Natasha couldn’t believe she’d almost balked at the invitation to join the dark-haired stranger. The only reason she hadn’t was her ingrained good manners, as being something of a socialite in her heyday, she would never have dreamed of walking away. Which made it even more ridiculous that she would have run now.
Ridiculous because she’d be running scared.
And what did she have to fear, truly?
He was being polite and kind.
And she was… She was being silly. Running from the chemical reaction fizzing in her blood that wasn’t his fault at all, that was all down to her and her inner demons.
Lowering herself into the free seat at the intimate table for two, she told herself to relax and let his words register… We’ve met.
‘We have?’ She smiled politely, hoping to soften her lack of awareness—she’d met many people over the years. ‘You must forgive me. I don’t normally forget a face.’
He chuckled, the gravel-like sound provoking her nerve endings in a way that was far more pleasant than her wounded heart would like.
‘It was a long time ago now, we were introduced in passing, but your late husband and I met on several an occasion.’ She flinched, the move involuntary but no less obvious, and he frowned. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you any distress. Your husband was a very good man. I was sorry to hear of his passing.’
She nodded, wet her lips, wished her coffee hadn’t been a casualty of the collision because she dearly missed having something to occupy her hands now.
‘Here…’ He poured her a glass of water from the bottle on the table as though sensing her need and slid it across the white tablecloth. ‘Forgive me, Natasha. I shouldn’t have spoken out of turn.’
She shook her head and managed a small smile, though her voice wasn’t ready to be trusted. She sipped the cooling drink and waited for the pulse flickering in her neck to ease. ‘Not at all. It’s been over four years, but sometimes…’
‘Sometimes it still feels like yesterday.’
There was something in the way he said it that had her eyes falling to his left hand, seeking out a telltale ring. Nothing. Didn’t mean there hadn’t been a ring once upon a time, many upon a time… Who knew, he could be a serial groom because he certainly had the playboy charm about him…and now your subconscious is doing him a disservice because your panicked heart wants it to.
‘Yes.’ It came out far too abrupt, her head fighting back the inner chaos, and she took a breath, tried again. ‘Life is good at moving on, but me, not so much.’
He nodded, his grave eyes assessing. ‘You were together a long time?’
‘Forty-five years.’
‘That’s a long time to have to learn to live without someone again.’
‘Yes.’ It was a choked whisper. How did this conversation get so deep? So fast? And how could he hit the nail on the head so completely?
She didn’t even speak to her nearest and dearest like this. To be in his company for no time at all, not even know him from Adam and be talking of such things was as unsettling as it was…liberating.
She hadn’t realised how much she’d kept locked inside to avoid upsetting others…like her children, their close friends, mutual in their grief, not so much their understanding. Because how could they understand? He’d been her husband. Her life partner. Her other half in the truest sense of the phrase.
‘You will, in time.’
Another small smile. ‘This holiday is supposed to be the start of it. Me finding my way again. My daughter is convinced this is a step in the right direction.’
‘Taking your first holiday without him?’
‘My first holiday alone.’
‘Ah, well, there we have something in common.’
‘You too?’
‘Indeed. My daughter insisted I take a break from both work and—and my life, see the sights I’ve travelled to on many occasions, but never truly got to enjoy.’
Her smile widened as her body eased a fraction more, his obvious affection as he spoke of his daughter extending their common ground. ‘That’s something else we have in common, interfering daughters who think they know what’s best for us.’
‘And perhaps a healthy dose of solomangarephobia?’
‘Solo-what-now?’
‘The social awkwardness one feels when dining alone?’ He waved a hand over the table.
‘Oh that.’ She gave a nervous laugh, felt her cheeks warm as she touched a hand to her face. ‘Am I really that obvious?’
‘Only if one’s being extra observant.’
Which meant he was, and why did that make her warm even more…and not in an entirely bad way?
Because he’s flirting with you, silly!
Was she so out of practice?
Of course you are!
‘You hardly look uncomfortable in your own company,’ she hurried out, meaning that he was trying to make her feel better by implying that he was also uncomfortable…trying and succeeding.
He gave a small shrug. ‘I’m often too preoccupied to notice that I’m alone.’
‘Too preoccupied?’
‘With work.’ He thumbed the newspaper he’d refolded and placed on the table. She recognised it as one that Jack had often bought when in Italy and with thoughts of Jack came the return of the edginess, the bitter sting of loss and what she couldn’t let herself have again.
She turned to see the server smoothing down a fresh tablecloth behind her and started to rise. ‘I should let you get back to that…’
‘I’d really rather you didn’t…’
***
‘You wouldn’t?’ Her blue eyes sparked down at him, a bemused frown playing about her lips.
‘No, truth is, until I saw you, I’d been trying and failing to keep my mind off work.’
‘Trying and failing to do as your daughter wished.’
‘Exactly.’
She didn’t need to know that the other half of that wish was no more women, but when his daughter had his nefarious reputation all wrong—okay, mostly wrong—he took it with a pinch of salt.
And more importantly, what he had in mind with Natasha was very much innocent and platonic. A mutual gain for a mutual goal—keeping their daughters happy.
‘It seems we’ve both been set something of a challenge by our children.’
‘I suppose we have.’
He leaned forward in his seat, interlaced his fingers as he rested them on the tabletop and gave her his undivided attention. ‘How long are you staying?’
‘I have another day here, then on to Florence…’
He nodded. ‘Okay, so how about you keep me company and focused on something other than work, and I can help you adjust to holidaying alone by being your occasional meal companion?’
‘Meal companion?’ Her lips quirked.
‘I’m not really selling myself, am I? But when the alternative phrases were plus-one or date, I thought it the safest descriptor.’
She gave a laugh that tinkled right through him. ‘The safest descriptor?’ She settled back, her dancing eyes on him fully now. ‘This proposition just gets better and better.’
‘Does that mean you’re considering it?’
‘If it’ll make this moment any less awkward?’
His mouth tugged to a one side as he rubbed the back of his neck. ‘I will confess that as far as asking someone to dinner goes, this is quite possibly my worst attempt ever.’
‘I’ve experienced worse.’
‘You have?’
‘No.’
They both laughed and it felt good. So good to be that in sync with someone again. No pressure. No purpose. Just the enjoyment of one another’s company.
‘So, dinner tonight? I’ll pick you up from your hotel…’
Something flickered behind her eyes—hesitation, excitement, both?
Or had she changed her mind already? Was the deer making a return?
‘How about I meet you there?’
No deer, just an empowered woman taking control of the situation, and in light of the woman she’d been only minutes before, he cherished it. ‘Name the time and the place and I’ll be there.’
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