Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
He gulped down his wine. “No. And please, call me Blake.”
I couldn’t do that. He was my boss. “Okay, Blake.” But, oh how I enjoyed saying it.
“Is Bella a French name?” he asked.
“Belle is. It means beautiful. I think Bella means the same in Italian.”
He stared at me for a moment. “It suits you.”
My cheeks felt warm and there was no doubt they were full on red from blushing.
“Another bottle, monsieur?” The waiter asked Blake.
“How about champagne?” he asked. “Bella and I are celebrating.”
“Oh?” The waiter looked at me and then him. “Birthday? Engagement perhaps.”
I snorted. I wish.
“Life. We’re celebrating life and the lives of the people we loved and lost too soon.”
“Very good sir.” The waiter left and I wondered if Blake was feeling a little loose from the wine like I was. I should probably stop, but he was right. I needed to live. I needed to honor my mother by enjoying life, and right now, I was enjoying my time with Blake.
Blake
The first real date I took my wife on was to a French restaurant. We’d hung out and ordered pizza during college, but the first time we dressed up and went out was at the end of our senior year when Joanna was getting ready to interview for a job at a French cosmetics company. Neither of us came from money, so it had seemed very posh to be at a nice restaurant. I remembered thinking that someday, I’d have enough money to take her out for a fancy meal every night.
She didn’t get the job, but we started our own company and we’d been able to afford fancy restaurants whenever we wanted. But this dinner wasn’t like that. This wasn’t a date. Taking Bella to a nice French restaurant was only to try to make her feel better since she was clearly upset over the loss of her mom. I could relate to that. I knew dinner with her boss wouldn’t end her grief, but I knew what it was to lose a loved one and sometimes having someone who understood that helped. I knew that platitudes like, “you’ll feel better in time,” “heaven needed another angel,” or, the one I heard a lot, “you’re still young, you can remarry,” caused irritation instead of easing pain or giving soothing comfort.
Watching her across the table, the grief hung in her eyes, but the color had come back to her cheeks and she was smiling, suggesting that this dinner was helping.
The waiter returned with a bottle of champagne, popping the cork and pouring it for us. Perhaps the color was from the wine.
I lifted my glass. “To your mother and to living life.”
Bella’s smile was sweet as she raised her glass to click to mine. “To my mom and to living life.”
I sipped the golden bubbly, watching over the rim of the glass as Bella drank hers. She was young to have endured such a loss. But Christ, she was strong and smart. And alone, I realized. How the hell had it happened that she had no one in her life to help her through her loss?
“Where is your family if they’re not in New York?”
Her smile faltered and kicked myself for it. “My mom was all I had.”
Jesus. Then again, my parents were gone. But I had Lily and Joanna’s parents. “What happened to your father? Grandparents?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know my father. He was never in the picture. My mom’s parents died when I was young. She raised me alone.” She gave me a wan smile. “She was really brave and strong.” She looked down and I got the feeling she thought she was neither.
“She raised a brave and smart daughter.”
She gave a small laugh. “I doubt her boss would have found her blubbering like a baby at work.”
“Hey.” I reached over to put my hand over hers to get her attention and comfort her. Her hand was small, and as my skin covered hers, warmth spread up my arm. Without even thinking, I clasped my fingers around her hand. “We all get caught off guard by grief sometimes.”
She looked at our hands, and then up to my face. I saw gratitude and something else I couldn’t explain.
“Thank you.” She squeezed my hand, and the warmth spread further, reaching my heart. It startled me, and I pulled my hand back. What was I doing?
I nodded to acknowledge her gratitude, and forced myself to move on in the conversation. “So, you have no one? Surely you have a boyfriend.”
She snorted, making me wonder if I was plying her with too much wine. “No.”
“Why is that funny?”
She looked up at me, blushing. “No reason. I’m just too busy to date.”
I frowned. “I don’t work you so hard that you can’t have a life. Do I?”
“No,” she quickly said. “No. I have time, just not the interest or opportunity, I guess. I’m not one to go to clubs and stuff.”