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“You have a matchmaker?” But Owen looked amused rather than upset. “How is this the first time I’m hearing of it?”
“Because I was mad at you when I signed up.” She leaned over to give her husband a peck, which turned into a kiss, which Travis put a stop to, asking his next question before Mal reached them.
“So she’s on a date?” He glanced over, noting that Mal wore a dress and kick-ass heels. Definite date wear. The water he’d been enjoying earlier now tasted sour.
“I’m not sure.” But the sympathy on Grace’s face looked sure.
“It’s a date.” Julia nodded when she said it. Travis appreciated that she didn’t dance around the obvious. “But you could always ask if you want to be certain.”
“Right,” Travis said while Owen snickered. “I’m sure that’ll help convince her to talk to me.”
He’d have said more but finally Mal was at the table, giving them all a tight smile. “Everyone. This is Josh. My date.”
And then there was no reason to ask at all.
Travis thought he put on a pretty good face, maintaining a polite glare instead of the vicious one that he wanted to emit. “Josh.” He held out his hand. If he happened to squeeze the other man’s hand a little harder than necessary, it wasn’t because he was trying to indicate superiority of mate. Okay, it totally was. And if he got a small curl of pleasure when Josh attempted to out-squeeze him and failed, well, he was only human.
He caught Mal’s look and pasted on an innocent face. Nothing to see here but a bit of chest-thumping. “Mallory.”
“Hello, Travis.” Her voice was clipped, indicating her lack of interest.
Travis hurriedly shifted to his left to make room in the booth, effectively shifting everyone else to their left so that the only place to take a seat was next to him. He patted the seat when she didn’t immediately drop down beside him. “Join us?”
Mal’s lips pressed together. “There isn’t room,” she pointed out.
“We can fit.” He patted the space again. “I’m sure Josh doesn’t mind grabbing a chair to join us, do you?” Travis certainly didn’t mind, so long as it was Josh on the outskirts instead of him.
“We’ll find our own table,” Mal said. “We just wanted to say hello.”
Travis didn’t want her to go. He drank in the sight of her. The sexy dress and heels, the flip of her long hair. He longed to reach out and run a hand up her neck to cup the back of her head and claim a kiss from her soft lips. He swallowed. Hard.
She’d been out of his life for a year. A year during which he’d thrown himself into his business in an attempt to move past their breakup. An attempt that had failed, which had become shockingly clear when Owen had come down to Aruba for a visit and dropped the little bomb that he didn’t think Mal was as over their relationship as she claimed. And a seed of hope had been planted.
No, that wasn’t true. It had been planted all along, just waiting for that ray of sunshiny hope to urge it free, to reach for the light and bloom. He swallowed again.
“If you’ll excuse us,” Mal said, and Travis noticed she was careful to meet everyone’s eyes except his. He watched her take Josh’s hand and tug him in the opposite direction. A stone dropped into the pit of his stomach.
What if he’d made a mistake? After Owen’s visit, Travis had taken some time for self-reflection, to consider what he really wanted out of life, and when he’d looked around the beachfront bistro that he’d worked so hard to make a success, he’d been faced with the reality that it didn’t mean a whole lot without someone to share it with. Without Mal.
But what if she didn’t feel the same? What if Owen was wrong? Maybe she really was over him, over them. The squeeze of his lungs put his hand-shaking to shame.
“Okay, they’re gone,” Owen said. “You can stop glaring.”
“I wasn’t glaring.”
But the rest of the table just looked back at him.
“I wasn’t.” Travis ran his thumb back and forth along the edge of the table.
“You keep telling yourself that.” Owen reached over to punch him in the shoulder. “But I’m really hoping that’s not your A game.”
Sadly, it was. “Of course not.” Travis punched Owen back and was rewarded by seeing him wince, which he deserved. “But if you want to throw a guy a bone,” he included everyone at the table, “I’d certainly be willing to listen to ideas.”
But the table remained silent. He’d have been upset if they hadn’t all looked so sympathetic. The realization was almost enough to make him laugh. As a teen, he’d accepted sympathy with a pair of flying fists. But he was older now and wiser.
Okay, older.
“Buddy.” Owen clapped him on the shoulder. “I think this is something you need to figure out on your own.”
Travis looked at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I haven’t been too successful on my own.”
“Oh, we’ve noticed.” Owen snickered, which was a damn sight better than the earlier pity. But only just. “And I, for one, am going to enjoy watching you figure it out.”
“You’re assuming I will.”
Owen shrugged. “Misplaced though it may be, I have faith.”
“That makes one of us.” Travis said it quietly, more to himself than any of his table companions, and though no one should have been able to hear him over the ambient noise of the bar, it was Grace, Owen’s new wife with her soft smile and calm manner, who reached across the table to give Travis a supportive pat.
“Don’t give up. You know Mal. She plays her cards pretty close to the vest.”
She did. Travis had had firsthand experience of that when she’d walked into his restaurant to tell him that she wasn’t coming back. Ever. No conversation, no discussion. Just that her family needed her and she was out of there.
