Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cordelia
I see Brennon and the ma?tre d’ weaving through the aisle to our table and quickly focus my attention there. Renthrow notices the direction of my gaze and straightens too.
It’s for the best that our conversation is cut short. Whatever his suggestion was, the dark look in his eyes was about to set me on fire.
“Cordelia!” Brennon hustles to a stop in front of our table, and I rise to greet him. He wraps his hands around my shoulders and pulls me in for cheek kisses.
By the time Brennon lets me go, Renthrow is on his feet and on edge.
Brennon grins as if he can’t sense the real and very present threat. “Hey! Viking Renthrow, right? I recognize you from the team files. You’re one of the three pre-chosen for the league roster.”
“Yeah.” Renthrow frowns as he shakes Brennon’s hand.
Brennon winces as the handshake goes on for a beat longer than necessary. His gaze remains on Renthrow as if trying to figure him out.
“Did you finish everything you were working on?” I ask politely.
“Yeah, sorry, I’m late. We had an international call at the last minute. You know how that goes, Delia.”
I scrunch my nose. “I don’t miss those international calls at all.”
“The world never sleeps, and neither do we, right?” Brennon laughs.
I laugh too, though not as robustly. I’m not sure what I expected when I saw Brennon again, but it wasn’t…this. After he turned me down, I phased out of his life until, eventually, we stopped talking altogether.
The way he’s acting tonight—it’s like that confession and the resulting deterioration of our friendship never happened.
“Did you order already?” Brennon folds up the sleeves of his shirt and undoes a button. I wouldn’t think anything of it except for the fact that he watches me from the sides of his eyes. It’s as if he wants me to see. Or like he wants to gauge whether or not I like what I see.
My instincts flare a warning signal, but I don’t know what kind of warning to heed. It’s not like Brennon is actively flirting with me. Maybe I’m just overthinking because of our history.
“So far, we’ve only ordered drinks,” I say, casting a confused look at Renthrow.
He leans in closer and brushes my face. “Eyelash.” He shows me and then blows it away as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to touch me. “What’s good here?”
My brain goes temporarily blank.
Across the table, Brennon’s left eye twitches.
“The new chef is known for her wagyu steak paired with grilled asparagus.” Brennon lifts his hand to get the waiter’s attention.
“I’ll get three of that.” He pauses and gives Renthrow a slightly less friendly look than he did when he first walked in. “Unless you have any objections.”
“I don’t, but Cordelia might.”
“Why would she have a problem?” Brennon demands.
Renthrow leans back in his chair. “She’ll tell you if she wants to.”
“I don’t eat steak.”
“Since when? I remember you scarfing down your share of our private chef’s Italian meatballs when you came over with Gwen.”
At the mention of my sister, my shoulders stiffen. I’d forgotten—or maybe I hadn’t truly allowed myself to think—of how seeing someone from my old life would encourage discussions about my sister.
“Gwen?” Renthrow’s eyes flit to me.
I pull my shaking fingers under the table. “I’ll find something else on the menu.”
Renthrow notices me trembling. He places one large palm over mine, blanketing my knuckles.
I look up at him.
His eyes are soft, and he gives my fingers a little squeeze.
Warmth blankets the knifing sensation. I feel the distinct ache of loss, but it’s not sharp and pointed.
“I’m sorry,” Brennon says in a reserved tone, and I know he’s apologizing for more than just choosing the wrong meal.
“I’ll look for something else,” I mumble, picking up my menu.
Renthrow keeps his arm draped over the back of my chair. His long, thick fingers are a breath away from my shoulder. It feels really close to a hug, and I find it comforting.
“I can’t decide between the fried snapper and the grilled salmon,” I whisper to him, showing him the menu. “They both look great.”
He regards the menu thoughtfully. “How about I get the snapper, and you get the grilled salmon, and we share.”
“Is that okay with you?” I let my gaze trail over his broad shoulders and giant arm muscles. “You seem like the type who prefers steak.”
“It’s fine with me,” he says. And then he drops his arm an inch and rubs a circle in my shoulder.
My body reacts instantly.
Heart, thudding.
Bones, melting.
Lips, biting.
“Okay, let’s do that,” I say quietly.
