“Is everything okay with your dinner?” The waiter replaced her half-full glass of soda with a fresh one.
“It’s lovely, thank you. My compliments to the chef. There’s just no way I can eat such a generous serving in one sitting.”
“I understand. Can I get you another box?”
“Yes, please. And if you can go ahead and bring my check, I’d appreciate it.”
“Yes, ma’am. Can I interest you in a dessert to go? Tiramisu, maybe?”
She smiled and shook her head. “I’ll have to pass.”
In a few minutes, she boxed up the remaining half of her meal, all the while keeping tabs on Forbes’s table to make sure they didn’t leave before she managed to get over there or catch his eye. She left enough cash in the black folder with the receipt to cover a generous tip and picked up her purse, planner, and to-go boxes.
She crossed the room, stopping twice to speak to acquaintances and see baby pictures or leave a few business cards for any newly engaged couples they might know. Keeping her attention anywhere but on the handsome stranger proved difficult. She must learn his identity.
When she drew near, Forbes glanced in her direction. “Here’s someone you should meet,” he said to his dinner companion. Forbes stood to draw her into a hug, his grin creasing the corners of his grayish blue eyes.
“Hey. I didn’t want to interrupt, but I couldn’t just leave without stopping to speak to you.” She turned and smiled at the stranger, who’d also stood. He was a couple of inches taller than she, but more slender than the men she usually found attractive. She gazed into eyes the color of light-roast cinnamon hazelnut coffee, and her heart fluttered. Fluttered! Like some addlepated schoolgirl.
She regained control of her senses and extended her right hand. “Good evening. I’m Anne Hawthorne.”
His grasp was firm, his skin soft. He worked indoors, probably at the law firm with Forbes. Then why hadn’t she met him at the office Christmas party?
“George Laurence, ma’am, at your service.”
Tingles danced up and down her spine. A British accent! She’d always dreamed of marrying a man with a British accent.
Get ahold of yourself, girl! You’re thirty-five years old, not some starry-eyed teenager. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Laurence. So how do you know Forbes?”
The Englishman cleared his throat and looked at her cousin. She frowned.
Forbes rested his hand on her shoulder. “George… represents someone I work with.”
Hopefully he wasn’t in town briefly for a trial or something like that. “So you’re a lawyer, too, Mr. Laurence?”
“Not exactly.” Had he grimaced? Frowned? Grinned? The expression was there and gone before she could be certain.
“It’s complicated, Anne.” Forbes squeezed her shoulder. “I thought you were waiting on someone, or we would have asked you to join us. How was your dinner, by the way?”
Okay, obviously this guy was working on some case that was so confidential they couldn’t even discuss it in front of her. “The food was great. I hadn’t planned on eating alone tonight, but you know, ‘the best-laid plans…’ ” Her cheeks burned as she was conscious of George Laurence standing next to her. Time to try to make a graceful exit. “Well, I’d best be going. As I said, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
“George, if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I’d like to walk Anne out to her car.” Forbes herded her toward the front door, stopping with alacrity, although only for a moment, when a family acquaintance recognized them. On the way past the hostess stand, Anne took one more peek at George Laurence, now sitting by himself at the table. Handsome, British, and at least six foot two.
She bit her bottom lip to contain her grin and braced herself for the heat as the air-conditioning chased them out the door. “Why haven’t I ever met him before?”
“Because he just arrived in town today.” Forbes tucked her left hand under the crook of his elbow, then took her food boxes and planner. “All kidding aside, what happened with your date, Annie?”
“I don’t know. I was running a few minutes late, and when I arrived, he wasn’t here. After I’d been here awhile, I called to check to see when he was coming, and some gal at his office told me he’d gotten called in for a breaking news story. So I had dinner by myself—” Her left heel caught in a crack in the cement parking lot and the shoe twisted out from under her. Thank goodness for Forbes’s supporting arm, or she would have fallen face-first onto the pavement—which would have been a fitting end to a night like this.
“Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.”
“He left word that he’d call me tomorrow.” She stopped at her car, pressing the unlock button on her key-fob remote, and took her food and planner from her cousin. Forbes opened the door for her, and she ducked in to set her things atop a stack of files on the passenger seat. She narrowly missed hitting her head on the door frame as she stood. “Of course, I can’t imagine why he’d rather go out with me and not with Jenn.”
Forbes placed his hands on her cheeks and pulled her close to kiss her forehead. “Because you are a beautiful and interesting woman, Anne. Any man would be lucky to have you. If we weren’t related—” He waggled his well-groomed eyebrows.
She groaned. “Forbes! I really wish you’d stop saying that. It’s bad enough that half your coworkers think I’m your wife because you take me to every office party.” If they weren’t related, he’d never have given her a second glance. Not someone as good looking and popular as he’d always been. Of course, she had somehow been noticed by—
No. She’d already determined not to think about that tonight. That part of her life was long over and done with. “Tell me about this George guy.”
“He’s not for you, Anne.”
“I didn’t notice a wedding ring.”
“No.” Forbes ran his fingers through his short, dark auburn hair.
She narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms. Forbes never touched his hair for fear of messing it up.
“Just take my word for it. He’s—not available.”
“Oh, so he’s—” She stopped when he pressed his fingers to her lips.
“Not available. Leave it at that, please?” He kissed her forehead again. “Now, go home and get some rest. I’m sure you have a very busy day tomorrow.”
“Rest?” She kept from snorting as a rueful laugh escaped, but just barely. “Do you see the stack of file folders on the passenger seat? It’s a wedding weekend, honey. I wouldn’t have taken the time to do more than pick something up at Rotier’s on my way home tonight if Jenn hadn’t insisted I go out with—” She snapped her fingers, her mind drawing a blank on her no-show date’s name.
“Danny?” Forbes prompted.
“Yes. With Danny.” She opened the car door. “Oh, and Forbes?”
“Yes?”
“Should your friend George ever become not not available, you’ll let me know, right?”
“You’ll definitely be the first person I’ll tell. Good night, Anne.”
She waved as he walked away, then got in the car and put the top down to enjoy the evening air.
Whatever Forbes meant by “not available,” God hadn’t let her cross paths with George Laurence for no reason. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t just going to take Forbes’s word.
George sipped his water. Anne Hawthorne. Something about her just wouldn’t let him be. She was pretty, yes. Tall for a woman, with a striking figure as well. But he’d met hundreds, perhaps thousands of beautiful women in his life. No, it was something in the expression of her eyes—something real that he wasn’t used to seeing.
Setting his goblet back on the table, he took a deep breath and blew it out. Lord, how did I get rooked into this scheme? I only signed the first contract five years ago because it ensured me a work visa and job security. This is the first time since then I’ve truly resented anything my employer has asked me to do. How can I live a life pleasing to You if I’m practicing deception? Yet how can I refuse when it means going back to England? If You can just get me through the next seventeen months until I can apply for citizenship—