It still hurt. Though he better understood her perspective now, having experienced the fear of nearly losing a loved one himself and being too far away to do anything about it. When his gram had fallen ill and been confined to the hospital where doctors could closely monitor her vitals, he’d been stuck in Oranjestad, Aruba, waiting to catch the next flight out. By the time he’d actually gotten to his small hometown, more than a day had passed.
It had scared him, badly. Knowing that if bad had turned to worse, he might never have seen his gram again. Might never have gotten a chance to make her laugh, tell her he loved her and say goodbye. Mal would have felt the same when her dad had been sick.
Maybe if she’d explained, had let him know her own fears, what she was feeling. But she hadn’t. And he’d responded by explaining that he couldn’t leave the bistro. Not when it had only been starting to flourish, becoming a popular destination with profits rising.
Travis sawed his thumb along the table edge again and looked in the direction that Mal and her date had headed. Her date. That guy was not her type at all. Too slick. Too polished. Too pretty.
“Did you see that guy’s nails? I think they looked better than Mal’s.”
Owen let out a supportive chuckle and Donovan smiled, but neither Grace nor Julia looked amused.
“Why are you two laughing?” Julia gave her husband a quick poke with her finger. “You’ve both been known to attend the spa to maintain your pretty-boy appeal.”
Grace nodded. “You don’t get hands that soft without professional help.”
Donovan frowned. “I only went because you told me the massage would relax me.”
But Owen wrapped an arm around his wife and whispered something in her ear. Then he kissed her while she blushed. “I plead the fifth.”
“You would.” Julia gave him a poke, too.
“Hey.” Travis drew the conversation back to him and his so-far weak attempts to win over Mal—if trying to talk with her at the wedding and a few phone calls could be considered attempts. “I’d go to the spa for Mal. Mud mask, apricot scrub. The works.”
Owen stared at him. “Who are you?”
Travis shrugged. “Just a guy trying to have a conversation with your sister.” A guy who was going to have to step up his game if he wanted to succeed. “So, you think I should invite Mal to the spa? Or maybe just casually show up?” When they all just stared at him, he shrugged. “Too creepy? Not creepy enough?”
“Just the right amount of creepy.” Owen leaned against the padded booth back. “But that won’t work with Mal.”
No, it wouldn’t, but it was better than doing nothing. Travis rubbed his thumb along the edge of the table again. Thinking. At one time, he’d have instinctively known what to do, how to get back in Mal’s good graces, back in her life. But that was before. This new Mal was cooler and yet more fragile. As though she might shatter with a careless touch.
“I do have one suggestion.” Owen sipped his water instead of revealing his thought, clearly enjoying the moment. “Since you’re just a guy who wants to have a conversation, maybe you should have this conversation with her instead of us? Not that I don’t love your wallowing.”
“I don’t wallow,” Travis said, feeling the need to defend himself.
He was met with silence, but suddenly he didn’t care, his gaze caught on the sight of Mal coming toward them, toward him. His heart lodged in his throat. Had she ditched the pretty boy? But she bypassed them with a nod and headed down the short hall that led to the washroom.
Travis was pushing out of the booth before she was even out of sight.
“Where are you going?” Owen called after him. Travis merely waved him off, eyes focused on the path Mal had taken. This avoidance of hers had gone on long enough. They needed to talk. He needed to know.
He picked a spot in the hall, leaned his shoulder against the wall and waited. A few other patrons passed him, barely flicking a glance his way as they went about their own business, but for the most part the hall remained empty, which suited him just fine.
His pulse jumped when Mal reappeared. Even when she scowled at him. “Travis. I don’t have time.”
“Make some.” He straightened up. “We need to talk.”
Her eyes darted past his shoulder, but she didn’t move to go around him. “I’m on a date.”
“I’m aware of that.” His entire body practically strained at the idea. At how wrong it was.
“Then I don’t see what we have to talk about.” She crossed her arms.
“We’re in the same city. We work in the same industry. We’re going to continue bumping into each other.” He still wasn’t sure how she would feel when she found out he’d purchased The Blue Mermaid.Happy that it was going to receive the love and attention it deserved? Or upset that it was him giving the love and attention?
“So?” Mal put her hands on her hips. Her red lips pouted at him.
“So I want us to...” He trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. The truth was he wanted them to be okay, but that was only part of it. He wanted much more than that. “I want to apologize.”
“Travis.”
“Hear me out.” He’d just keep talking until she did. “I understand now why you had to come back. I should have supported you.” He saw the dip in her shoulders. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”
There was only silence. He heard her breath hitch and then sync with his, instinctively they mirrored each other, finding common ground in their bodies while they struggled with their emotions.
“Why are you telling me this?” She looked up at him, her eyes huge and pained.
Travis wanted to cup her cheek, wanted to stroke away the hurts with the rub of his thumb, but the moment felt too delicate, too fragile. “Because I’m back.” And she was a big part of the reason why.
