Head On (Strength And Love)(49)

My foot is finally starting to feel better, and my rehab has got to the stage where they say I can begin to properly exercise again, and do some strength training. I want Ethan to help me train. I want to be strong. I want to learn how to fight, too.

With a quick spritz of Clinique Happy, I’m ready to go. Just in time, too, as I hear the beep of Ethan’s horn.

“I’m off, Dad.”

“Okay, sweetheart. Have a good night. See you tomorrow.” Dad comes out of the living room and kisses my cheek. He knows I’ll most likely spend the night tonight at Ethan’s. He holds me at arm’s length, and gives me a once over, a long lingering look, as if he’s trying to remember me in this moment or something. I give him a hug, a little unsure as to why he seems emotional. I hope all is okay.

“Go on. Be off with you. Have a nice meal.” He half shoos me to the door.

I do as he says, and head for the door, but I give him one last glance before I step outside. He’s still looking at me, an almost wistful expression on his face.

I approach the car and do a double take. Ethan is lounging against the passenger side door, and he’s wearing a suit. Oh, Lord, he looks amazing. More handsome than I’ve ever seen him. He smiles at me, and I suddenly feel horribly underdressed.

“You look gorgeous.” He pulls me into his arms and kisses me, messing up my lipstick.

“You didn’t tell me to dress up.”

“You look great as you are.”

I’m curious as to where we’re going. “Are we off somewhere special? I know you said a slap-up meal, but I’ve never seen you dress so smart.”

He holds the door open for me and grins at me as I climb in. “Are you saying I’m a scruff, babe?”

I laugh. “Not a scruff, but you don’t wear suits.” He doesn’t even wear a suit for work when he’s meeting and greeting VIP’s who need close protection.

He shuts my door and heads around to his side. Once seated, he checks my seatbelt. It’s this thing he always does, and then puts his arm over the back of my chair as he looks behind him before pulling out into the traffic.

We head along the main road, out of the new development complex me and Dad live in, and instead of heading into the market town itself, Ethan takes a left. We follow a country road for about two miles and pull up in front of what looks like a converted barn. It’s covered in strings of lights, and I think it must be some fancy new restaurant I’ve never heard of. But as I step out of the car and look in through the windows, I see only one table. Confused, I glance to Ethan, but he simply puts his hand on my lower back and guides me to the door. A young man opens it and we walk inside.

Once we’re seated at the table, I lean in toward Ethan. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“I’ve brought you for a special meal. A friend of mine, he’s a head chef at a fancy place in London. He’s here visiting his family for two weeks and he agreed to come here and cook for us tonight. This place is usually a meeting room for local craft groups and such things, but it has a kitchen in the back. We’ve got it all to ourselves.”

Some music fills the room, and I don’t recognise it. “What’s the music?”

“Mozart.”

I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“What, you think I’m some uneducated yob who doesn’t know classical music?”

I flush and look at the table.

“Hey.” He tilts my chin up. “I was joking, Isla.”

Sometimes I feel bad though, because he’s always doing things that surprise me, or showing a side of himself I hadn’t thought existed, and I know I have some preconceived expectations of him because of his past.

The man who let us in comes to our table and puts a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice down, along with two flutes. I’m debating whether to try a little of it for once, when Ethan touches my hand.

“Alcohol free champagne.”

I smile at him, and love how he thinks of me all the time. I love him. Full stop. I need to tell him, but I’m terrified the words will change things between us. Worst case scenario, make him run from this.

The non-alcoholic champagne is poured and we both take a sip. Ethan’s eyes widen. “Not bad, almost like the real thing.”

The waiter is back and he’s brought a large platter groaning with meats, cheeses, olives, all sorts of vegetables, and some tiny pastries, along with a few bowls of dips and sauces. Then he’s gone again and it’s the two of us.

“He’s making steak for the main because I know it’s your favourite.” Ethan seems a bit unsure somehow. I’d almost say he was nervous, if I didn’t find the idea ridiculous.

We eat and chat a little, and he clears his throat. “I asked you to come out tonight because there’s something I want to ask you.”

I think he’s going to ask me to move in with him…again. And I don’t know what to say because while I want to say yes, badly, I also want more.

“I was chatting with Katie the other day,” he says, taking me by surprise with the turn of the conversation. “And she asked me something. She said, do you love Aunty Isla?”

I stop mid-chew, holding my breath.

“And with that one question, she made me realise something profound.” He looks at me, his blue eyes full of emotion he rarely shows. “I’ve been asking you to move in with me, and I’ve not once told you how I feel. I love you, Isla. I’m in love with you, have been since the first week we met. But I love you on a deeper level, too.”