“How exactly do we ‘work on’ them?”
Keats’ cocky grin wavers and the sandwich stops its trek to his mouth again. “I haven’t really thought that far. I’ve never tried to break up a couple before. Have you?”
“No.”
He lets out a big sigh and leans back in his seat, so casually sexy that I want to leap across the table and just grab him. I return my focus to my salad so he can mistake the hunger in my eyes for hunger for food.
“Some pair we’re going to make,” he says with a sigh. “Look, I love my brother, but Isabella was my girlfriend first. She should be with me. I just want both of them to realise that.”
“That sounds a little cuckoo. Are you sure you’re not just thinking with your pants? Was Isabella the best sex you’ve had or something?” I’m not sure why I asked that? Frankly, I don’t want to know the answer.
He lowers his eyes to his coffee. “It’s not like that. I haven’t…we never…Look, I’m aware some people might think I’m being selfish but she’s the one that got away—probably The One—and if I don’t find out now where it could’ve gone with her, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.” He shifts in his seat with a frown, as if he’s realised how mushy he sounded.
I sip my water and say nothing, my heart struggling to beat with the proverbial knife lodged in it. I think his words might have cut an artery. It sure feels like it.
“Dad left Mom after twenty plus years of marriage to be with the one that got away. I’m not waiting that long.” He sets his mug down and levels his gaze at me. “Maybe Byron doesn’t even love her like I do. He changed his mind about becoming a doctor. And he was with Jada for five years before breaking up with her. Maybe this is just another—.” He releases a frustrated breath, like he’s annoyed to be in this situation in the first place. “Don’t you want to find out if you could have something more with Byron?”
This lie is going to be a bitch to maintain. “I’m not sure about breaking them up though.”
“Because you’re such good friends with Isabella?” he retorts with a snicker.
Good point. I haven’t felt that close to her in ages. And if I don’t really break her and Byron up, just pretend to so I can spend more time with Keats, no one really gets hurt. Right?
“What exactly are you proposing?” Marriage! my brain fills in—honestly, maybe I should stop watching too many rom-coms.
Keats pushes his cup handle from side to side. “I haven’t thought it through too much yet.”
I roll my eyes.
“But look, all we need is time to show them they should be with us. Marriage is difficult enough without rushing into it.”
“What’s so special about Isabella?” Because if you tell me, maybe I can copy her. “I mean, it’s not like you don’t have other choices.” Like me. Pick me!
He scratches the side of his mouth and doesn’t answer immediately. I get the sudden urge to reach across the table and run my fingertips through his beard. Is that even a beard? It’s more like an overgrown five o’clock shadow. I wonder how long it took him to grow it. And is he hairy anywhere else? I’ve seen a photo of him shirtless on Isabella’s phone, so I know he has a fairly smooth, muscled chest with a tattoo of a lion in a cowboy hat.
I notice my fingers absently stroking the table’s smooth surface. I quickly grab my glass of water to occupy my hand and my mouth before I start drooling. “So, what’s the deal with Isabella?” I ask again before I take a sip.
Over the rim of my drink, I watch as his sexy eyes turn inwards while he thinks of her. His top teeth play with his lower lip like he’s deciding what to say first. Finally, he looks at me with a poignant smile on his lips. “She’s the whole package—funny, sexy, smart as hell…”
He goes on. I’m sorry I asked, so I just tune him out with imagined mental pictures of him in a T-shirt and jeans. With his hair on the long side, the outfit would definitely make him look even more like a rock god.
“…and she was someone I was happy to take home to Mom, and to work functions. People look up to Isabella and treat her seriously. You just know she was raised right.”
I barely suppress a flinch. That hurt. He didn’t mean to but his comment chokes the air out of me. “Raised right”. Another criterion I don’t fit thanks to my dysfunctional family. My hand goes back to my handbag. This time it’s not because I’m considering leaving the café. No. I shove my tablet further in as I wonder what the strait-laced-loving Keats McAllister would think of my online source of income.
“All I need is a little time to convince Isabella that she should be with me,” he finishes. Finally.
“You sound deluded.”
His brows furrow for a second, probably wondering why I’ve changed my mind about the sanity of his musings. But then he shrugs. “I’m in love. And it’s turned me into this mushy, desperate idiot who can’t function properly. I need a resolution to this, Hay-gen, or at least some kind of closure. I need to try. Isabella needs to know what her choices are. My brother—my brother will forgive me one day. This isn’t personal—all’s fair in love and war, right?”
I give him a sideways glance. I never imagined that my first proper conversation with Keats would be so dastardly. And yet, a part of me is thrilled he’s trusted me with this information.
Still, I should warn him. “They’ll never forgive us for breaking them up. Isabella would hate you too much to be with you. I mean, you want us to plot the downfall of their relationship.”
“They plotted
