Chapter Nine

Hannah…

The wine splatters onto Roarke’s face and pretty much plops onto his lap. “Oh god,” I say, setting the stupid glass down and grabbing a napkin. “That was an accident.” I don’t think. I react. I wipe his face. “I would never do that on purpose. You know that. You know me. I wouldn’t do this.”

“I know,” he says, my hand and that napkin landing on his leg. The muscle beneath my palm—his muscle—flexes, and suddenly, I’m aware of my legs pressed to his legs, my hand on his powerful thigh. Our faces close. His brown eyes staring into my eyes.

“I don’t—”

“I do,” he says softly.

I want to ask what that means. I need to know what that means, but I don’t get the chance to find out.

“How bad is it?” Jessica asks. “Do you need to go to the hotel and change?”

Roarke takes the napkin from me and glances at his pants, while I quickly scoot back, placing distance between him and me. “I’m wearing black jeans,” Roarke replies. “No harm, no foul.” He glances at me. “Let’s drink the next round.” The waiter reappears, quickly attending to the mess, and a few minutes later, it’s as if nothing happened.

“Back to our salads,” Jessica says. “And not to tease you, Hannah, but considering all my mishaps since leaving the city for the country, it’s nice to know a born country girl can have a few mishaps herself. You have no idea how many I’ve had.”

She goes on to tell me about how she came to Sweetwater, fell in the mud, fought with Jason, and generally became a perfect mess of the perfect woman for him. We are all laughing when the waiter delivers more bread to the table, and I’ve decided I adore Jessica. Her story was to make me feel better about the wine because she doesn’t know how many mishaps I’ve had around these two men, and they me. We grew up together, and I settle into those memories with comfort instead of pain. I want to be a part of this festival. I’m the right person to make this special.

“We can make December first work for the festival,” I say, bringing us back to that topic. “It’s going to be tight, but that would make for a fun holiday event, too. I’ll need to work around the clock and hire some help, but we can do it.”

“This is great news,” Jessica says, motioning to the table. “Everyone eat. The main course will be here, and our salads will be untouched.”

Obediently, we all grab our forks, and somehow, my leg collides with Roarke’s again, the force of that connection jolting me. I suck in a breath, and while I don’t look at Roarke, he’s looking at me. I can feel his stare, but fortunately, Jessica saves me. “Bread, Hannah?”

Setting my fork down, I reach for the bread. “Yes, please.” Unfortunately, the table is wide, and I can’t quite reach the basket.

Roarke solves that problem by snagging it for me, setting it between us. My eyes meet Jessica’s, and there’s awareness in the depths of her stare. She knows about Roarke and me, or at the very least, she feels the push and pull between us. “Thank you,” I say, glancing at Roarke.

His lips hint at a smile, and I can’t help but remember how they feel on my mouth, on my body. I’ve never been kissed the way this man has kissed me, and if I were asked to explain what that meant to someone else, I think I’d decline. It’s simply too personal. “I remember how much you love your bread,” he says softly, and while this comment, about bread of all things, shouldn’t feel sexual, apparently his knowledge of my love of bread feels that way to my body because I’m warm all over.

“Let’s talk about the parade,” Jessica says.

That kills the mood. My gaze whips around and lands on Jessica. “Parade?”

Roarke chimes in with, “Wait. A parade?”

“That’s right,” Jessica says. “A parade could allow each town store to have people camped out at their location.” She perks up. “What if we had an elf at every store?”

I need to reel her back, make this more doable. With that in mind, I say, “We have a short window. What if we hold the festival at the campgrounds with vendor booths? Then there’s some sort of prize for going to each participating store’s booth. We could launch a parade next year if that feels important after this year. Maybe have the old camp members be a part of the parade.”

“Okay, that’s brilliant,” Jessica says. “Really brilliant. When can you come to the ranch?”

When can I come to the ranch? Of course I knew that had to happen, but nevertheless, butterflies explode in my stomach with the promise of memories, so many memories, both good and bad. “When do you want me?”

“Tomorrow!” Jessica laughs. “But that’s not realistic for any of us. How about the day after tomorrow?”

“I can do that,” I say as more food arrives.

