Page 231 of The Professor's Wife

What I was doing was risky.

If Oliver found out, there would be no talking my way out of this one.

I glanced at the clock. It was only twenty past ten. Oliver’s class was in full swing, and I needed to stop obsessing about getting caught.

was already out of the house. Out of the clinic. Breaking all sorts of rules.

The realization was so strange I almost laughed. I had crossed one boundary and then another, and the world had gone on turning. No alarm shrieked. No hand reached from nowhereto drag me back. People passed me carrying drinks and talking among themselves while I stood there feeling as though I had slipped loose from the laws that governed me.

If I was going to get caught, I might as well get something out of it.

“Hello. Do you need a table?” the hostess asked, rushing over to greet me.

Strands of wild hair framed her face. She was flustered and red-faced, but she smiled brightly.

“I was hoping to sit on the patio.”

“It’s pretty packed out there, but I think someone just left. Give me a moment to check.”

She hurried across the restaurant toward the open double doors.

There were several open tables inside, but the fact that it was busier outside in the heat should have surprised me.

It didn’t.

Not if Tristan was the entertainment.

I couldn’t hear live music from where I stood. Soft radio music played near the entrance.

When the hostess returned, her cheeks were red and she looked breathless.

“Good news. There’s a table available, but it’s tight, and there’s a lot of traffic around it. Do you still want it?”

I smiled. “I do.”

I followed her across the restaurant.

My heart went haywire with nerves. I clenched the skirt of my dress, trying to get a grip on myself.

The patio was shaded, so while it was hot, a beautiful ocean breeze cooled my flushed cheeks.

The hostess hadn’t exaggerated.

The large patio was packed with seated patrons, most of whom were angled toward the one person I had spent all night thinking about.

I saw him instantly.

He was seated in the same corner as the night before, but he wasn’t singing. His attention was on a nearby table, where a mother and her daughter were speaking to him.

The mother wasn’t much older than me, and she was beautiful. Her daughter couldn’t have been older than seven, and she appeared to be doing most of the talking.

“Here’s your table,” the hostess said, forcing my attention back to her.

It was near the patio doors, far from Tristan, but I had a direct view of him across the walkway the servers used.

The table was small, clearly intended for two people, but one chair was missing. It had probably been taken by one of the groups squeezed around the surrounding tables.

I was the only person sitting alone.