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He didn’t recognize the name of the restaurant she’d picked, but the area her navigation directed them to was an up-and-coming, hipster part of town that had been mostly abandoned warehouses when he was a kid.
The place didn’t take reservations and they arrived to find a forty-five-minute wait.
Claire scrunched her nose at him. “Go somewhere else or wait it out?”
“How hungry are you?”
“Ravenous.”
Shit, why did that response turn him on? He took a deep breath and told himself to rein it in. “How badly do you want to eat here?”
A sad look entered her eyes. “It looked really good.”
The hostess cut in, “If it helps, we’ll text you when the table is ready, and there are several adorable shops across the street. You can check them out and won’t even notice the time pass.”
Claire shrugged. “Okay.”
Graham eyed the hostess. “Are they owned by the same folks as this place?”
Claire pursed her lips and turned apologetic eyes on the woman. “Sorry about him. Please put our name in, that sounds great.”
She gave the hostess her cell number and they stepped back out onto the sidewalk.
Claire eyed his leg. “You don’t have to come shopping if you’d rather sit down somewhere.”
He shook his head. “I’m good. I’ll come with you.”
They browsed a local art gallery first, then went into a boutique with an eclectic blend of merchandise. They passed a section of kids’ toys, kitchen gadgets, and wine, and made their way toward a small section of women’s clothing and accessories in the back.
A woman with dark hair browsed in the corner, her back to them. When she turned, Graham stopped in his tracks.
Claire glanced back at him and, noticing his expression, frowned. “What?”
He tipped his head, wordlessly asking her to come closer. “That’s Angela,” he said in a low voice.
Claire whipped her head around, located the woman, then turned wide eyes on him. “TheAngela?”
He nodded, jaw tight. He reminded himself Claire didn’t know the entire story, because he’d only told her in an email she’d never read. But she obviously remembered the name.
If he was lucky, that’s all she’d remember about that conversation.
Claire looked at Angela again, appearing to study her. How would she measure up in Claire’s estimation? She was shorter than Claire by several inches, with sleek, dark hair that he’d bet money she spent a fortune on and clothes that spoke of money and class.
“Huh,” Claire whispered.
“What?”
“She looks so...normal.”
“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. Some tall, gazelle-like runway model. Who else would turn down a guy like you?”
He shouldn’t take pleasure in that. “Lots of women, actually.”
Claire rolled her eyes and glared at the other woman. “That handbag probably cost two months of rent at the condo.” She wrapped her fingers around his forearm, sending spirals of pleasure across his skin. “I don’t like her.”
Something in her tone set off warning bells in his head.