The four of us chat about what the festival might look like, and the conversation and laughter flow as easily as the wine. I don’t mean to drink as much as I do, but every time Roarke and I share a laugh and a smile, the pinch in my heart has me lifting my glass. It’s not something I do often, drinking liberally, and at some point, I resolve to just enjoy the wine and Uber to my apartment, but that’s okay. It’s the responsible thing to do, and I pride myself on being responsible.

When it comes time for dessert and coffee, I happily order a brownie ice cream sundae, eager to soak up the wine with the starch in the brownie while restoring my wits with caffeine. It’s also a treat a dinner in the fashion world would shun, but screw them. I’m not in L.A. anymore. I’m sitting next to my ex, who cheated on me, and I’m going to eat the sunday. I dig in and enjoy every bite. I eat it all, and I don’t care who might judge me, but that’s the thing about these people, about being home; no one even thinks about judging me.

We’ve all finished up our desserts when I feel the calling of wine and coffee driving me to the bathroom. “I better find the ladies’ room,” I say, pushing to my feet and sliding my purse over my shoulder.

“I’ll join you,” Jessica chimes in, standing as well.

“Good thing,” Roarke teases. “I was about to offer to escort her to the proper door.”

The wine gets the best of me, and I sit back down and turn to face him. “That was your fault.”

He leans in closer. “I made you go into the men’s bathroom not once but twice?”

“Yes,” I say. “You did.”

“You didn’t even know I was around the first time at the airport.”

“Obviously I sensed you were near because I only do stupid things when you’re around.”

“It’s all my fault?”

“We both know it’s your fault, Roarke.”

His expression tightens. “Hannah—”

“Don’t say whatever you’re about to say.” I stand up, and that’s when I realize that Jason and Jessica are staring at us. I try to think of something brilliant to say, but I have booze and Roarke on the brain. “I walked into the men’s room not once but twice in a couple of weeks and not by intent, which might or might not make that sound more reasonable. Of course, Roarke was present to witness both occasions.” I look at Jessica. “In light of this information, considering I’m well wined and in Roarke’s presence, I’ll accept an escort to the ladies’ restroom, if you’re offering.”

Jessica glances between us and smiles before stepping to the end of the table and offering me her arm. “Girl trip.”

I accept her arm, and together, we head for the door. I don’t look back at Roarke, but damn him, I hear and feel the deep rumble of his laughter. I scowl but head out into the main restaurant with Jessica. “Would you like to talk about you and Roarke?” Jessica asks as we walk toward the bathroom sign.

“Not unless you’re worried about our past affecting the festival.”

“I’m not,” she says, and once we round a corner and then cut down another hallway to wait for the sealed bathroom door to open, she halts and turns to face me. “I know you’re a professional. I know you care about the town, and I don’t know what happened between the two of you. I promise. I know nothing, but matters of the heart I do know. I just—I know. If you need me, I will be there for you, and if I need to kick Roarke’s pretty little ass, I’ll do that, too.”

I laugh. “Oh no. You don’t get to take that fun from me. If he needs it, I’ll do the kicking.”

She smiles. “Or we can do it together.”

The bathroom opens, and a woman exits. I motion Jessica forward, eager to gain a few minutes to myself. “I’ll be fast,” she promises, hurrying into the one-person room. My head spins from the wine that just won’t be defeated by chocolate and coffee or sheer will. I plot my escape, eyeing the exit sign. I’ll go to the bathroom again as we all part ways and have an Uber wait for me.

Jessica exits the bathroom. “All yours,” she says. “I’ll wait for you.”

“That’s okay,” I say. “I’m good. I’ll be right back to the table.”

“You’re sure?”

I nod. “Positive.”

“Okay then. See you in a sec.” She hurries off, and I dart into the bathroom. Locking the door, I pee and wash my hands. I check my makeup and don’t allow myself to think about how I might look to Roarke. My lipstick isn’t on my nose. Good enough. I open the door and gasp as I find Roarke standing there. “Wrong bathroom,” I say, recovering quickly. “Do you need an escort?”

“No,” he says, pushing off the wall and stepping in front of me. “But you do. I know you. I know how you reacted to the wine. I’m not letting you drive back to Dallas tonight.”

“I’m fine, and Jessica and Jason—”

“Left. I sent them on their way. We need to talk.” He catches my hand in his. “Come with me.”

Heat rushes up my arm, over my chest, and settles low in my belly, and that’s when I know I’ve made a mistake. An Uber can save me from drinking and driving, but it can’t save me from Roarke.