Simon shakes his head, laughing. “We’re all good,” he says, and the guy walks off.
“And to think, having a drink with you didn’t even age me up in his eyes.”
Then it hits me, what I just said. I’m having a drink with Simon. I’ve never had a drink with him before, since I’ve been with his daughter every other time I’ve seen him. This is the first time we’ve been together like this outside of his home, sans Hayden.
The realization hits me hard.
This is a first time.
We’re at a restaurant.
At a table for two.
Try as I might to rationalize that one in the afternoon is an innocent time on the clock, when I take in the two of us at a sidewalk table, ordering wine and food, this feels distinctly like . . .
Nope.
Won’t go there.
Can’t go there.
Because nothing naughty can happen now . . . not with me drinking wine, and him looking gorgeous, and us far away from his home.
Uh-oh.
This has all the ingredients for a perfect dish of temptation.
I force myself to catalogue this hour with him as one-on-one language tutoring, not a date with the man I long for.
I break out my iPad, click on my French notes, and say, “Let’s get started.”
He nods and flashes me the smile of his that shows off his straight white teeth. His eyes lock briefly with mine. “Tutor me, Abby,” he says, and my stomach executes a loop-de-loop, because he just made those three words sound sexy.
I’m a teacher who wants the student, and I am so screwed.
9
Abby
* * *
An hour later, he’s learned several new key terms to use in his conversations with Gabriel’s business manager, and we’ve practiced other phrases that will be helpful to him, too, like “terms of the contract,” and “return on investment.”
“You’re a fast learner,” I say, and it’s true. While I don’t expect him to be holding entire conversations, he’s picking up new words quickly. “You definitely have a good base of knowledge.”
“Thank you. And I have a good teacher,” he says and raises his glass of wine, clinking it with mine. “Here’s to not inviting business partners to swim naked.”
“Exactly. My goal is no more verbal blunders for you,” I say with a smile, doing my best to keep it light.
He finishes his glass and sets it down. “That is an admirable goal. How many more lessons do you think I need to achieve that?”
Endless. As many as we can possibly arrange, because this last hour eating, and drinking, and dining, and talking has felt exactly like a date.
Oops. I went there.
I take another swallow from my second glass of wine. The drink has helped calm my jitters and so has the focus on French. “A few more,” I say with a jut of my shoulder.
Crap. That was a flirty move. Must. Rein. In. Desire. To. Launch. Self. At. Simon.
He leans back in his chair. “Then we should plan a tour of all the off-the-beaten-path French cafés and restaurants for our tutoring lessons.” He sweeps his hand out wide, as if he’s showing off a billboard. “Food and language.”
Yes, that sounds perfect. Take me out for delicious meals and let me teach you how to speak a fucking sexy language, because you sound so hot saying “terms of the contract” in French.
“That sounds like a fantastic plan,” I say, crossing my legs and hunting for a new topic that will be safer than this chatter about what the two of us will do. “So how did you get into the restaurant business? Were you just fed up with Wall Street?”
He hums then answers, “I had a good run in finance, but it’s a soulless business, and a potentially obsessive one, too. I wanted to get out before I became soulless and obsessive, too.”
“Were you starting to?”
“I was on the path, veering in that direction. I worked too many late nights. Definitely before Hayden was born.” He sighs heavily, and his voice is tinged with regret. “Maybe even after,” he says, as if he’s admitting something difficult.
“Were you a workaholic?”
He shrugs and quirks his lips. Briefly, he looks away. “I was called that.”
He doesn’t have to speak the words aloud for me to know who called him that. His ex-wife. My chest pinches painfully, and I wish he didn’t have an ex-wife. That I could wave a magic wand and she’d simply vanish into thin air. That’s a terribly unfair thing to wish, for Hayden’s sake. But even so, it’s what I feel—the desire to erase his history. To take away the hurt she inflicted on him. But then, his hurt brought him into my life. It’s part of who he is—the single father, doing most of the work raising his daughter.
I run my finger along the edge of my glass then meet Simon’s eyes. “Do you think you are now? A workaholic?”
His gaze locks with mine. “Do you?” His question is laced with worry, and I can tell he desperately hopes I’ll say no.
Saying no is easy, though, because it’s the truth. The man works hard, but I don’t think he’s dangerously addicted to it. A reassuring smile tugs at my lips. “No. You’re not a workaholic at all. I also think you’re a great father to Hayden.”
He matches my grin with one of his own. “I can’t tell you how much I love hearing that.”
“Watching the two of you warms my heart. It’s the sweetest thing in the world to see you together. You’re crazy for her, and she adores you so.” He can’t stop grinning, and then he lowers his eyes, but the smile remains. “Did I embarrass you by saying that?”