Because aside from Lark, no one has stayed around. Not even my parents.
What if I’m not worth keeping?
“Hey,” Lark says, her soft voice a lifeline in the undertow of dark thoughts. “This is gonna be great.”
I nod. My eyes stay fused to my reflection as I twist another curl around the hot metal.
What if I’ve got this all wrong? What if everything I feel is all in my head? What if he’s been avoiding me? What if I’m unlovable? What if something unfixable is wrong with me? What if I try for something more with Rowan and I fuck it up? What if he never wants to see me again? I could just leave now. What if I do? What if what if what if—
“Sloane. Get out of your head and talk to me.”
Tears glass my eyes when I turn them down to the screen. I swallow the ache that’s building in my throat.
“He’s got a big life, Lark. Lots of friends. He’s got another restaurant that’s almost ready to open. He’s got his brothers. I just…” I shrug and run a thumb beneath my lashes. “I don’t know if what I have to offer compares to all that, you know?”
“Oh, Sloaney.” Lark presses a hand to her heart. Her lip wobbles but she puts on a determined expression as she takes hold of her laptop and brings the camera closer to her face. “You listen to me. You’re amazing, Sloane Sutherland. You are brilliant, and so brave, and loyal to the ends of the earth. You set your mind to something and you fucking get it done. You work hard. You’re funny. You make me laugh when I don’t think I can. Not to mention, you’re smoking hot. Gorgeous face. Gold star tits.”
My laugh comes out strangled. I set my curling iron down and grip the counter edge as I shake my head and try to breathe past the sting in my nose.
“You had to find comfort in being alone because you’ve had no choice. But as much as you like it, you’re also lonely,” Lark continues. “I know you’re scared, but you deserve to be happy. So put some of that bravery to use for yourself for a change. Rowan would be lucky as all hell to have you.”
I bite down on my lip and stare at my bleached knuckles.
Lark sighs. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetie,” she says. “It’s written all over your face. But you are not unlovable, Sloane. Because I love you. And he might too, if you give him the chance. He did say that sweet stuff about you to the cannibal guy, right?”
“Yeah, but he was loaded and not really in the best headspace, you know? Plus, it was a year ago. He doesn’t even remember he said that stuff.”
“Maybe so, but he did ask you to come all that way to see him, didn’t he?”
“I owed him a win. Plus, it’s his birthday in two days, I couldn’t really say no.”
“Sweetie,” she says with a shake of her head, “Rowan could have asked someone else to accompany him if he wanted to. He asked you.”
She’s right, he could have asked someone else. When he called last month to claim the win I owed him from West Virginia, he’d said he wanted to have fun at the annual Best of Boston Gala for a change. “You’re the only person I can have real fun with,” he’d said when he’d FaceTimed with the request.
I could have pushed back. The timing isn’t ideal—I have to leave for a meeting in Madrid first thing tomorrow morning. But I didn’t push back. Honestly, I was relieved to hear his voice after weeks of next to nothing. I told him I’d keep my end of the deal and then I changed my flights so I could leave for the meeting from Boston instead of Raleigh.
And now here I am, getting ready to spend the evening with Rowan, with no idea what to expect.
I take a deep breath and release my talon grip on the counter edge. “You’re right.”
“I know. I usually am,” she says. I meet Lark’s gaze through the screen and she gives me a wink. “Now do that hair, put on some makeup, and go have fun. You deserve it.”
The kiss I blow to Lark is caught, and she pretends to press it to her cheek before sending one back to me. She gifts me with her megawatt smile and then disconnects the video call. When she’s gone, I put some music on, a playlist of Lark’s songs mixed with others that remind me of her. And I think of her. Of everything she said. How much richer my life has been since she became part of it.
I’m ready to go, sitting on the edge of the bed with a bouncing knee, when Rowan texts to say he’s downstairs in the lobby.
One last check in the mirror, and then I’m walking out the door, my clutch gripped tight in my hand. The elevator ride is the longest of my life. When that door finally opens, he’s the first thing I see across the hotel lobby, his broad back facing me and his head bent.
My phone buzzes in my bag. I pull it out and read the message.
I’ll be the pretty boy in a black suit.
I can see that. But I’m not sure how I’m going to keep it from getting to your head if you look that good.
Rowan’s head snaps up and he turns to face me. He’s so beautiful it steals the breath from my lungs. His hair is swept back, his suit perfectly tailored, his shoes polished, his momentary shock eclipsed by a bright smile. He pockets his phone as he strides across the lobby, his eyes never straying from me.
When he stops within reach, his eyes flow over every inch of my body, unabashedly drinking me in. I feel his gaze everywhere it touches. My lips, crimson red. My hair, the waves held back on one side by a sparkling, starburst barrette. My neck, sprayed with Serge Lutens Five O’Clock Gingembre perfume and decorated with a simple gold necklace. My breasts, unsurprisingly, and his attention lingers there for a moment before sweeping all the way down to my toes and back up again.
“You look…” He shakes his head. Swallows. Shifts on his feet. “You look gorgeous, Blackbird. I’m so happy you’re here.”
