He smiled at Rowan’s introduction. “Even though I’m older, if I didn’t stand for a woman while my sister is here to witness it, she’d whack my head with the champagne bottle.”
Diana actually laughed. “Hush, brother, you have always been the biggest liar.”
Her brother grinned again and took Rowan’s hand to shake. “I’m Owen Stanton. I’ve heard many good things about your family from Di.” Rowan internally giggled at Owen’s nickname for his sister. “And this is my son, William. We call Houston home.”
Rowan turned to the…the extremely handsome man beside him, taking in the chiseled cheekbones, tall, athletic build, and sandy blonde hair shot with grey. Jesus, Rowan thought, she must have a ‘type.’ Taking William’s hand and smiling through her blush, Rowan said, “Very nice to meet you, Mr. Stanton.”
“William. Will, please. It’s nice to put a face to your name, Miss Byrne.”
“Rowan. Or Row, please.” She extended the same level of kindness that Owen and Will had. Who could have guessed that Diana Gaines was related tothesemen?
Dinner was a nice surprise. Rowan couldn’t remember a night that she’d enjoyed that much. Before Hugh, certainly. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Owen was attempting to throw a smidge of flirt Matilda’s way. Rowan could not wait to tease her when she got her alone. Who’d be in the hotseat then?
“My son and his wife have one daughter, Samantha. She’s turning four next week.”
William seemed so thrilled by this that Rowan couldn’t help but grin. “Four, huh? I imagine she has quite a detailed birthday list for her grandpa.”
“She sent me a voicemail from my son’s phone. Sam’s mom sent me a list later that I could make sense of. Samantha isveryparticular. The voicemail was thirty minutes long. She went over what she wanted as well as alternate gifts, brands that she won’t accept and a reminder that I could ship directly to her house.”
Rowan leaned closer to William’s side and pretended to whisper, “Does your granddaughter spend very much time with her Great-Auntie Di?”
Diana tried to huff and puff as though she was offended, but once the whole table burst out laughing, she joined in good-naturedly. All in all, a lovely evening and totally unexpected. As the group moved to the lobby to wait for their cars to be brought around, Willaim asked Rowan if she’d like to catch lunch next week. It was a casual, friendly invitation, or it would have been, except William was fidgeting with his watch and his cheeks held a distinct tinge of blush.
The invite took Rowan by surprise. Her personal, intimate feelings had been tied up with Hugh for so long. She’d told herself, more than once, that she would move on. She would find a man who wanted her. Who wasn’t embarrassed to date her. She just hadn’t gotten around to that ‘moving forward’ step.
Before Rowan could overthink, she answered, “Sure, that sounds great. I’ll probably be working at the boutique I’m decorating. Wallpaper is going up tomorrow, which is one of my favorite parts. They should be all but done by noon. I’ll send you the address, and we can meet there. If that works for you, that is.” Now, she was blushing. Too much information. Rowan despised word-vomiting, and she’d just puked. A lot.
Thankfully, he smiled, seeming to relax. “Great. If you could give me your number, I’ll text you so you can have mine.”
And that was that. Rowan had a lunch date with a man who wasn’t Hugh.
Hugh wokeup to his phone playing The Lonely Island’sI Just Had Sex—the irony. Try a yearlong stint of abstinence. Fucking Patrick changed his alarm tone again. How did the little shit keep doing that without getting caught? Groaning, Hugh grappled with his phone before finally ripping the charging cord out so he could look at the screen and turn the alarm off. Eight a.m.
Christ, he’d only gotten a few hours’ sleep. Once he’d reached the hotel and the staff got his bags hauled up, it’d been four in the morning. He rubbed a hand over his face and chest, trying to think why he’d even set an alarm. Then he realized he must have accidentally toggled one of his many alarms when he was checking the weather. It was probably time to get his eyes checked.
A workout would help energize his body. He had a small home gym in house, so he didn’t have to use the hotel’s. Hugh found that a person risked two things at public gyms—getting hit on or contracting a staph infection. Getting hit on by random women had lost its appeal about thirty years ago, and he’d rather stay staph-free.
As Hugh slipped on gym shorts and a t-shirt, he studiously avoided looking at his emails and texts. He knew Bran and Patrick had gotten the email hours ago with the time difference, and he wasn’t looking forward to those conversations. Hugh knew he’d made the right decision to leave Dublin. He would miss everyone, but it was a small price to pay to stop hurting Rowan. And he had hurt her. Several times. His very presence after he’d basically told her that he didn’t want her—would neverhave a relationship with her—that her feelings didn’t matter to him…hurt her. It killed him.
The lies had felt like acid on his tongue, but Hugh had always been good at staying the course. He’d been so successful in business because the men and women who made deals with him learned quickly that if Hugh O’Faolain said it, he’d do it without fail.
Walking out of Rowan’s hospital room when she’d offered him another chance, offered her trust, a future, herself. He’d thrown that away too. He’d walked out of that hospital knowing he was doing the right thing. He would not date a woman so young.
It was funny, the more he repeated his stance, his reasoning for rejecting Rowan, sounded weaker and weaker. He was weakening with his want. Had he stayed in Dublin…Christ, had he stayed in the same city as Rowan Byrne he would have thrown his choices, his rejection in the garbage.
He would have gone to Rowan and begged her forgiveness.
Hugh threw himself into his workout, turning the music up to drown out his thoughts. His body was warm, a light sheen of sweat covered him, and his muscles were swelling with the repeated reps.
He almost made it through the last set when thoughts of Rowan snuck past his defenses. Rowan smiling and laughing. Rowan conspiring with her sisters or whispering to Daniel as she rocked him to sleep. Touching hishand or leg. Turning to him for reassurance. How she looked when her back arched right before she came.
“Damn it!” He yelled, replacing the barbell in its cradle. Shaking his head in annoyance, he castigated himself. “Pretty difficult to do chest presses with a Goddamn hard-on, Hugh.” Add talking to himself to his List of Lows.
He sat on the bench, staring at himself in the mirror. Jesus, he looked defeated. He picked his phone up, anything to postpone digging any deeper into his depression and scanned through his emails. None were from the boys. He had several text messages. One from Patrick.Call when you get up. Bran’s with me.
He dragged himself to the shower. He’d at least be clean for his ass chewing.
Twenty minutes later, he was showered, dressed, and sitting at his desk dialing up Pat. It only rang twice before his son picked up.