Renthrow’s smile is tender, and the warmth expands from my chest down to my toes. Wanting to thank him, I reach up to the hand he has around my shoulder and lace my fingers through his.
Renthrow’s smile dips, and he gives me a quick look of surprise.
What? You’re the only one who can touch me like that?
His lips curl up again, and he leans toward me.
Brennon clears his throat. “Cordelia, are you still riding?”
I stiffen, resenting the interruption. I was quite enjoying eye-flirting with the hockey player at my side.
“Why would I stop?”
Brennon chuckles. “I thought you would have grown out of that by now.” His attention flicks to Renthrow.
“Delia gave her mother a heart attack when she brought home a bike for the first time. I remember going upstairs to her room to talk her out of riding, but she was—is—so stubborn. Has been since we were twelve.”
Renthrow’s attention cuts away from me. “Nothing wrong with being stubborn. I like a woman who knows what she wants.”
I blush while knowing full well that Renthrow is only trying to get on Brennon’s nerves.
Brennon insists, “So you’re not concerned about her riding a motorcycle on all these winding roads?”
“I’m concerned,” Renthrow says slowly.
My eyebrows hike.
“But, Cordelia’s an adult, and it’s what she enjoys. I wouldn’t stop her even if I could.”
Brennon’s smile turns sharp. I recognize that face as the one he makes when he’s about to cinch a negotiation for the company.
“I heard you have a daughter.”
Renthrow’s shoulders tighten on impact.
“Would you want her riding a motorcycle?”
Renthrow doesn’t look at me as he considers the question. “I wouldn’t.”
Flummoxed, I move completely away from him. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want his daughter on a bike. My parents didn’t either, and given how protective he is of Gordie, I should have expected nothing less.
But it still stings a bit.
“However,” Renthrow adds, “I trust that she’ll make the right decisions, no matter what people think.” He glances down at me. “And I’ll protect her and be there for her, even if she makes choices that I don’t always agree with.”
My heart skips a beat.
At that moment, Renthrow’s phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket and checks the screen. It’s his mom calling, but before he can answer, his mom hangs up.
“I should call back and see what’s wrong,” Renthrow says, his brows knitted as if he’s already thinking of the worst.
I squeeze his arm. “Go.”
While Renthrow’s gone, Brennon looks over at me. “So…”
“So…”
He nods to Renthrow’s retreating back. “Are you two together?”
“We’re…” I contemplate how to answer that question. Then I realize who I’m talking to. “Why is that any of your business?”
“Dee-Dee, I care about you.”
“It’s a little difficult to believe that. We haven’t talked to each other in years.”
“I reached out after the funeral. You’re the one who didn’t respond.”
The words hit my chest and leave burning cuts. “A lot of people were reaching out after the funeral, Brennon. And just like you, a lot of them stopped at one message too.”
Brennon opens his mouth to answer, but the waiter comes back with my wine.
I gulp it down, hoping to calm my nerves.
“Cordelia”—Brennon’s voice shakes slightly—“I know how I handled things between us back then wasn’t the best.”
“What do you mean?”
“The day you said you were in love with me.”
I stiffen. “That was ages ago.”
“I’ve never forgotten it.” He pauses. “The thing is, Delia, I’ve been thinking a lot about my life and about the next stage: a wife, a family, and everything that comes with that, and I—”
Urgent footsteps patter to the table. Renthrow stops in front of me, his chest heaving.
I grip the back of my chair, alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Gordie and my mom aren’t answering the phone. I can’t get through to either of them.”
“Go.”
He nods and stalks off without acknowledging Brennon or the waiter who’s on the way back to our table to get our food orders.
I sink back into my seat. Worriedly, I dig my fingers into the cloth napkin. Is Gordie having another episode? Or is it something else? Did his mom get hurt? Is the house on fire?
I’m deep in my thoughts that I don’t realize Renthrow is stomping back to the table until he storms into view. When I glance up, I gasp. His eyebrows are two thick slashes over his hazel eyes, and his jaw is set like granite.
“Did you forget something?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He reaches for me and links our fingers together. “You.”
I barely have time to grab my purse before he yanks me out of my chair and charges with me to the exit.