A Brand New Ending (Page 27)

“You lost the bet. Are you going to welch?”

His direct question got her ire up. She stood on tiptoes and jabbed a finger in the air. “I’m not a welcher! Fine, let’s get this whole thing over with. We’ll talk about the divorce and finally get things moving.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We don’t want anyone overhearing our private business and figuring out we’re married. Crystal’s is packed with locals.”

She glared.

Damn, he was right—even though his innocent look was anything but. How was she going to get through the evening without falling into bad habits? Without her weak body betraying her mind?

She steeled her shoulders like she was going into battle. “Oh, you’re good,” she drawled. “But don’t think you’ll be able to tempt me by taking a walk down memory lane. I said I’d buy you dinner, but I never promised you conversation. See you at seven.”

She ignored his arrogant grin and spun on her heel, marching away. He had her trapped. The sooner she got this dinner over with, the sooner she could continue ignoring him. She had to make sure she wore pants, and a thick sweater, and definitely thermal underwear. Maybe her tucked-in-the-back-of-the-drawer granny panties, too. Just in case he spiked her drink and she got all hot and tried to have sex with him. The thought of what lay underneath would be enough to sober her up.

Hours later, she was seated across from him at a small table, frantically questioning her sanity.

She’d forgotten how devastatingly handsome he was dressed up. He wore black pants; fancy, low-heeled black leather boots; a green button-down Robert Graham shirt with the cuffs turned up; and a sleek black leather jacket that gave him the perfect air of bad-boyness. He smelled of pine and spice. She’d barely been able to control herself in the car, fighting the impulse to lean close and take a whiff in the curve of his neck. He looked dashing and graceful—the darling of Hollywood.

Ophelia studied the menu and tried to keep an icy distance. Even the surroundings of Crystal’s were working against her. The sultry tones of Etta James spilled from the speakers. The tables were scattered around the room with enough distance to give off a romantic vibe. Endless candles flickered in the dim light amid fine crystal and classic china. The ornate chandelier rivaled Cinderella’s castle, accented by the warm touches of dark wood and burgundy.

She ordered a martini, and Kyle ordered a glass of pinot noir, his favorite red. He rarely drank more than two beverages in an evening, choosing to switch to seltzer after his two-drink maximum. Alcoholism ran in the family, easily passed on to the next generation, and he’d been ruthlessly determined to never fall into the trap like his father.

The thought of Patrick gave her a buzz of guilt.

Should she tell Kyle about the ambulance? Or would the information only cause him pain?

“I missed this,” he said, closing his menu with a smile. “When I left town, there was only Galveston’s and Lombardi’s if you wanted a fancy place to eat. When did this open?”

“Five years ago. The owner’s name is Albert. He lost his wife and opened this place up in her honor.”

His eyes flickered with sympathy. “Can’t imagine that type of loss. I’d like to meet him.”

“I’m sure he’ll want to meet you. You have many fans here.” They’d already been stopped twice on the way to their table, and Ophelia caught Maureen Garry craning her neck around, furiously whispering to her husband. Kyle had always been well liked in town, despite his father’s drinking problem. Now that he’d returned as a star, the town was buzzing. It reminded her of when Ethan came back, except he’d hidden himself away from the world for a while to heal. Kyle had an easygoing charm that made people feel comfortable approaching him.

“Only interested in one woman’s approval and adoration. Unfortunately, she doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “Women always fell over you wherever we went,” she pointed out. “It was exhausting. I’d overhear conversations in the ladies’ room about how hot you were and how they intended to replace me.”

He pinned her with his gaze. “I never really noticed. When you walked into a room, the world came alive. No one else meant anything to me.”

She shifted in her seat, trying to hide how much his words stirred her.

A frown creased his brow. “Is that why you ran away? Because you thought I was interested in other women? Did you think I was at those parties flirting and looking to replace you?”

She shook her head. “No, I trusted you completely.”

“Yet you fled without a goodbye. Or a warning. I came home a bit late one night, and you were gone.”

She stiffened and narrowed her gaze. “Funny how those same events played out differently in my recollection. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Yes, it matters,” he said strongly, leaning across the table. The candlelight turned his hair to white-blond and emphasized the intense glint in his eyes that screamed of a goal she only wanted to avoid. “I came back not only for a second chance, but to figure out what went so wrong. I need to know.”

“For us? Or for your script?”

He flinched.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, he was interrupted by the waiter stopping by the table to recite the specials and take their order. By the time he glided away, she had taken a few sips of her martini, and the moment had passed.

He surveyed her moody silence and rubbed his head. “I’m screwing up again, aren’t I?”

She arched a brow.

“I wanted to remind you how much fun we have together, but I’m digging myself into a literal hole. And God, I just uttered a terrible cliché.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, if you’re buying dinner, I can at least dazzle you with conversation without pissing you off. I know—let’s play a game. Truth or dare?”

She tilted her head. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. We used to play when we got bored waiting in line for the buffet, remember? Go ahead, truth or dare?”

“This is ridiculous. We’re too old for such a game.”

“What are you scared of? I’ll go easy on you, I swear. Truth or dare?”

She let out a breath. “Fine. Truth. But I’m not answering if I don’t like the question.”

“You can’t pick and choose, or you lose.” He tapped his chin as if thinking hard. “What’s the worst thing you ever did to a guest you didn’t like?”

The memory caught her by surprise and made her laugh. “Well, I had this really cranky elderly woman who insulted me all weekend. She was just horrible. I tried everything, but I couldn’t please her. When she checked out, she said she intended to write a bad review, but I told her she’d been so unreasonable that I was going to write a bad review about her, and she’d never find another hotel or inn who’d take her.”

He blinked. “I don’t get it. Is there a site like that?”

She gave an evil grin. “No, I made the whole thing up. But she had no clue. She got all flustered, thinking I was going to put her name out there to be blacklisted from vacation spots, and she apologized! It was awesome.”

He laughed, slathering butter generously on his roll. “I never would’ve thought of that. Kind of brilliant. Much more creative than messing with their toothbrush or food.”