Chapter 220
CHAPTER 18
That evening, as they sat down for dinner in the warm glow of the
dining room, Isla couldn’t help but notice a shift in Graham’s
demeanor. Since their arrival from Magnolia Ridge to Willow Creek,
he had been distant, cold, and as unapproachable as a stormy sea. But
tonight, something was different. There was a lighter air about him,
an ease she hadn’t seen in weeks.
She didn’t trust it.
Maggie set a steaming platter of corned beef on the table, the savory
aroma wafting through the room and making Isla’s stomach rumble
in anticipation. She eagerly helped herself, taking a generous forkful
and letting out an involuntary moan of appreciation as the flavors hit
her tongue.
“Maggie, this is absolutely divine,” Isla said, her voice warm with
genuine pleasure,
Maggie’s face flushed a soft pink, the compliment lighting her up like
a candle. “Thank you, love, I remember it’s your favorite.”
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With a pleased smile, Maggie disappeared back into the kitchen to
fetch dessert, leaving Isla and Graham alone at the table. The silence
that followed was thick and strange, like the calm before an unspoken
storm.
Isla focused on her plate, determined not to let the tension get to her.
But Graham’s low, velvety voice broke the quiet.
“You know, New York has some of the best corned beef in the world,”
he said, his tone casual yet carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of
intent. “I could take you to my favorite place sometime.”
Isla froze mid–bite, her fork hovering in the air as she stared at him.
Her brows knitted in suspicion. There was no way that was an
innocent invitation. With Graham, there was always a motive, always
a plan, and this was no exception.
Her first thought was sharp and immediate: When hell freezes over.
But she didn’t say it. Instead, she carefully set her fork down on the
edge of her plate and resumed eating as if he hadn’t spoken at all.
She didn’t trust herself to respond–not without opening the door for
him to slide in one of his persistent marriage proposals.
She had learned to navigate these moments like a soldier crossing a
minefield. Engaging with him, even over something as trivial as
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corned beef, felt like stepping into dangerous territory. His words, his
actions–everything about him felt like a prelude to that inevitable
conversation. And she wasn’t in the mood to play that game tonight.
So she kept her head down and her silence firm, hoping that if she
ignored him long enough, he might drop the subject entirely. It
wasn’t much of a strategy, but for now, it was all she had.
“How does Friday sound?” Graham’s voice was smooth, casual–too
casual. He leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table
as though the matter had already been decided. “There’s an Irish pub
on Water Street called the Dead Rabbit. They serve the best corned
beef in New York. I could take you there Friday.”
The confidence in his tone, the way he spoke as if she had already
agreed, made Isla bristle. She knew him well enough by now to
recognize one of his traps when she saw it. Her eyes narrowed
suspiciously as she set her fork down with deliberate care.
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said, her tone clipped and firm, like
the snap of a closing door. Then, with a sly smile, she added, “And if
you’re really that starved for attention, I’m sure Vanessa hasn’t gone
far. She’d probably be thrilled to accompany you.”
The satisfaction she felt when Graham’s relaxed expression hardened
into a scowl was worth it, though. His jaw tightened, and a flicker of
irritation crossed his features.
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For a moment, he said nothing, just stared at her with those sharp,
assessing eyes, as if trying to decide how best to respond. Then his
lips moved, forming what was unmistakably a curse. It was subtle, but
the way he twisted his mouth ensured that whatever he’d said, she
couldn’t quite make it out.
She knew he’d done it deliberately, just to needle her further. And it
worked. She scowled back at him, her cheeks flushing with a mix of
annoyance.
“Did you just swear at me?” she demanded, her voice low but charged
with outrage.
Graham leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t
you like to know?”
“You’re impossible,” she muttered beyond frustrated at this point.
“On the weekend, I have one meeting scheduled,” Graham began, his
tone as smooth as the silk tie he wasn’t wearing. “After that, we could
go sightseeing around the city. Maybe visit some museums or
galleries–I’m sure you’d enjoy that–and, of course, explore the food
scene. New York has some amazing places to eat.”
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
