Chapter Two #2
She’d spotted him the moment she arrived at the restaurant, though she’d managed to look away before he caught her. Sadly, she hadn’t been able to see him from her table — there’d been a bloody great fern in the way.
But she’d had another glimpse of him when he left.
And even though a woman approaching sixty probably wasn’t supposed to notice such things, she’d been very grateful that he left before she did — while she was still seated and at eye level with …
Well. Let’s just say he wore those Wranglers well.
And as sorry as she’d been to see him leave, it had been no hardship at all to watch him go.
The sound of her phone ringing startled her out of the armchair. She hurried over to the desk, deciding as she went that the heat in her cheeks must be the shock of someone calling — and had absolutely nothing to do with those Wranglers, or the way he filled them out so nicely.
“Meg! How’s Amy? How’s the baby?”
“They’re fine. Everything went well, and rather quickly — although Amy says that’s easy for me to say. It’s not as though she hasn’t done this before, though. She’s an old hand at it now. She’ll be home tomorrow.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. And they’re both fine and healthy?”
“They are. Baby Molly weighed in at a healthy seven pounds two ounces. Amy looks radiant again already, which I told her is completely unreasonable of her. If you remember, I looked like the walking dead for the first six months after I had her.”
“You did not. You were radiant yourself, and you still are.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere with me. Tell me how you are. How’s it going? And, Beatrice Hartley, you’d better still be in London. If you’ve snuck onto a plane early and —”
Bea laughed. “I’m in London. I stayed. I went to the concert last night, and I’m going back tonight.”
“Well, that’s a relief! I don’t feel nearly so guilty now.
” Meg exhaled audibly. Then, she asked more quietly, “How are you really, my love? Was it awful, walking into that arena by yourself? Did you take a taxi home? Tell me you didn’t walk back from the tube station to the hotel all by yourself.
Oh my God, Bea, I didn’t think this through! There’s that dark alley, and—”
“Meg, stop!” Bea laughed. “I was perfectly fine. The alley is very well lit, and the doormen are so sweet. In fact, all the staff here are lovely. I was thinking I might go out and get them a box of chocolates or some cookies. You know, something they can share. What do you think?”
“I think you’re trying to change the subject, and I’ll let you — but we’ll come back around to it. And yes, you should get them something. Probably cookies and chocolates, so there’s something for everyone.”
Bea eyed her phone suspiciously. She loved giving little gifts to people. People who worked what had to be awful jobs. People who went out of their way. People who might not get a gift from anyone else. People she suspected went mostly unnoticed in their own lives.
Meg didn’t exactly disapprove. She just claimed Bea had an incurable need to make sure nobody in her vicinity went unappreciated.
Meg laughed.
“What?”
“Cookies and chocolates,” she said. “From two different shops.”
“Why two different shops?”
“Because preferably they’ll be nowhere near each other. That way, you’ll have to leave the hotel, and you can’t spend the rest of the day sitting in an armchair, eating a room-service sandwich, and pretending to read.”
Bea turned slowly to look at the armchair. The book was still lying on the bedside table, untouched since she’d set it there.
“You don’t know that’s what I was planning.”
“Beatrice Hartley, I have known you for most of your life.”
“I might have gone out.”
“You might still. After you’ve found the chocolates and the cookies.”
Bea narrowed her eyes at the phone, but she was smiling. “Two different shops?”
“At least fifteen minutes apart.”
“You’re very bossy for a woman who abandoned me.”
“And you’re very cheeky for a woman who’s getting a goddaughter named after her.”
Bea stilled. “What?”
Meg laughed, but her tone was softer again this time. “Molly Beatrice.”
For a moment, Bea couldn’t speak. “Oh, Meg.”
Meg laughed. “Oh, Bea! Never mind going all sentimental on me. Amy sends her love. And says to tell you that as Molly’s godmother, you have to visit at least twice a year.”
“Of course.” Bea was already reaching for her purse. She had to go out now. Bond Street was the perfect place to find a special gift for baby Molly.
~ ~ ~
Blane stepped out of the elevator and stopped dead.
She was there—the Englishwoman—at the reception desk, laughing and joking with the staff.
The girls behind the desk were smiling openly, genuinely, not with the polite mask the job required.
Two of the doormen were there too. All of their attention was on her.
He studied her. She wasn’t asking them for anything, wasn’t telling a story, or performing. She was just talking to them—as if they were people. That was it. She was connecting with them, not handling them.
His gaze landed on the boxes on the desk: cookies and chocolates. She’d brought them a gift. That made him smile. He got ahold of it quickly, scowling at himself for the reaction. The scowl deepened when the Englishwoman reached for the handle of a suitcase standing against the wall.
Shit. She was checking out? He hadn’t expected that. He was moving before his brain registered the decision his body had made.
One of the doormen spotted him first and turned to greet him. “Hello, Mr. Wilder. Everything all right?”
Blane nodded—then hesitated when the whole group turned to look at him.
The two women at the desk were a little too attentive.
Cash had been on his case lately about trying to appear less intimidating with civilians, so he’d tested out being friendly, and figured he’d somehow signaled interest instead.
The older of the two receptionists—who still wasn’t a day over thirty-five—seemed to flirt with him every time he came back to the desk.
Maybe he had that wrong. And why the hell was he thinking about it now?
Scratch that. He knew damn well why. It was the comparison. The receptionist was still doing her head-tilt-and-smile thing, while the Englishwoman had barely glanced at him before dropping her gaze.
And it was the Englishwoman who drew him in like a damn magnet.
But if she was leaving… He hadn’t counted on that. Some people bought tickets for just one night of a three-day run. But he’d assumed—without being aware he’d given it a single thought—that she was here for all three. That he’d see her again.
Her hand was on the suitcase now, pulling the handle up. Maybe the doormen were here to tell her the cab had arrived. He could wait a moment or two and she’d be gone. That was the logical thing to do.
Then she lifted her gaze. Eyes that might have been brown, or maybe green, met his. The back of his neck prickled.
“Sorry—I’ll get out of the way. I’m holding everyone up, standing here like this.”
She took a step forward. Blane did too, blocking her path. “Want me to carry that outside for you?”
The moment the words were out, he clamped his jaw shut. There were two doormen standing right there—men whose actual job was carrying suitcases out to taxis.
He held his breath. What the hell had he just done? Stepped out of the shadows to embarrass himself, that was what.
She looked confused. Understandably. Then she looked down at the case, and when she lifted her head again, she did exactly what he’d feared—and what she had every right to do.
She laughed at him.