The Fortunate Ones

I look back up to find James checking his watch, and his handsome features contort into a frustrated scowl. I’m late thanks to Austin traffic, and it doesn’t help that half of the wait staff recognizes me as I begin to weave through the dining room. They want me to stop and chat, but I smile politely and keep it moving.

I’m a few feet away from stepping into his line of sight when another member of the club—an older, well-dressed man—walks up to James’ table and claps him on the shoulder. James glances up and smiles, offering a handshake and a few words I can’t hear. I falter, unsure if I should proceed or not. I don’t really want an audience for this conversation, but I can’t delay any longer. I don’t want him to use my tardiness against me.

I have no choice but to continue.

“I hear you’ve been working on your short game,” the older man says.

James chuckles. “If only to distract from how I’ve been slicing it off the tee the past few—”

I step up to the table, drawing James’ brown eyes to me midsentence. His friend turns as well, and their reactions are polar opposite. I get a warm, welcoming smile from the older man and a confused, angry scowl from James. His hard gaze rakes over me, and my knees actually quiver.

“What are you doing here?”

I swallow and speak up in a barely audible whisper. “I came to see you.”

His friend clears his throat and extends his hand out to me. “I’m Leonard West. Pleased to meet you.”

“Brooke Davenport.”

His eyes light up. “Ah, are you Brad’s daughter?”

I nod, too caught up in the moment to manage a smile.

He scans back and forth between James and me. “And you’re a friend of James?”

“Yes,” I reply cautiously.

When James doesn’t speak up to confirm that fact, I add, “Well, I think I am.”

Leonard chuckles good-naturedly. James exhales a long, defeated sigh, obviously too much of a gentleman to toss me aside in front of an audience. He tells Leonard he’ll catch him on the links sometime soon. When we’re alone, I glance at the empty seat, wondering if it’s still a good idea to sit down.

James, having followed my gaze, hardens his own and shakes his head. “I’m afraid our reunion will have to wait. I have a business meeting.”

I draw in a tortured breath before working up the nerve to reply, “Exactly. Let’s talk business—unfinished business.”

He leans back in his chair, surveying me with a bemused scowl. “What do you mean?” He connects the dots before I can explain, shaking his head and waving away his question. “Beth.”

He tosses his napkin on the table and surges to his feet, prepared to leave after all the work I did to get him here.

“James! Please…please hear me out.”

I wish so badly that we were in private. I’m aware of the other diners around us, and now I wish I’d concocted some way to have this meeting somewhere else, but it’s too late now. This is the opportunity I’ve been given, and I won’t let it go to waste.

A muscle in his taut jaw shifts as he clenches down, no doubt trying to keep his temper in check.

I knew he wouldn’t like being tricked, but what choice did he give me? The only other option was to camp out at his house until he finally showed his face. This, while unbearably awkward, is at least efficient. By the time we walk out of this dining room, I’ll have my answer about how he feels for me one way or another. He’ll either give me a second chance or he won’t.

His gaze shifts to the door and my heart drops. He’s actually going to leave. He takes his first step just as Marissa strolls up with a small notepad in hand. She’s been assigned as our waitress, no doubt on purpose.

“Good evening!” she announces cheerfully. “My name is Marissa and I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” If she thinks it’s weird that we’re both hovering beside our chairs instead of sitting at the table, she doesn’t let on. “Can I get either of you a glass of wine? We have some excellent new appetizers.”

James shakes his head sharply. “I won’t be staying for dinner.”

Marissa beams, unbothered by his sharp tone. “Then wine it is. Red or white?”

“White,” I snap quickly, hoping he’ll feel compelled to stay if I order us a drink.

We both turn to him and wait on baited breath to see what he’ll do. He doesn’t nod or agree, but he does yank his chair out and take a seat. I let out a relieved sigh and follow suit. We sit across from each other in tense silence as Marissa sprints off for the wine and returns in record time.