Perhaps she was warning me about Stephen. Maybe it was her last plea for me to kick him to the curb. And maybe, just maybe, she had sent Bob down to remind me that I’m all I’ve got.
I composed myself, took a deep breath, walked over to the table, sat down, put the napkin across my lap, and began eating. Table for one, and I was okay with it. I was going to concentrate on my job, write the article, hopefully impress everyone at the paper, and move on with my life.
One glass of that fine Pinot was not enough; I had two, then three. The risotto was divine. I ate every single bite and thought, See, this is the life. Nobody gives a shit about me and that’s okay, because I give a shit about me.
It was dark out on the balcony, I could see every single star in the sky as I polished off my glass of wine. It made me feel as insignificant in the world as I knew I was. I walked in and called the front desk and told them they could collect the tray. I had drunk three quarters of a bottle of wine and was feeling numb when I heard the same three knocks. My plan was to apologize to the poor man for my wacky behavior earlier, but when I opened the door he wasn’t there. In his place stood Jamie, in all his glorious beauty. He had a small box in one hand and something else behind his back in the other. I took a step back and let him enter the room.
“Hi.”
“Hi. Don’t you ever go home?” One corner of his mouth turned up, revealing the dimple. I realized my comment sounded rude. “I mean, do you work twenty-four hours a day?”
“I live on the property.”
“Here?” I motioned around the room.
“No, I live in . . .” He laughed a little before speaking again. “I live in the barn.”
“You live in the barn?” My eyes went wide.
“It’s a really nice barn, okay?” he said in a low voice. There was something about the way he said it that made my fingers tingle, like he was promising me something—an invitation, perhaps.
For a few moments we were quiet and shy. I’d had a lot of wine.
“How was the risotto?” He glanced down at my mouth.
“Delicious.”
“I like the way you say that word, like you really mean it.”
“I do,” I said, and then brazenly looked him up and down.
“I brought you something.” He held out the small box and then set it on the long entry table, along with another bottle of Pinot. “In case you need backup. And that’s just a little treat,” he said, pointing to the box.
“I doubt I should be drinking any more wine.”
He shrugged. “Well, just in case.” He turned to walk out. At the door, he looked back at me. “It was nice to meet you, Kate. I hope you have a good night.”
“Wait a minute.”
He turned immediately, and there was something hopeful in the look on his face. “Yeah?”
“Well, I want to see what you brought me so I can thank you properly in person.” I took the small box and opened it to find two of the most decadent-looking salted chocolate caramels seated on two tiny doilies. “Oh, my favorite. How’d you know?”
“Good guess, I suppose.” He was still standing near the door, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets.
“And thank you for the wine, but really, I shouldn’t have any more.”
“We can share it if you want.”
I smiled then took a chocolate from the box and bit into it, the caramel stringing out over my fingers. Taking a few steps toward him, I reached my hand out, holding the chocolate near his mouth. “We can share.” I was drunk, but I didn’t care.
He wrapped his hand around my wrist, pulling it closer. He never took his eyes off of mine when he slowly took the chocolate with his mouth and then sucked the caramel off my index finger. He leaned in next to my ear and spoke softly. “Does your boyfriend like to share?” Flushed from head to toe, I stood there, speechless. He stepped back and laughed a little.
“I’m just messing with you, Katy.” He searched my face. I was shocked. “I’ll be respectful, I promise.”
I mock-punched him in the chest. “All right, open the wine then.”
“Is that how you ask nicely?”
“Oh, you’re pushing it.” We both laughed. “Okay, please, let’s have some wine.”
He grabbed the bottle, bottle opener, and two glasses and then said, “Let’s take a walk. We should be outside on a gorgeous night like this. I’ll show you the pool.”
Taking nothing but my room key, I followed him toward the door. I glanced in the mirror. I was still wearing my demure work clothes and matronly shoes. I had piled my hair on top of my head in a messy bun and had faint black mascara streaks under my eyes from crying. I was the picture of a man’s worst date. It’s not a date, I reminded myself, but I was also beginning to realize Jamie wasn’t just any man. It didn’t seem like he was turned off.
It was hard not to stare at him. There was something sweet but innately confident about the way he carried himself. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, he gave a chin nod to the man behind the front desk.
“Going to the pool, George.”
“Okay buddy, I’ll send some towels over.”
I started to object. What on earth would we need towels for?
Jamie jutted an elbow out for me to loop my arm through, and then he shook his head.
“Don’t worry about it, towels are good for sitting on.”