She blinked and then straightened. Away from him. “You figured we could just pick up where we left off?”
“No.” He hadn’t thought that. Maybe hoped, but logically he understood that notion wasn’t based in reality. “But whatever was between us, it’s still there, Mal. You can’t deny that.”
“Not for me.” He noticed she didn’t quite meet his eyes this time.
“Do you mean that?” He kept his tone low, private, and didn’t reach for her, though his arms longed to wrap her up and pull her against him.
Her throat bobbed and she swayed on her heels. Her long lashes fluttered down against her cheeks. When she looked up her eyes were empty. It hit him right in the gut. That blank look of indifference. “I have to.”
Which was not the same as saying it was true. “Mal.” He did reach for her then, longing for the familiar feel of her body, the scent of her skin.
She sidestepped away. “I’m on a date, Travis. I have to go.”
His arms dropped to his sides. Trying to force the conversation now wouldn’t get him anywhere. He knew that. “We still need to talk.” He knew he’d been wrong about some things, but she’d been wrong, too. She shouldn’t have made the unilateral decision to relocate to Vancouver without talking to him. He’d thought they were a team, a united pair who looked out for each other. They needed to talk.
She didn’t respond, merely ducked her head and moved past him back down the hallway toward her pretty-boy date.
His eyes tracked her until she was out of sight. Then he took a few deep breaths before following the same path. Her citrus scent tickled his nose and his memory. The way she used to smile at him as if he was the only person in the room, the way her body melded to his when he kissed the side of her neck, the bond that seemed to flow between them no matter how far apart they were.
As he stepped back into the main room of the lounge, his eyes found her. As he sat back down in the booth, he saw her looking back before she turned around and said something to the man sitting across from her. And Travis knew, no matter what she said or didn’t say, the bond was still there.
And they still needed to talk.
Travis kept an eye on Mal, and the door, taking note when she finally left with her date. He waited another few minutes, long enough not to seem obvious, before he pushed himself out of the booth and pulled a few bills out of his wallet to cover his meal.
“Your money’s no good here,” Owen called after him as he walked toward the exit, but Travis wasn’t listening. He had something more important to do and it didn’t include wallowing.
He’d barely closed the door of the cab behind him before he dialed Mal’s number on his cell. She’d gotten a new number once she’d returned to North America, but Owen had given him both the phone number and her address, with the understanding that Travis would say it had been Donovan who’d spilled the beans. He didn’t expect her to pick up and she didn’t. So he left a voice mail.
“Hey, Mal. It’s me. Travis.” God, he hated saying that. Like he was so far gone from her life that he was no longer known by voice recognition alone. “Listen, we need to talk. I’m on my way to your place. If you’d rather not talk now, call me back.”
He clicked off. He didn’t expect her to call back because he didn’t expect her to listen to the message. Which made it cowardly and a little dastardly to say that she should call back to cancel, but things were nearing a level of desperation.
Hell, who was he kidding? He was already desperate.
Desperate to see her, desperate to talk, desperate to make up. His stomach tensed as the cab neared her apartment in the downtown core. He could probably walk there from Owen’s place in Coal Harbour, which was good to know because there was a strong possibility she wouldn’t let him into the building at all.
But he’d deal with that if it happened.
A chill wind cut across his body, tugging at the edges of his shirt as he climbed out of the cab. Travis shivered. The months in Aruba had made him sensitive to the cooler weather in the Pacific Northwest. Before he’d moved there, he’d been known to wear short sleeves year round and only in the coldest, wettest months did his jacket make it out of the closet. As for a scarf or gloves? Forget it. Unnecessary. But now, he could do with a scarf. Except he really didn’t want to look like a hipster. Or wear skinny jeans.
He strode to the building, feeling the twist in his stomach, knowing there was a chance she’d turn him away or wouldn’t even answer when he buzzed. There was a fancy touch screen glowing beside the building’s front door—into it he punched the numbers that would call Mal’s suite. Owen had coughed up that information, too, as well as the fact that Mal—like many women who lived alone—didn’t post any personal information that could be tracked back to her. Protection from stalkers, weirdos, ex-boyfriends.
The system rang, that computer-generated double ring. Brrp-brrp. Brrp-brrp. Brrp-brrp. She didn’t answer, and for a moment Travis wondered if she was home. His stomach grew tenser as did the muscles in his neck, his legs, his hands. If she’d gone home with that slick-looking guy, he was going to...well, he’d do something. Something he’d have to figure out, but breaking something or punching a wall sounded like a good start.
“What do you want, Travis?”
He blinked and stared at the computer screen, which was still glowing but no longer ringing. “Mal?”
“Why are you here?” She didn’t sound welcoming, but at least she had answered.
Travis glanced up the side of the cement building, past the rows of windows reflecting the city lights. Was Mal behind one of them? Phone pressed against her ear looking down at him?
“You’re on camera,” she said, as though she’d read his mind.
