Beauty and the Brit by Poppy St. James
9
CAMRYN
I’m out with Sterling at the rooftop bar I suggested we meet at tonight. And though I try to ignore it, I can’t pretend the women ogling him don’t exist. He’s tall, deliciously attractive, and his commanding presence coupled with his British accent make him a magnet for women. That’s a fact.
I just didn’t expect it to bother me. I’m his matchmaker. He and I aren’t here on a date.
“Where are we going?”
“Out of here,” is all he says.
He grabs my hand, and as we pass, it’s impossible to ignore the group of girls giving me a death stare. His grip on my hand is tight, certain, as though he’s not planning to let go anytime soon.
When we stop on the street with cars and taxis zooming past, Sterling still hasn’t let go of my hand.
“Don’t let those girls bother you.” His tone is uncharacteristically soft.
I shake my head. “I’m a big girl, Sterling. I can handle the truth. Honestly, I’m fine.”
“You may not realize this, sweetheart, but once upon a time, I wanted something with you.”
He takes a step forward and my heart lurches. Unsure what to do with this information, I chew on my lip.
“And you don’t anymore.” I place my hands on my hips and watch him.
He doesn’t answer. He pushes his hands into his hair, then after a moment of uncertainty, he flashes me a smile.
After a moment, I smile back, and then, somehow, we’re cracking up laughing.
I’m not even sure why we’re laughing. I guess I’m just feeling happy that Sterling came to my rescue. In my experience, that isn’t something that men do anymore.
Last year when a bitchy waitress messed up my order twice and then suggested I was hard to please, David only laughed. I have a feeling that Sterling would have jumped to my defense, maybe even stormed out of the restaurant without tipping just to prove his point. David ate his tuna-salad sandwich while I sulked, waiting for my omelet to be remade. The jerk didn’t even offer me any of his fries.
Sterling tosses me a flirty wink, and I realize I don’t know what we’re doing out here on the sidewalk.
“So…what now?” I ask.
“Come on.”
He takes my hand again and tows me off down the street. We walk for a long time, passing by little bakeries, family-owned restaurants, and dry cleaners while the city buzzes around us. We talk about family, and life, and our goals for the future, and I realize how much I’ve been missing the thoughtful conversation between a man and a woman. The easy downtime with no destination in mind. Time to chat. Time to laugh. And even if I can’t let myself for the man by my side, I can at least enjoy this moment.