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It was almost a shame she didn’t have the time, energy or courage to take him up on his offer to find out exactly what.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket and her fingers itched to reach for it. She hadn’t called her mother back, and she’d only worry if she didn’t hear from her. Well, actually, she probably wouldn’t. Tabitha saved her concern for Tom and Dolly, safe in the knowledge that Luce could take care of herself far better than the rest of them.
Still, she’d get annoyed, which was even worse, and pull a guilt trip on Luce next time they spoke.
She really should call her back. But Ben’s arm held her hand trapped against his body, and she could feel the warmth of him even through his coat and suit jacket. Was that intentional? Trying to cut her off from her real life and keep her in this surreal bubble of a night he’d created?
Ben Hampton had invaded her life and her personal space since she’d bumped into him again, only a couple of hours ago, and she’d let him. Sat back and let him take charge, point out the problems in her life, rearrange all her plans for the evening. What had happened to taking responsibility and control?
Okay, she needed a new plan for the night. Something to wrest back control. At the very least she needed to know if he remembered her...
She shivered as they left the hotel lobby, the bitter night air stinging her face and her lungs. Icicle Christmas lights dangled above the cobbled streets, twinkling in the night like the real thing. Ben tugged her a little closer, and she wondered how it was he stayed so warm despite the winter chill.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, belatedly realising he hadn’t even told her where he was taking her. Some fancy restaurant, probably, she’d figured when pulling out the dress she’d packed for the conference gala dinner. But that wasn’t the point. No one knew where she was—least of all her. It was madness. She was out in a strange city at night with a man she barely knew. A little surreptitious internet searching in the bar while he’d been fetching the drinks had told her the bare bones of his professional career since university—which mostly seemed to be doing whatever his father needed him to do—but it hadn’t told her what sort of a man he was. She hadn’t seen him in eight years, and she hadn’t known him all that well back then. He certainly hadn’t been the kind of guy the twenty-year-old Luce had willingly spent time with. This was foolishness beyond compare. Dennis would be horrified.
Of course her mother would probably be relieved. Tabitha had always been a little afraid that her daughter had inherited none of her more flighty attributes at all.
‘A little French restaurant I know,’ Ben said, answering the question she’d almost forgotten she’d asked. ‘It’s up past the Cross, on the Rows. You okay to walk in those shoes?’
‘Of course.’ Luce spoke the words automatically, even though the balls of her feet had started to smart as she struggled over the cobbles. Show no weakness. That was another of her grandad’s rules to live by. If she couldn’t keep the other one tonight, she might as well try to hang on to something.
‘You never used to wear shoes like that.’
Luce couldn’t tell if the warm feeling that settled over her shoulders at Ben’s words was relief or confusion. ‘You do remember me, then?’ she blurted out before she could stop herself. ‘I wasn’t sure.’
‘You think I invite strange women up to my suite all the time?’
Luce shrugged. ‘University was a long time ago. I have no idea what kind of man you are now. And, actually...’
‘Yeah, yeah.’ Ben rolled his eyes. ‘Eight years ago I’d have invited all women up to my room.’
‘I hope you’ve grown up a little since then.’ A hitch in Ben’s step made her glance up. ‘What?’
He shook his head. ‘Nothing. Just depends who you ask.’
Picking up speed again, Ben led them up the very steep steps onto the medieval Rows, a second layer of shops and restaurants above the street-level ones. The historian in Luce was fascinated by the structure—the timber fronts, the overhanging storey above making a covered walkway. There was no other example in the world—the Chester Rows were unique. She should be savouring every detail.
And instead all she could think was, He remembers me. Well, at least she knew now. Except...just because he remembered her, that didn’t mean he remembered the last time they’d seen each other.
Maybe he’d forgotten it entirely. And maybe that meant she could, too.
It was too cold for much more conversation. They made their way along the Rows, Luce tucked tightly into Ben’s body for warmth, until he said, ‘Here we are,’ and Luce’s whole body relaxed at the sight of a cosy little restaurant tucked away behind a few closed shops with sparkling Christmas window displays.
