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“Do you want music or no music? Feel free to pick a station.”
She was probably as eager as he was to fill the heavy silence. The touch screen on the dashboard yielded a dozen choices. When Bella chose one, the sound of a classic Christmas tune filled the air with cheer. Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays…
That had never been the case at his house. From what he had heard of Finley and Bella’s childhood and adolescence, they had not experienced such simple holiday magic either.
Fortunately for his plans, the restaurant he had chosen was still open, but much of the clientele had stayed away. Which meant that the maître d’ was able to give them the best seat in the house, a private cozy corner booth with a window that framed the postcard scene outside.
“This is lovely,” Bella said, looking around with interest. “I’ve never eaten here.”
He’d deliberately picked the kind of restaurant most people reserved for special occasions. He wanted the ambiance and the food to underscore his efforts. So far, it was working. Though Bella was far from relaxed, she at least seemed more open than she had when he first showed up in her office.
After the sommelier stopped by the table to offer wine, their waiter handed over menus and rattled off the evening’s specials. “I recommend the prime rib, the asparagus, and the pumpkin pie,” he said. “All are excellent.”
Ian lost his nerve when Bella spent an inordinate amount of time studying the entrée selections. He was almost certain she was trying to ignore him. That wasn’t going to happen if he had anything to say about it.
He had treated her badly. There was no other way to describe it, but it was Christmas, damn it, and he would beg for a chance to be heard if necessary. “Is it so difficult to even look me in the eye?” he asked, his pride in ruins. “God knows, Bella, I deserve your contempt, but if you can find it in your heart to listen with an open mind, I’d like you to understand why I ran.”
* * *
Bella alternated between feeling faint and nauseated. She had no idea why Ian was here. It would be emotional suicide to assume a happy ending. He could be ready to say anything at all.
Still, hope swelled in her chest.
The man looked terrible, to be honest. He had lost at least fifteen pounds, maybe more given his height. His expression was sober. In his eyes she saw a reflection of the suffering she had endured.
“I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his gaze directly for the first time. “I wasn’t expecting you to show up on my doorstep. It rattled me.”
“I get that. I didn’t mean to make it some huge surprise, but when I thought about texting or calling or e-mailing you, I was afraid it would give you too many options to get rid of me.”
“Wouldn’t that be the smart thing to do on my part?” she asked wryly.
He flushed. “I don’t want to hurt you at all, yet even as I say that, it seems presumptuous to assume I could.”
Bella eyed him cautiously. If there was ever a time for honesty, it was now. “You could,” she said bluntly. “You did.”
