Page 8 of Willows and Waterlilies

“Ellie, you have the worst taste in men,” he says before turning back to face me, “no offense.”

“None taken,” I reply with my hands held up in front of me.

“I know, but this is just a drink,” she says before grabbing my hand and pulling me in the opposite direction. “Besides, you know who this guy works with. I’m sure Lucius Hastings wouldn’t be working with any unscrupulous characters.”

“Of course, he would,” he calls out after us. “He’s the biggest one!”

“Yeah, yeah, call you in an hour.”

“Half eight, Ellie,” he shouts as we get further away, “one hour!”

“Bye, boss.”

Ellie

Bar 21, 30 minutes later

As I sit here talking away to Elijah, a man I never thought I’d see beyond the coffee shop, it feels a little odd. The place is full of couples eating romantic meals for two while we are sitting at the bar with bottles of beer and bowls of peanuts. Still, I can’t fault the company. Elijah is not only easy on the eye, but he’s charming, polite, and doesn’t let us fall into uncomfortable silences. He smells like something inexplicably masculine and intoxicating. In fact, I could fall into bed with just his smell.

“You know, I’m glad,” he says out of the blue.

“Ok?” I giggle with the expectation for more. He simply holds my gaze for a moment or two with a perfect smile on his handsome face. “You’re going to have to elaborate.”

“I’m glad you’re not in love with the prick who was using you to cheat on his wife,” he explains as he turns to order another drink, thus breaking his hypnotic eye contact. I instantly drop my smile, the mention of Jonathan making me feel embarrassed for having fallen for yet another cheater.

“How do you know I’m not?” I quickly ask while I fumble about with the hem of my shirt. He reaches for my right hand and holds it gently between his manicured fingers for a few moments. It stills me but also has me feeling vulnerable.

“If you were truly in love, you would be more upset,” he says as though he knows through personal experience, “you wouldn’t be able to smile. Fake smile maybe, but not a real smile that shows you’re having a good time.”

“I could take offense to that,” I grin, “but I won’t because you’re right. I don’t love Jonathan.”

“Howdoyou feel about him?”

“I’m angry with him, of course, I am,” I tell him truthfully, “but I guess I’m angrier over the fact he humiliated me, used me, and made me believe I was worth more to him than I was. Gave me false hope, I guess.”

“No one can make you feel worthless unless you let them,” he says like a perfect self-help book. He can’t help but smile when he sees me rolling my eyes over such a cliché, throw-away statement. “Apologies, what I mean is, you are worth so much more than a cheating mouse of a man. Don’t let him diminish who you are.”

“Hmmm, are you talking from experience?” I ask as the alcohol hits me with false bravery.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs with a sad smile. “Truth be told, I haven’t dated properly since I left college. Like you, I was deceived in a horrible way.”

“I’m sorry,” I offer him while wincing, “looks like youdidfeel something stronger than lukewarm feelings for whoever it was.”

“Yes,” he simply replies with an embarrassed laugh. “I know how bad it feels to be let down by someone who you thought cared about you. And on Valentine’s Day of all days? It’s why I had to come and tell you this morning, it’s why I asked you out tonight, but it’s not why I would like to see you again.”

“Oh?” I tease with a raise of my brow and a silly grin on my face. “So whydoyou want to see me again?”

“Because I like you, have done since the first day I met you in the coffee shop,” he says with a straight face. “And now I know you don’t agree with cheating.”

“No, I do not!” I declare before clinking my glass against his. “So, where would we go on our next…outing?”

“Well,” he begins with a theatrical wave of his hand, earning him a giggle, “how about afternoon tea in London? Or paella on a Spanish beach? Or dinner in Paris?”

“See, now, you’re just showing off,” I tut, offering a small smile for his charm.

“Not to the cousin of Cameron Carter, surely?” he asks me with a genuine furrow of his brow. At first, I offer him nothing but a smile with my teeth, twirling my wineglass around on the table below. “Self-made millionaire at just twenty-five; the man’s a genius, and very generous from what I hear.”

“And a country boy at heart,” I tell him with a happy sigh. “He wants the loving wife and beautiful children, just like his own parents had.”

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