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“Nothing, Han.” I freeze as soon as the endearment slips out, then hurry to fill the silence that follows. “I’m sorry. I just…long day at work.”
I glance inside again.
I’m happy for Hannah. But I also resent her for the way she’s invaded my thoughts and made me rethink my future while she’s forging ahead with hers like we never got married. Which isn’t fair.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
Fuck.Now I feel even worse. I rub my forehead. “Don’t apologize. I’m glad you called. I—”
“Oliver?”
I spin around to see Quinn standing on the sidewalk, rubbing her hands on her bare arms to ward off the evening chill.
“Arlo Hathaway is at our table. Garrett thought you might want to talk to him before he leaves?”
I nod. “Thanks. I’ll be right there.”
“Okay,” Quinn says, then heads back inside.
Complete and total silence is all I can hear.
I clear my throat. “Hannah…” I’m not sure what else to say.
I wasn’t expecting her to call. I thought that everything going forward would run through our attorneys, the way she suggested. And I never would have guessed she’d call while I was out on a date with another woman, which is a rare occurrence.
“You shouldn’t have answered, Oliver.”
Before I have a chance to respond, she hangs up.
I stand there, phone against my ear, staring at the lights of the passing traffic.
* * *
I’m on autopilot for the rest of the evening, witnessing but not really participating.
I’m not sure anyone notices. Garrett grows more gregarious with each glass of wine he consumes, and Sienna is always outgoing. They carry most of the conversation, peppering Quinn with questions about her life in London and her plans in New York, with several suggestive glances aimed my way.
I pick at the halibut that was served with braised leeks and picked rhubarb, washing each bite down with wine.
Rather than buoy my mood, the alcohol sinks it further.
I think of a thousand things I wish I had said when Hannah called. I’m not even sure if I congratulated her. I definitely didn’t ask if she told her father or the rest of her family. If she didn’t, is she celebrating alone?
A cold coil of dread appears in my stomach and spreads, imagining her and some other guy. I don’t even have to imagine it—I witnessed it. And I lived it. I’ve been the guy in the bar, faced with the blonde mystery that is Hannah Garner. She’s hard to resist, and most guys wouldn’t bother trying.
I shove my plate away with a few bites of fish left, my appetite totally gone.
“Do you know where the restroom is?” I ask Garrett.
“Down in the basement,” he tells me. “Head to the back and then take the stairs.”
“Thanks.” I glance at Quinn. “I’ll be right back.”
She nods and smiles. Her composure hasn’t faltered all night, not even when I spent long enough standing on the sidewalk that I missed Arlo Hathaway at our table. We had a brief conversation as he was leaving, but not the prime networking that might have resulted inside. And I don’t even care.
Garrett’s instructions are accurate. The men’s room is the first door past the kitchens.
But I don’t walk inside. I lean against the wall just past the entrance and close my eyes, trying to calm my thoughts and regain some equilibrium. Tonight was supposed to be about Quinn. About getting to know her and determining how we might work as a couple.
