And so he hoped like nothing else he’d ever hoped in his life (or his death), that the sweet, quiet, beautiful Belle could actually, truly, really help them finally go home.
Chapter Thirteen
Dinner at the Cottage
Belle
The next morning, Belle watched Jack close her shop door behind them before she hurried to the alarm panel and put in the code.
After she was done, she turned and jumped when she saw he was close.
He didn’t put his hands to her jaw this time. Instead, he took her hand and led her to the stairway at the back of her tiny store which led up to her workroom and away from the prying eyes of the media people peering through her window.
He didn’t lead her all the way up, just halfway so only their legs were visible. There, he stopped, turning her to face him on the stairs.
“I have to go to work, love,” he told her when he’d tilted his head down to look at her.
Belle nodded.
She was beginning to read the signs. He put on a suit when he “went to work”. He wore jeans when he worked from the castle.
“Are you going to London?” she asked stupidly, because to ask was to get an answer and she didn’t want an answer.
“No, I’m flying to –”
He didn’t finish.
Of its own accord, her hand shot up and covered his mouth and before she even thought to stop herself, she blurted, “Nope, no, I don’t want to know.”
She saw his eyes smiling at her though she didn’t know if his mouth was and his fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her hand away.
“All right, we won’t talk about my work. We’ll talk about yours,” he started, eyes still smiling. “Is Belinda coming in today?”
Belle nodded.
“Don’t open the shop until she gets here. Send Nola or Carol down to help her. You stay up in the workshop,” he commanded then continued issuing orders. “I’ll phone or text you to let you know when to expect your new assistant but I don’t want you coming down until she gets here.”
She found herself half pleased, half annoyed that he was telling her what to do in a way that said, quite clearly, he expected her to do it.
“You’re very dictatorial, did anyone ever tell you that?” she asked, letting the half annoyed part take control.
“Occupational hazard,” he replied, eyes back to smiling.
Belle looked down at the steps and muttered, “I bet you were a bossy kid, too.”
Her head came up when she heard him roar with laughter and she couldn’t be angry at him anymore because he looked way too darned handsome when he laughed.
Which, incidentally and contradictorily, she also found annoying.
His face had gentled after he laughed and she screwed up the courage to ask, “Are you going to be home for dinner?”
She watched his face shift from gentle to tender at her question and her heart started beating faster.
“Yes, poppet, though not early enough to come and collect you.”
Belle looked to his ear then to the knot in his tie then with a great deal of effort, she forced her eyes to his and said, “No, um…” She hesitated then rushed on, “I was wondering if we could have dinner together.”
“Of course,” he replied.