He closes the distance between us and wraps me in an embrace, and I fold my arms around him in return, my eyes drifting closed as I take in a deep breath of his scent, warm sage and lemon and a hint of spice. For the first time in the last few hours, my heart slows even though it still hits my bones with heavy beats. Something about this feels foreign yet right, somehow.
Rowan releases me from his embrace but holds my upper arms in his warm palms. And then lips are pressed to my neck where my pulse surges. My breath catches as the kiss lingers for a moment just long enough to etch itself into my memory for eternity.
There’s an electric charge in the air between us as he pulls away to look down at me with a lopsided smile. How a man can simultaneously look so cocky while blushing I have no fucking clue, but it’s intoxicating. “Would have kissed your cheek,” he says as his fingers trace my skin where his lips were pressed, “but I didn’t want to ruin your makeup.”
My lips tighten around a grin that begs to be set free. I know he can see the way my eyes dance with surprise and amusement. He eats it up. “What’s your angle, pretty boy?”
“To make you blush, of course.” He gives me a wink and then takes my hand, seemingly clueless to the cacophony of thoughts that riot through my head at the simple touch of his palm to mine. “Come on. Car’s waiting. We’re going to have a fun night, Blackbird. Guaranteed.”
Rowan leads the way to the lobby doors and the circular driveway where a blacked-out Escalade is parked, a driver waiting by the rear passenger door that he opens as we approach. Rowan keeps hold of my hand as I step up into the vehicle before he walks around to the other side, and then we’re off to the Omni Boston Hotel at the Seaport, the venue for the gala.
“This is very fancy, Butcher,” I say as I run my hand over the leather seat. “We could have taken an Uber, you know.”
Rowan catches my hand and holds it on the empty seat between us as I try not to let surprise flicker across my face. “I’m not taking the most beautiful girl of the night to the social event of the year in a fucking Honda Accord.”
“What’s wrong with a Honda Accord?” I ask as a flurry of butterflies dance across my rib cage. “I drive one.”
Rowan scoffs and rolls his eyes. “No, you don’t. You drive a silver BMW 3 series.”
“Stalker.”
“You’re overdue for an oil change, by the way.”
“Am not.”
“Liar. The car has literally been telling you ‘change my fucking oil, you heathen’ for the last three weeks.”
I guffaw a laugh and whack Rowan on the arm. “How do you know that?”
He grins and shrugs. “Got my ways.” His phone dings in his jacket and he lets go of my hand to read the message with a frown. “Anyway, I thought it would be nice to splurge for a change. It feels like I’ve been stuck with my head down, dealing with problem after problem between the two restaurants. I could use a fun night out with my best friend.”
My heart lurches in my chest as though it’s suddenly facing the wrong way around. Like everything is. The hand-holding. The kiss on my pulse. Maybe I read too much into these small gestures.
What if everything I feel is all in my head?
I clear my throat and straighten my spine, folding both my hands over the sparkling clutch that rests in my lap. “How is it going with the new place?”
Rowan tilts his head side to-side, his focus on the phone screen as he taps out a reply. “Not too bad. A lot of work. We’re still on track to launch in October, but the electrical upgrades have been a bitch.”
“How’s David? Still doing well?”
At this he huffs a laugh, locking his screen before he pockets the device. “Great, actually. I’ve had Lachlan look again recently for any missing persons reports fitting his description, but there’s still nothing. And David’s been a solid helper. He’s steady with the dishes. Reliable. Got him set up in a new group home since the last time we talked—this one brings him over and picks him up for every shift when one of the kitchen staff can’t give him a ride. It works really well.”
“I’m glad,” I say with a smile as I sweep my waves away from my shoulder, a motion that Rowan follows with keen interest before he trains his gaze to the city streets passing by his window.
“Me too. At least one thing is going right at 3 In Coach. It feels like everything else has been a bloody circus the last few months. I know it’s part of the nature of the business—shit just breaks and has to be fixed. Stuff inevitably goes wrong. It just…feels like a lot lately.”
I lay a hand on Rowan’s wrist and he glances down at the point of contact before meeting my eyes with a furrowed brow. “Hey, at least you’ve got this award tonight. Third year running, right? I know it’s been shit to manage, but you’re still doing it right.”
Rowan’s expression softens, and for the first time, I notice the subtle hints of stress in his face, the hint of dark circles beneath his eyes.
“And if something really goes South, I know what will help,” I say with a sage nod as his head tilts. His eyes dip to my dimple and narrow. “Beef Niçoise salad.”
Rowan groans.
“With homemade Dijon dressing.”
“Blackbird—”
“And maybe some—”
“Don’t say it—”
“—cookies and cream ice cream for dessert.”
He pokes my ribs and I squeak out some sound I’ve never made before. “You know I have not been able to eat ice cream since then?” he asks as I giggle with the onslaught of jabs. “I used to love ice cream, thankyouverymuch.”
“It’s not my fault,” I wheeze as he finally lets up. “I was just ensuring you were informed of the ingredients, in case you wanted something sweet to follow your one-of-a-kind dining experience.”
“Sure. Very believable.”