Mr. Sloan. I never knew your color-matching skills were so top-notch.”
He shrugged casually. “Impressive, I know. I’ve been working on it for some time. Can I get you a drink?”
“A drink sounds fantastic,” she said, and he gestured to the bar, then placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the press of people waiting to get service. A spark zipped through her from the possessive touch, his palm pressed lightly against the silk of her top. The hum of music surrounded them, the low thump of the nightclub, though the band hadn’t started yet.
At the bar Michael raised a finger, and the bartender at the far end nodded, indicating he’d be on his way.
“That was quick. Do they know you?” she asked.
“No. Brent just has really good bartenders. They’re fast with all customers. Which is one of the reasons this place does so well.”
“I’m glad to hear that. And he’s married to Shan now?”
Michael nodded. “They eloped this summer. Translation: Got back together and went to a twenty-four-hour chapel to tie the knot.”
She laughed. “Perfect for them. And congratulations to the happy couple. How is your sister doing?”
Michael made an arc with his hand over his belly.
A morsel of glee spread through Annalise. “How exciting! When is she due?”
“Five months,” he said as the bartender arrived, a young man with a goatee who asked what he could get for them.
Michael turned to Annalise, letting her go first. “Champagne,” she said to the man behind the bar.
“Make that two,” Michael added.
“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a champagne fan,” she mused as the bartender set to work.
He arched a brow. “Why not? Do I seem like I have a dislike for drinks that are delicious?”
She shook her head. “No. I’d just have figured beer, or scotch, or something strong and manly.”
He held up a hand. “Wait. Now I’m not manly? Because I ordered champagne?”
She laughed, shaking her head. “This is coming out all wrong. You’re very manly. And champagne is very good. I’m glad we didn’t have to sneak around to find some. Do you remember the time on New Year’s Eve when we tried to figure out how to steal some from Becky and Sanders’s collection?”
“Never found that damn champagne,” he said, but the sparkle in his eyes as they latched onto hers told her he remembered the other way they’d rang in that new year—a long, lingering kiss at midnight that didn’t stop at the lips. It went on and on, and led to hands under shirts, and below belts, and low, muffled groans, heated sighs, and their names falling off each other’s lips.
The memory moved through her, heating her up. Or maybe it was just being near him now that did that.
“And now we don’t have to track it down like thieves,” he said.
“We have permission to drink it,” she said. “I suppose that’s a benefit of being older.”
He nodded. “One of them.”
“And, now it turns out champagne is good for you. Did you know that?”
“I read that recently. What’s the story there?”
She tapped the side of her temple. “Supposedly, it helps improve memory.”
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Sometimes, that’s not my strongest suit. But that’s what Post-It notes are for.”
* * *
Post-It notes. Champagne. Jokes about the color of clothes.
He couldn’t believe these were their discussion points.
But this was all he could handle. His pulse hammered in his neck, and he hoped she couldn’t tell how goddamn hard it was to stand this close to her, to be so near to her, and not talk about the things he most wanted to know. The why.
Why she was here?
What did she want?
Did she ever think of him?
And how the hell was she doing, after everything that had happened to her?
But he couldn’t go there. Not yet. He couldn’t handle that kind of conversation. It would remind him too much of why he had loved her like crazy. Because he had talked to her about all those sorts of things once. Real things. Life, and death, and love, and hope, and dreams.
If they dared tread on that territory, he’d be lost.
Instead there were Post-It notes.
“Do you have them all over your home?” she asked, teasing him as the band began to set up on the low stage. “Little reminders of what to do? Put socks on before shoes? Insert key in lock before opening door?”
“Don’t forget things like where my office is located. Or what floor I live on, too. That’s another