After collecting her purse and telling her date she’ll be right back, she follows me as I proceed in the direction of the restrooms. At the opening of the hall, I turn to her, and discreetly step to the side. She looks at me before dropping her gaze.
“You’re not twenty-one are you?”
After a long pause, she shakes her head.
I sigh. “I’m going to have to confiscate your ID.”
Head bowed, she nods and takes a deep breath.
“Is your name really Daphne?” I ask softly.
Her head comes up, tears pooling in her doe-brown eyes. “Yes,” she replies in a voice small and whispery.
My heart becomes squishy soft with sympathy. “How old are you, Daphne?”
Her head drops. After a much longer pause, she eventually admits, “Seventeen.”
Seventeen? Yikes.
“Does your date know how old you are?” I have her ID so I can stop her from drinking here tonight. Hopefully, I can stop her from making another mistake.
She lifts her gaze to mine. “He thinks I’m eighteen.”
“You have to tell him the truth,” I urge, staring intently into her eyes.
“But it’s just one year,” she protests.
“If that year didn’t matter, you would have told him the truth.” Since I’m not one to judge, I won’t say anything about what I think of a twenty-eight-year-old man dating a girl he thinks is eighteen. Legally, she would be an adult, which is more than I can say for my situation.
“Believe me, Daphne, I know exactly how you feel, but lying about your age whether it’s to buy alcohol or make yourself attractive to a man isn’t worth it. Remember, this isn’t just about you. If I’d served you, my boss could have lost his alcohol license. And how would you feel if you found out your date was married or involved with someone else?”
Her eyes go wide at the thought but she remains silent.
“Think about it, okay? You can’t build a meaningful relationship on a lie. It never works.”
Daphne lets out a weighty sigh and nods, her acquiescence grudging at best. “Okay, I’ll tell him. But he probably won’t want to go out with me anymore.”
“And I think you know in your heart that may be for the best.”
“Emily?”
I start at the interruption. Glancing over my shoulder, I’m met with Graham’s questioning stare.
“Everything okay?” His gaze flits to Daphne.
Daphne immediately steps away, his appearance propelling her into action. “I need to get back to Holden.” She flashes me a tremulous smile, whispering as she lightly touches my arm, “Thanks for everything.”
“Take care,” I reply, watching her a beat before turning my attention back to Graham, who’s regarding me with a raised brow.
“Problem?”
“Not anymore.” I hand him the fake driver’s license.
After studying it, he looks at me. “What was she, nineteen?”
Don’t I wish. “Nope, she’s seventeen.”
He gives a grave nod and I can tell he’s thinking of me. Of our situation.
“She told the guy she’s with that she’s eighteen.” Because the whole situation hits so close to home, I can’t believe I just admitted that to him.
His gaze locks with mine, binding me to him in a way that’s achingly familiar and new at the same time.
I swallow hard. “I think I convinced her that she needs to tell him the truth. Or at least I hope I did.”
He continues to regard me, and ever so slowly, a smile begins to pull at the corners of his mouth. A faint smile. My heart skips a beat at that, and the glimmer of respect in his eyes.
If I could, I’d bottle this moment and capture it. I’d stop the world from turning and bask in the glow of his approval. Since that isn’t possible, the very least I can do is not spoil it. Which means I need to get out while the getting’s good.
“Anyway, I should get back to work.”
After a pause, Graham slowly nods in agreement, releasing me from his gaze.
I return to work feeling the weight of his stare every step of the way.
Chapter 20
Don’t let her get under your skin. Not again.
That’s what I’ve been telling myself since the incident with the girl and her fake ID. Emily had been doing her job. No more, no less.
With the bar now closed and the door locked behind the last customer, I glance over to the dining area where she’s busy counting out the register. Jason and I are taking care of the two at the bar, and Joe and Claire are almost finished converting the dance floor back to a dining room, moving the tables and chairs back to their original location.
I shoot another glance at Emily. From what I saw, she’d spent the rest of the night fending off way too many guys in suits. Customers love her, especially and notably the men. Not that I care one way or the other. What she does and who she does it with is none of my business.
With the dining area restored, Joe gives the room one final sweep as he unties his apron. “Graham, you need me for anything else?” he calls out.
I shake my head, waving him off. “No, you can go.”
Right after he disappears in the direction of the lockers, Sandra approaches the bar. “Should I stay and double-check Emily’s totals?”
“No, you go. I’ll do it tonight.”
Sandra’s brows go up. “You sure?” She’s worked here longer than I have and normally I would have designated the duty to her.
“Yes, I’ll be here late anyway,” I mutter, knowing I won’t be staying any longer than usual.
“Okay,” she says with a shrug.
Minutes later, she and Joe leave amidst a chorus of goodnights. Emily’s still counting.
Jason sets his till on the counter beside me. “Em, everything going okay over there?”
She glances up and lets out a strained laugh. “I’d be better if there wasn’t like a billion pennies to count. But I’m fine.”
