One More Night. Jennifer McKenzieЧитать онлайн книгу.
also a comment. “You sure you got everything now?”
“No.” And he wiped again, grinning as he did.
Stef rolled her eyes and plucked the cloth out of his hand, replacing it with a glass of water. “Go,” she told him. “Mingle. I’ll make sure the bar top stays clean.” She would, as well as juggling multiple drink orders, keeping an eye on the customers and prepping the bar for tomorrow.
Owen nodded and began to move around the room, but he kept one eye on the door and when it finally opened and Grace walked in, he smiled.
She looked good. But then, in Owen’s opinion, she always did. Her pale gray jeans were tight and paired with a black T-shirt and a dark blue jacket with white polka dots. Her hair was down, the blond strands spilling over her shoulders, loose and free.
“Miss Monroe. Twice in one weekend. Are you stalking me?”
The pinched look around her mouth softened just as he’d hoped. “If you’ll recall, you issued me a personal invitation. And the preferred honorific is Ms.”
Owen offered his arm, pleased when she barely hesitated before taking it. “Well, Ms. Monroe, let’s start the tour.”
She loosened up a little more as he took her around, pleased to show off the bar and his hard work to improve it. But when he asked her to stay for a drink, she declined.
“I really can’t.”
“Big day of wedding planning tomorrow?” By the way she looked up at him and then looked away, Owen knew that wasn’t it.
“Something like that.”
His natural inclination was to let it go. He’d found the subtle-nudge approach to be usually far more successful than a direct request. But he had a feeling that with Grace, subtlety would get him a whole lot of nothing. “Just one drink. It’s early.”
She checked her watch. “I still have work to do tonight.”
“All work and no play...”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Then she must be a wise woman.” And Grace was wavering. “Have you eaten?”
“Not since brunch.”
And there was his answer. She wanted to stay; he merely had to provide the opportunity. “Then consider this a working dinner. You can try some of the foods. Research for your party.”
She tilted her head to look at him. Her blond hair, free of its sleek knot, fell around her shoulders. Owen would bet money that it would feel as cool and silky as it looked.
“I won’t bite,” he joked and was rewarded with a rosy flush coloring her cheeks.
“Owen—”
He cut her off. “It doesn’t have to be long. I have some pull in the kitchen. You’ll be back working before the sun sets.” Seeing as that was a couple of hours away, he figured it was a safe promise.
“Owen,” she said again. But when he broke out his patented sad face, she capitulated. “No more than an hour.”
“Sixty minutes or less.” Unless he could talk her into changing her mind. It wasn’t exactly a date, but it wasn’t exactly not a date, either.
Or it wasn’t, until they were halfway through their meal and she said, “You realize this is only a business relationship.” Which it clearly wasn’t or she wouldn’t feel the need to clarify.
Owen simply smiled and popped another bite of food in his mouth.
Grace put down her fork, carefully and quietly so that he doubted there would have been a sound even if the bar was dead. “I shouldn’t have stayed.”
He quickly swallowed his mouthful. “Of course you should have. You were hungry and we have food here.”
“You’re my client.”
“This again? I’m not a client. I’m not the one getting married.” And never would be. There was nothing wrong with marriage. For other people. Maybe he’d change his mind someday. But not today.
“Close enough.” She pushed her plate toward the center of the table. “I should go.”
“Stay.” He placed a hand over hers. “Just until you’ve finished eating.”
Grace slid her hand out from under his. “I’m done.” She slid out of the booth. “If there’s anything wedding-or engagement-related, please call me.”
“But, otherwise, lose your number?”
Her smile wasn’t cheerful. “I wouldn’t be that harsh.”
But it was basically what she meant. Owen ignored the disappointment pooling in his veins and slid out of the booth, too. “I’ll walk you out.” Just because she’d told him he didn’t have a chance with her was no excuse not to be a gentleman.
“That’s not necessary.”
“Grace.” And this time there was no underlying teasing in his tone. “I’d like to.”
She nodded and anchored her purse over her shoulder. No chance of her leaving it behind, so he’d have an excuse to call her.
They walked toward the large wooden door. Neither of them spoke until they were outside.
“So.” Grace’s fingers curled around the strap of her shoulder bag. “I guess this is it.”
Owen kept his tone light. He was good at keeping things light. “I’m sure I’ll see you at the party and the wedding.”
She nodded, but didn’t expand on his comment and Owen nodded, too. He was interested in her, attracted to her, but if she didn’t feel the same way, he wasn’t going to throw himself at her.
“And I’ll call you if I have any engagement-party questions.”
“Please do.”
He waited until she was a block away and out of sight before he headed back inside.
The table they’d been at was untouched—no doubt his staff expected them to return and finish the mostly full plates. Owen bussed it himself, letting his hands work while his mind whirred.
Not that he had a whole lot to think about. Grace had made it clear that she preferred to act as though the attraction between them didn’t exist.
“Shot down by the blonde?” Stef asked when he brought the half-filled water glasses to dump at the bar.
Owen noticed Mal sitting at the bar grinning. “I wasn’t shot down.” He thought about that for a moment. “No, you’re right. She totally shot me down.” He was man enough to admit it.
Mal gave him a healthy pat on the shoulder. “Do you need a moment to cry into your water?”
“I might.”
She and Stef shared a snicker.
“I’m glad you can find my humiliation amusing. I may have to swear off women forever.” When neither of them said anything, Owen helped out. “See, this is the part where you both assure me that it’s her issue that has nothing to do with me and that I’m an excellent catch who any woman would be lucky to date.”
Silence.
“Nothing?” he asked. “Seriously? Not even a consolation hug?”
“There, there.” Mal patted him on the back. “Now you know how all those women you loved and left felt.”
“I didn’t love and leave. It was always a mutual decision.”
“Is that what they thought?”
The conversation had taken on a serious tone and Owen was glad when Stef moved to the other end of the bar to check on her customers.
“Of