Anyone but Alex (The English Brothers Book 3) (9 page)

Her mother grinned, which brightened the sharp lines of her thin face. “Lovely idea
! I’ll come with you. We can go to the Club or to—”

“No!” Jessie’s Kindle fell to the floor with a loud crack as she lurched forward. She leaned down to retrieve it then looked at her mother helplessly. “I, um, I might have a date. With a friend.”

“You
might
?”

“I
do
.” She nodded, handling her Kindle uneasily.

“You
do
?”

“I
think
I do.” Jessie bit her lip, casting a quick glance to the window and wincing when she found the driveway still empty.

“This friendly date wouldn’t be with a certain English brother, would it?”

Jessie stood quickly, smoothing her simple black dress and placing her Kindle on the seat behind her. “Mummy…”

“Cameron has been in a tizzy. And if Preston doesn’t stop cough-mumbling
‘manslut’ he’s going to be hoarse.”

Jessie’s face flushed
, and she looked down at the folded hands on her lap. If her mother wanted to give her a lecture about Alex, she would…politely…not listen.

“What time is Alex sending a car?” she asked gently.

“Noon,” Jessie answered.

“Well, it’s only eleven-fifty-five. May I wait with you?”

Jessie took a deep breath and nodded, shoving her Kindle aside and sitting down again. Her mother took the seat across from her, farther from the window, but facing the driveway.

“Oh, here’s some news. I just got off the phone with
Eleanora English. She invited us for Thanksgiving dinner to welcome us home. I hope you have no objections to my accepting her invitation.”

“None at all.”

Despite her calm reply, Jessie’s heart leapt at the thought of seeing Alex on Thursday. And then she berated herself because if he failed her today, she had no business being happy to see him on Thursday. She snuck a glance at the empty driveway.

When she turned back to her mother, Olivia’s expression was thoughtful.

“I imagine it’s not always a picnic to have four older brothers.”

“I love them.”

“Of course you do, pet,” said Olivia, running a hand through her sensibly-short, greyish-blonde hair. “But we fare rather well on our own, don’t we? At Harrell House? Back in London? At least we did until you got that little flat.”

She grinned. “We do just fine,
Mum.”

“Then will you take my advice and be brave? Don’t let them boss you around. Not about anything, and certainly not about your heart. Stand your ground, right? I like to think I raised my daughter to be just as strong as my sons.”

“Easier said than done. There are four of them. One of me.”

“Than do it four times as often so they know you mean it. To be clear, I’m not just talking about Alex. I’ve heard all of the rumors and honestly, pet, I’d rather see you date
—”

“We’re not dating, we’re just friends,” she said way too quickly.

Olivia searched her daughter’s face before smiling at her with compassion, like she could see into Jessie’s heart and knew exactly how much of it was owned by Alex English.

“All I mean to say is that it’s up to you to choose who you spend your time with. I love my four boys, but you’re going to have to carve out your own place in this family. You might want to start with not letting Cameron yank you out of parties when he has a fit of protectiveness.”

“He was so angry with me. It was overwhelming.”

“You haven’t lived with them for a good part of your life, and I suspect that you want to please them now that we’re all together for a spell. I might suggest that you”
—She smiled gently at her daughter—“
love
them, but
please
yourself.”

Nodding, her heart swelled with gratitude for her mother’s wise and gentle counsel
. Jessie had, more or less, already come to the same conclusion, but having her mother’s support made everything feel better. “Thanks, Mummy. I’ll try.”

Olivia stood, tall and smart in black slacks and a grey cashmere sweater, and turned to leave the room. “By the way, your
friend’s
car just pulled up. Have a lovely date, pet.”

Lacroix at the Rittenhouse was Alex’s go-to restaurant when he wanted to impress a date, but he had purposely gone another route, respecting Barrett’s advice that he shouldn’t be seen at a hotel with Jessie, even if their only purpose in being there was to share a meal as friends.

There was only
one other place that kept asserting itself as a choice, and Alex finally surrendered and made a reservation at The Dandelion Pub. With its inviting fireplaces, country manor decor and an ample selection of British libations, he was hopeful that Jessie would feel right at home.

However, s
itting in front of the fire as he waited for her, he had misgivings. The Dandelion wasn’t very posh or exclusive. It was quirky, but comfortable, with its mismatched, plaid-upholstered arm chairs and ploughman’s lunch—nothing more than an upscale pub, really. And even though it was Alex’s favorite restaurant in all of Philadelphia, he’d never taken a date there. If Jessie didn’t like it? Well, that would tell him something about her, and make it a hell of a lot easier to say goodbye after their lunch.

Because he was
determined to say goodbye.

He couldn’t have possibly canceled on her after accepting her offer of friendship, and with the Winslow’s joining the English’s for Thanksgiving, it would have been
terribly awkward to cancel Tuesday only to see her on Thursday. But, Alex cared about Jessie in good and unfamiliar ways, in all of the
right
ways that felt so new to him, and he couldn’t expect her to accept his history blithely and associate herself with him out of a misguided attempt to pay back a childhood kindness. Cam was right. She was way too good for him.

“Mr. English?” asked a waiter. “Miss Winslow is here.”

Alex stood quickly, lifting his eyes to hers, and felt it again—the way the ache in his chest eased as he looked at her face. He didn’t feel slick and debonair as he took her hand. He felt helpless. He felt out of his depth.

