Inevitable Detour (Inevitability Book 1)(26)

Scooting his chair a little closer, he purrs, “I don’t know, Essa. You tell me.”

His words are not just words. Delivered so confidently, in such a masculine voice, his words seduce. Quickly, I gulp down what’s left of my red wine. When I’m finished, I murmur, “Oh, I don’t know. Whatever you want to do is fine with me.”

Farren chuckles, scoots away slightly, and pours what remains in the bottle into my empty glass. He then asks, “What would you like to do, Essa? After all, the night is young.”

“And so are we,” I quip, clinking my glass to his before he has the chance to lift it to his full lips.

Farren chuckles, drinks his wine. I think he’s amused I’m more than a tad tipsy and uttering silly quips.

But I suddenly have an idea. “I know,” I say excitedly. “We should go to a place where we can dance.”

“Like to a club?” he asks.

“I wasn’t really thinking that,” I reply.

My first thought of a dance with Farren is something romantic, like a slow dance. Not dancing at some rowdy club.

Feeling bold, I say, “I’d prefer to go someplace where it would just be you and me.”

Farren is quiet for what feels like forever, and I start to think maybe I’ve been too bold, assumed too much. Maybe a club is more to his liking. But, to my delight, a sly smile spreads across his face.

He stands. “Come on,” he says, offering his hand. “I have an idea.”

Walking away from the table with me at his side, Farren flags down our waitress. She hurries over. When she reaches us, he whispers something to her. She nods and points to a darkened stairwell in the corner of the restaurant. Farren slips her a few bills before leading me, his hand cupping my elbow, to the stairwell.

“Where are we going?” I ask as we begin to ascend a dark and narrow set of steps.

Farren is behind me, hands on either side of my waist, keeping me moving. He’s also keeping me from tumbling backward since my heels are quite high.

When we reach the top, I come to a halt. “There’s a door in our way,” I so eloquently observe, nodding to what appears to be a very heavy steel door.

Farren leans into me and, while trying to contain his laugher, whispers, “Why don’t you just open it, Essa.”

I rock back into his solid chest, shivering in the best way possible. He breathes out heavily, like our closeness affects him, too. Warm breaths caress my neck, sending tendrils of my upswept do into a wispy dance. Slowly, Farren reaches around me, his arm almost brushing my breast. He grasps the handle and swings open the heavy steel door with ease.

And there before us lies sparkling downtown St. Louis in full nighttime glory.

“Oh, this is beautiful, Farren,” I gush, enraptured.

I like leaning back against Farren, but the cityscape is calling to me, urging me to step out onto the expansive rooftop and take in all the twinkling downtown lights. It’s a lovely summer-like evening, and a warm breeze blows as I walk across the rooftop, stopping at the edge. I’m not great with heights, but thankfully there’s a high, sturdy railing to hold on to. Placing my hands on cool metal, I turn my head, expecting to see Farren right there beside me, enjoying the magnificent view.

But he’s not anywhere nearby.

“Farren…?”

I glance back to the stairwell. He’s still standing by the door. He’s not alone. He’s speaking to the waitress he flagged down before we started up to the roof. She’s nodding and handing Farren a just-uncorked bottle of red, along with two wineglasses. When he catches me watching the exchange, he shoos the waitress away and strides over to me.

Along the inside perimeter of the rooftop, there’s a brick ledge. I sit down carefully, straighten my classy black dress, and cross my legs.

Farren stops and stands in front of me. Glancing up at his handsome face, I whisper, “Hey.”

“Hey back at you,” he says, just as softly.

As he balances the two glasses from the waitress in one hand, he uses his free hand to pour a bit of wine into each glass. When both glasses are half full, he hands me one.

“Thank you,” I murmur, taking the glass.

He touches his glass to mine, and I ask, “What are you doing?”

He stills, his wineglass pressed to mine. “I’m in the process of proposing a toast, Essalin.”

Laughing, I say, “I figured that part out. But what are we toasting to?”

Emerald eyes, dark in the low light, meet mine. “How about we toast to making wishes come true?”

Before I can ask what that means, he clinks his glass to mine. He takes a drink, as do I. Suddenly, as if on cue, soft music begins to play in the background. When I look up at Farren, he’s smiling.

“I wanted to dance,” I murmur, amazed that he set something up like this so quickly after hearing how I wished to spend the rest of our night.

“And it’s just you and me,” he says. “As you requested.”

He takes the glass from my hand and, along with his, sets it on the ledge. For the third time in one night, Farren offers me his hand. “Would you like to dance, Essalin?”

“I would,” I reply.

My heart is racing. I can’t stop smiling. Smiling, smiling, I feel such happiness right now. They say people in dire circumstances grow close quickly. Maybe that is what’s been happening between me and Farren. I feel a powerful connection with him. And I can’t say it’s entirely surprising. Our love for Haven provided us with an immediate reason to bond. And then spending time together, retracing her steps, trying to save her, has only strengthened that connection. Farren and I have a shared goal—we both want Haven back.