Slapping his palm down on the counter, Jason says, “Okay then, I’m out. See you tomorrow if you’re working.”
I acknowledge his parting words with a slight inclination of my head. Before leaving, he grabs the jacket he keeps with him behind the counter and hastily shrugs it on.
He exits through the employee entrance and a crackling tension enters the bar as the door clicks shut behind him. The last time Emily and I were alone like this she’d come to apologize.
For several minutes, we work in silence. I take my own sweet time finishing what I’m doing. I’m acutely aware of the moment she begins walking toward me but only raise my head when she places her drawer on the bar.
“Did it balance out?” I ask.
She nods and then adds, “Unless you tell me different.”
I smile and place mine aside to tackle hers. It should take me only a few minutes and I could tell her she can leave but I don’t. Instead I let her stand there and watch me count everything, down to the last dime, nickel and penny. When I’m finished, I look up and meet her expectant gaze.
“Was it okay?”
“Perfect.”
She smiles, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Good.” After a pause, she says, “Unless you need me for anything, I’m going to get going.”
Not so bloody fast. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about what happened earlier.”
A light crease mars her forehead.
“That girl. The one with the fake ID,” I elaborate.
Emily’s expression becomes cautiously guarded.
“You said you tried to convince her to tell her boyfriend the truth. Were you more concerned about her or him?”
At first, she appears surprised by the question—a question I’ve been pondering for quite some time—then she shakes her head, a wry smile touching her lips.
“Her boyfriend—or whatever he is to her—he’s not like you. He was buying drinks for a girl he knew isn’t old enough to drink. And no matter what happens between them, he isn’t goi
ng to go to jail for having sex with her. That said, I did it for both of them. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to, and like I told her, you can’t build a relationship on a lie.”
The guy sounds like an arse. But she’s right, the girl shouldn’t have lied to him about her age.
“Do you think she should find someone her age?” I ask.
She lets out a dry laugh. “Um, yeah. When you’re seventeen, an eleven-year age difference is a lot.”
“Is that what you did? Find someone your own age?” I find myself asking.
She goes still and stares up at me, her hazel eyes wide. Several seconds go by before she replies. “Not right away. And it’s not like there’s a big age difference between us.”
“Big enough,” I mutter as I stack the three cash drawers on top of the other.
Emily drops her gaze, refusing to comment. And who can blame her? I’d said I wanted to leave the past in the past.
I hand her the bank bag over the counter and grab the trays. At the half-door, I use my hip to push it open.
“So, are you seeing anyone?” I ask, trying to sound casual, as if we’re old friends catching up on each other’s lives.
The sharp look she sends me is tempered by surprise. “No. Why do you want to know?” she asks, as we walk to my office.
Brilliant. She isn’t taken. And it’s criminal how relieved that makes me feel. Twenty-four hours hasn’t even passed since Liane and I called it quits.
Giving myself time to come up with a good answer, I stop and open the office door. She follows me inside and I’ve never been more aware of how small the room is. She may not be big in stature but her presence sure as hell is.
Whilst she stands watching and waiting, I secure the tills and the bank bags in the safe.
“Well?” she prompts once I’ve finished.
I turn to face her. “Because knowing you have a boyfriend would make things easier.”
I raise an eyebrow in question. “What would it make easier and for who?”
I wonder if his mum said something to him. Every time I talked to her, she asked if there a ‘special’ someone in my life.
The chiding look he sends me suggests he thinks I’m feigning ignorance. “What? Us working together. And for everyone involved. I doubt any bloke would appreciate his girlfriend working with someone she used to date.”
“You mean like your girlfriend?” I shoot back, trying not to sound as cranky as the thought of her makes me.
“Are you saying it wouldn’t bother you?”
If I were in her place—dating Graham—it sure would. “Maybe she wouldn’t have such a problem with it if you’d told her about me in advance. Oh, that’s right, you did. You told her I was your stalker.” Did that sound a tad bitter?
Good, that was intentional.
“I never told her that.” His voice has a knife’s edge sharpness to it.
“Then you must have insinuated as much because that’s what she accused me of.”
“And you were more than happy to tell her you were my ex.”
“It’s the truth.”
“When has that ever stopped you?” he counters.
I flinch. That wound is still healing.
“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. She told me she approached you first. And I apologize if that’s the impression of you I left her with. I should have told her myself.”
At his words, the radiating pain in my chest begins to subside.
“You didn’t tell her…everything, did you?”
He shakes his head. “I told her you were older.”
That’s what I thought. “Of course. I understand. Only my best friend knows. She’s the girl you saw me with at the mall,” I add.
He nods. “That’s why I said you having a boyfriend would make things easier. It would be easier for Liane to deal with us working together if she knew you were taken.”
Instead, I’m threateningly single and I have first-hand experience at how good he is in bed. God, she must hate me.
“I can get one if that will make things better for you,” I offer lightly, teasing.
