Something about his eyes tugged at a corner of my mind.
That should have alarmed me. Somehow it didn’t.
It felt more like standing on a step that wasn’t quite where I’d expected it to be.
“Do I know you?”
The man didn’t answer right away. He studied me for several long seconds, and there was a tenderness in his gaze that felt older.
Then he quietly said it.
“I’m the reason your husband divorced you.”
“Do I know you?”
Every muscle in my body locked. My hand froze on the stem of the water glass, then found the table’s edge as I pushed my chair back and half rose, my eyes glancing toward the maître d’s station across the room.
“Please,” he said quickly, both hands lifting, palms open above the linen. “One minute. Just one. Then I’ll leave if you want me to. I won’t make a scene, and I won’t follow you, Eleanor.”
