So her mother had died in a car crash twenty years before. He felt like shit for being thankful for a detail that would be easy to research. He should just be feeling sorry for Isabelle. Sympathetic. He shouldn’t be sitting here waiting to mine her for more details.
He should let this go. Or let her go. One or the other.
But then she walked into the kitchen, wide mouth smiling, and he couldn’t do either.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
He rinsed off a plate and slid it into the dishwasher rack. “Getting ready to leave.”
“By washing dishes? You are fucking dreamy, you know that?” She leaned against the counter and looked him up and down. “And you look good with your crisp little dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves.”
She was going to make him blush again. Tom cleared his throat and grabbed a serving tray. “Thanks.”
“I like your hands.”
He washed those hands and dried them off, trying to buy a little relief from the heat in his face. “Where are your friends?”
“In bed.”
“It’s not even eleven.”
“I know! Can you believe it? Lightweights. You want a drink now? I think you’ve earned it.”
He glanced at the last pitcher. “It was a pretty trying night.”
She pulled a clean glass from the cupboard. “The first girls’ night isn’t easy for anyone. It’s a lot to take in.”
He laughed and poured himself a glass then refilled hers when she held it out. When she walked toward the living room, he followed. “I have to admit, it was a lot more fun than any night out with the guys. I’m not sure my brain will recover from all the new things I learned, though. You girls are filthy. Like, really filthy.”
“I know. It’s because we have to save it up. We can’t be honest about stuff in front of men because so many of them are creeps. When it’s just us and we don’t have to be on guard against men bothering us... God. It’s so much fun.”
“Should I be insulted that I don’t count as a man?”
“No.” She dropped onto the couch and patted the seat beside her. “You should be flattered that all of us felt comfortable around you.”
He smiled. “I honestly am. I deal with a lot of creeps. I’m thrilled not to be counted among them.”
“So you won’t use anything I said tonight against
me?”
Tom felt punched in the gut. He couldn’t even hide the way her words went through him, so he had no choice but to roll with it. “I overheard what you said about your mother. I’m sorry.”
“Oh.” She glanced down at her drink for a few seconds before she looked at him again. “That was a long time ago.”
“I know, but—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
All right. That was as clear as it got. “You’d rather talk about the roofer?”
She giggled and covered her eyes. “You heard that?”
“I tried not to.”
She laughed, looking only the tiniest bit chagrined. “It was a long time ago,” she said. Then added, “Too long.”
His heart skipped at that, partly because of her implication and partly because she was looking him dead in the eyes when she said it. “You were out all night this weekend,” he said carefully.