d need time to do it.
Kenny had checked in about ten times this evening as though anything would’ve happened between getting home from work and changing into jeans and a fresh button-up. It wasn’t fancy, but living in a resort mountain town in the West meant few things were.
I arrived early out of habit and with a touch of nerves, and paced along the sidewalk in front of Guac.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” Elise said as she came to a stop next to me, not quite looking me in the eyes.
I’d noticed she did this—didn’t give me her full gaze and sometimes seemed like she was looking past me.
“You’re right on time.” I held out a hand to gesture her forward. “Shall we?”
Her hair swished as she turned, and I admired the curves of her body as she went, until I realized I probably shouldn’t be doing so. I didn’t want to stand here objectifying her or making her feel like an accessory. Yes, her jeans fit her perfectly, and she had on a dark top that tucked into her waist then flared out at her hips. No heels tipped her taller—she wore sneakers. Casual and comfortable.
The absence of pretense constantly refreshed me when it came to Elise. I’d had too many instances of women wanting me for my family’s money when I was younger, and for my appearance once I joined the military. In either case, I hated it.
I didn’t want to spend time with someone who wouldn’t let me know them. Perhaps this was the height of hypocrisy considering I’d lied about my last name to my closest friends for years, and yet, they knew me. They knew the fabric of me, and I knew them. That mattered.
Elise didn’t want me for any reason. She seemed to be only lightly interested in humoring this whole set up, for which I was grateful. The irony of wanting to create this ruse with someone who had no real interest in me wasn’t lost on me, but I couldn’t begrudge her anything.
It didn’t keep me from forcing my hands to stay in my pockets instead of guiding her at the small of her back inside the restaurant, nor did it stay the pace of my heartbeat when I caught the soft hint of her perfume.
The reality here was simple. I’d been moved by something in Elise Cordero since the first time I set eyes on her well over a year ago, and in this moment, I saw the potential. A longing began to unfurl.
To know her. To touch her. To be with her. To be hers.
I’d never experienced such a desire, and in response to the inkling, I crushed it soundly. She’d made clear she wanted nothing to do with men—a statement which I’d heard in several variations countless times in the last year, and now to my face. Add to that my own reluctance to invite desolation by way of heartbreak into my life. It simply made no sense.
I didn’t want to become my father, who’d hardly been able to function since my mother passed.
Still, my reaction to Elise was unlike anything I’d ever felt and had locked me up tight, jumbling the words I would’ve spoken to charm her, or the ways I might’ve attempted to impress her when I did encounter her. All of my usual calm and charm evaporated completely within a ten-foot radius of her.
Somehow, breaking the seal of communication between us had forced me out of that odd, futile place and into a more self-possessed existence. Maybe because before she seemed like an impossibility, and now she most certainly was. If she agreed to this, it’d be fake. If she refused, she’d probably dislike me haunting her store three mornings a week. Nothing had to change, though—we’d just go on like we had been, as dreadful as that sounded.
And yet, here we were, sliding into the bright red booth at Guac, knees brushing under the table, and ready to share a meal.
She stared at her menu for a moment, then took a big breath and pressed her hands flat against the plastic surface before leveling me with her dark gaze.
“Let’s order, and then I need you to tell me everything before we get caught up in something else. I want to work out all the details and talk through your concerns and I’ll tell you mine so when I walk out of here packed with chips and guacamole and queso, I am also completely sure of what this looks like moving forward.”
We couldn’t have agreed more. Maybe not the chips and guacamole and queso part, but still. “Yes, please.”
A smile cracked. “Good. But first, I do need to eat a little because I forgot to have lunch.”
Ten minutes later, we had each helped ourselves to chips and salsa and placed our orders. I’d asked for a beer and, as though my ordering something other than water gave her permission, she tacked on a margarita.
She shoveled a few more chips with salsa, then sank back into the booth. “Okay, that took the edge off.”
