Page 132 of One Night with Number Nineteen

“It’ll just be a few more minutes,” Bri says, glancing down at her phone. “I don’t think anyone expected traffic to be this bad.”

I resist the urge to check my watch, know it’ll only have been a few minutes since the last time I looked.

I still have time.

I still have time.

But all I can think about is Ollie and those burgundy suspenders.

“Bri,” I say. “If they’re not here in the next ten⁠—”

“Hey, girl!”

We both turn to see a trio of women hurrying over.

“We’re so sorry we’re late!”

Bri glances at me, worry in her eyes.

I push out of my chair and move over to greet them. “Hi,” I say. “I’m Sawyer.”

The first of the trio—the one who apologized—winks at me and bypasses my hand to pull me into a tight hug.

And considering she’s all of five feet six, that requires some contorting.

“Oh, honey,” she says, pulling me back and kissing my cheeks, “we know who you are.” Her smile widens. “I’m Rhonda. And this is my best friend, Rebecca, and⁠—”

“I’m Amy,” the younger woman with them says. “Rhonda’s daughter.”

Her smile is predatory and when she comes in for a kiss, it lands dangerously close to my mouth.

“Hi, Amy,” I say, quickly extracting myself from her hold and greeting Rebecca.

Then glance at Bri.

Pointedly.

“Right,” she says, jerking her hand to the side. “We should eat.”

The host escorts us to our table, and it’s not long before we’re seated at the table and Bri is excusing herself to let the kitchen know we’re ready for the first course.

“Come and eat with us,” I tell her before she leaves.

Her gaze slides around the table.

Then she nods, slips away.

Leaving me in awkward quiet.

And…fuck, but these people paid a lot of money for this lunch.

I slap a smile on my face, tamp down my impatience, my eagerness to get this the fuck over with. “It was so generous for you all to donate to the youth shelter. They really are doing great work.”

Rebecca smiles. “I was just glad to do my small part.”

“It’s not small to us,” Bri says softly, sitting back down. “Your donation is helping to fund one entire quarter of the work-training program.”

“Pish,” Rhonda says. “We’re happy to help.” Her eyes come to mine and they turn predatory—like mother like daughter. “Now tell us about you, Sawyer. You know, we saw that ad you did last winter for the watch brand. Whose choice was it for you to take those photos with your shirt off?”