If I expect to elicit a smile in response, his dark scowl sets me straight.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he mutters, glancing away. “We’re not together anymore.”
The news leaves me speechless. Digesting it is like swallowing a golf ball whole. I’m instantly filled with euphoria and hope. It’s a good thing I’m able to recognize those feelings for exactly what they are; me losing my ever-loving mind.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” I finally say for the sake of politeness because saying what I really feel is out of the question.
He makes a sound in his throat as if regretting telling me anything. But the fact is that he wanted me to know. And maybe it’s for the same reason he asked if I was dating anyone.
“Are you?” He stares at me and a bittersweet tension fills the air. “Are you really sorry?”
“I don’t know. Should I be? Did she break your heart or did you break hers?” I’m putting my money on the latter.
A crooked smile tips the corner of his mouth. “No broken hearts that I know of.”
Then he takes a step forward, sending my heart off in a wild gallop as my breathing shallows.
“Do you want to know why we broke up?”
Um, yes, but, “Not if you don’t want to tell me,” is what comes out of my mouth.
His eyes darken to a midnight blue as his gaze pierces me through and through. “Do you want to know?”
I nod mutely.
“It’s because she lives almost four hours away, and between our jobs and my classes, we hardly get to see each other.”
Oh. The wishful, hope-filled balloon inside me deflates.
“But more than that, she was jealous of you. She didn’t like that I spend more time with you than her.” He says it so matter-of-factly, it’s hard to tell how he feels about it. But I know how it makes me feel.
Actually, no, I don’t. Here we are, sharing these things about our lives that would have been unthinkable last week. Last week? Try four days ago.
“I hope you told her she has nothing to be jealous of. Least of all me.” Whether I believe that to be the truth or want it to be the truth is another matter.
Angling his head slightly, he stares at me from beneath thick, dark lashes. The damn things are a luxury. “And that’s your story and you’re sticking to it, right?”
It’s impossible to look away from the heat smoldering in his eyes. If there’d been one scintilla of doubt in my mind that the attraction between us is mutual, the way he’s looking at me removes it. It’s there and it’s not going away. For me, I’m not sure it ever did.
“What did you tell her?”
He huffs a laugh. “That I was in a relationship with her not you.” He pauses a beat and then asks, “Would that have reassured you?”
No. “I don’t know.”
He doesn’t look convinced but lets my mealy mouth answer go unchallenged, instead saying, “Okay, now that I’ve been honest with you, I want you to be honest with me.”
Since my honesty has been sort of a sticking point between us, I can’t help the feeling of dread that seeps into every pore of my body. My emotions are already balancing on a razor’s edge, so my anxiety level doesn’t need this kind of boost.
“What’s the real reason you’re in New York? Going to school? Working here? Back in my life?”
Chapter 21
It’s amazing I don’t swallow my tongue.
Why oh why is he bringing this up again? We already talked about this, I whine to myself.
Yeah, but can you honestly say you’ve been truthful with him? With yourself?
When I decided to transfer to Warwick it was because I missed being so far from home. I’d told myself that after the divorce, it would also be good to be closer to my mom. My workaholic mother.
Then why don’t you visit her more often?
I ignore that voice. It’s been nothi
ng but trouble since I forced my way back into Graham’s life.
As for Warwick, it has the best marketing program in the state and one of the best in the country. It had nothing to do with the fact that I knew Graham was coming back to finish his degree. I mean, he could have gone anywhere. I had no idea he’d pick Warwick. Let’s forget the little matter of it being his mother’s friend’s alma mater. She hadn’t mentioned it to me until after I’d already made of my mind to move back. I’d taken her suggestion to apply there as just that. Honestly.
I’ve never denied that I wanted to see him again. That I wanted to apologize to him in person. That I wanted his forgiveness. But that’s as far as my intentions went.
“I’m not sure I know what the truth is.” And that’s as honest as it gets. I can see how someone could say my motivations are suspect. Given the way everything’s worked out, it may look like I was the chess master who countered his every move with one designed to put us in each other’s orbit.
I try not to squirm under his regard, the silence surrounding us filled with enough tension to snap hemp rope.
“Did they have anything to do with me?”
A phone rings, snapping the tension—or perhaps simply putting it on pause. The gentle vibration against my upper thigh indicates it’s my cell phone. I quickly retrieve it from my pocket and see April’s picture and name on the screen.
Saved by the bell.
“Hey.” I do my best to sound normal. Not like the frazzled girl answering uncomfortable questions posed by her ex.
“Are you still at work?” April sounds like she’s out on the road.
I glance at Graham, who’s openly watching me.
“Yeah, but I’ll be leaving soon.”
“I thought you’d be home by now. I was just calling to let you know that Troy and I won’t be home tonight. The game went long so we’re going to grab a room at the hotel here and come home in the morning.” I hear a man’s voice in the background—Troy, I assume—and then April giggling. “Or the afternoon if we sleep in.”
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