Page 127 of The Unwilling Bride
Her eyes widen. Yeah, she gets me.
I lift my glass.
"Cheers."
That’s when my phone buzzes.
Henrik calling.
Uh-oh, that’s not a good sign.
Around us, our family raises their glasses.
I look at my phone and hesitate. If I answer that, this brunch is over. I know that. And in the past, I wouldn’t have hesitated. But right now, just for today, I want to be with my wife and my family, spending time not having to worry about service.
“It’s probably, nothing.” She touches my arm.
Her touch is reassuring. I don’t shake it off.
"It's Henrik. He wouldn't call unless?—"
"Unless he needs your approval for something." She tosses her head. "Which is basically everything. The man can't decide which wine to pair with the fish course without consulting you first."
I half smile. Some of the tension in me lightens. This woman knows how to bring down my stress. "That's not?—"
"It's exactly true, and you know it." She takes a sip of her non-alcoholic drink without wincing. "Henrik looks at you like a baby duckling looks at its mother. Wide-eyed. Utterly dependent. Slightly panicked if you're out of sight for more than ten minutes."
"Harper—"
"I'm serious. He probably wants to know if he should order more truffle oil or whether the new linen delivery is the right shade of white." She tosses the rest of her drink back. "It's probably nothing."
The phone stops ringing. Then starts again.
Harper and I look at each other.
Henrik is competent. He's been running The Edge's front of house for three years. He knows the operation inside and out.
He wouldn't call during our wedding reception unless it’s an emergency.
The call goes to voicemail. Two seconds later, it starts ringing again.
Henrik. Again.
“I should answer it." I flatten my lips.
"I’d do the same thing, if it were my restaurant. You know I would.” She half smiles.
She’s letting me off the hook. No, she means it. She understands how it is to run a restaurant that sucks you of your life force sometimes. I look at her with relief and gratitude. And admiration. This woman… What would I do without her?
Her eyes shine. Her lips part. She likes my approval. No, she loves it. She craves it. Something tingles in the recesses of my mind. She craves it. Would do anything to win my praise.
My belly tightens. Heat tugs at my chest.
Parking this realization in a place where I can examine it later, I lift the phone to my ear. "Henrik, what's wrong?"
34
James