As if she knew, she smiled
like the sun and moon and stars rose in his eyes, and for just a moment—just a split second—an elusive fantasy unfurled in his mind, and he recognized the sharp, astounding joy he’d feel if Jessie Winslow actually belonged to him.

“Alex,” she said,
squeezing his fingers.

“You look beautiful, Jess,” he said softly, without an ounce of artifice,
his words uncharacteristically earnest. She wore a simple black dress under an unbuttoned, tan raincoat, her shiny black hair in a low ponytail that trailed softly around her neck to rest on her shoulder. She looked casual but lovely, and his heart throbbed just from looking at her. Despite Barrett’s advice, he stepped forward to press his lips against her warm cheek. He felt it all the way to his toes—the rush of something wonderful just outside of his grasp. She smelled of tea rose again, and Alex breathed deeply, lingering, hating like hell to ever draw back from her.

Hearing her
lovely, light chuckle near his ear, finally forced him to lean back and smile into her shining eyes.

“Best hello kiss ever,” she said
, just a hint of a British accent peppering her speech.

His chest swelled
as he searched her eyes, and when she squeezed his fingers again, he realized he was still holding her hand. “
You don’t hold hands with a friend or try to get her alone in dark corners.”

“I hope it’s okay that I reserved a table for us beside the fireplace? It’s
well-lit,” he added hastily, letting go of her hand.

“It sounds charming.” She grinned, taking her first look around the pub-like restaurant, resting her hand on the Stewart plaid of the loveseat where Alex had been sitting. “I love it here. How did I never know there was a perfect slice of England in the heart of Philly? And how clever of you to choose it for us.”

He couldn’t help putting his hand in the small of her back as the maître’d showed them to their table, and Alex savored the contact of helping her with her coat. Was it creepy that he inhaled through his nose as he drew it away from her? He didn’t care. She smelled too good not to enjoy it.

Once they were settled across from one another with a blazing fire before them, Alex finally started to relax. Jessica perused the menu quietly
, and he wondered if she was as nervous as he was, and then he realized how awesome it felt to be nervous around a woman. It had been years—more years than he could count—since he felt like he wanted to put effort into a date, since he felt the sudden rush of excitement to touch the hand or cheek of a woman. It was like re-acquainting himself with a part of his life long forgotten.

“What?” asked Jess
, her eyes suddenly capturing his over the top of her menu. “Do I have something on my nose?”

“No,” he said
, shaking his head. “Sorry. I’m staring.”

“Y
es, you are,” she said, looking back down at her menu.

You talk
, Barrett had said.
So, talk, Alex!

“What do you think of London?”

“I love it,” she said, still looking carefully at the options before her. “It’s home.”

“What do you love?” he asked, his own menu forgotten in his lap.

“Hmmm. The weather…”

“The weather?” he demanded. “Rainy and gray?’

She still didn’t look up at him, but her eyes crinkled from smiling. “Yes, I love the rain. But there are plenty of bright, sunny days, and with the exception of deep summer, it’s always pretty cool. And timeless. And lovely. Since I adore travelling, it’s also the perfect home base for discovering the rest of Europe. What’s not to love?”

“You love to travel?” he asked her.

“I do. I adore it.”

“And what
else do you do there?”

“Socially?” she asked
, still looking down.

“Sure,
that too.”

“Too?”

“I was actually asking about your work.”

“Guess,” she said, smoothing her hair with one hand as she continued to star
e at her lunch options.

“
Jess…Is there a reason you’re not looking at me?”

S
he did. And it happened again—the helpless feeling that didn’t hurt. He felt his smile fading, and his eyes widened, searching hers desperately.

“That’s why,” she murmured, looking back down, her cheeks high from
her beaming smile. “Because you can’t handle me yet.”

“Ha!” he scoffed, sitting back in his chair. “
I
can’t handle
you
?”

“Nope.
You get flummoxed every time I look at you.”

Damn it, she was right, but his ego wouldn’t let him drop it.
“You do realize I’m a worldly twenty-nine to your tender twenty-three?”

“Yes, I do
. Which is why it’s so amusing.”

“
I’ve been around the block, Jess.”

“
So I’ve heard. Around and around and around.”

“I
can
handle you, Jess.”

“Really.”

“Uh, yeah. Really.”

The challenge in her eyes was unmistakable as she slowly
lowered her menu, and he braced himself, leaning into her beauty, into her smile, into the memories of her as the child who’d adored him. As she raised her eyes, he finally forced himself to accept it: she was Jessie Winslow, she was home, she was all grown up and so beautiful, he almost couldn’t believe she was real, but she was here having lunch with him so it must be true.

“
There we go,” she said gently. “Now you see me.”

How did she do this? Anticipate him
? Comfort him? Somehow reach into his heart and soothe something that had been chafing for weeks? From the moment she’d turned around on Saturday night, it was like a missing piece of Alex was restoring itself—a piece that fit perfectly, that never should have been taken away from him. A piece that he would never have been able to replace on his own, no matter how many other pieces he’d tried to force into its place.

The not-so-awful helpless feeling encroached
…

“Jess…”

“Keep guessing what I do.”

…and abated.
He grinned, thinking about her crossing the ballroom on Saturday night. “A party planner.”

“No.”

“Am I hot or cold?”

“
Warm. I love parties so much, but I wouldn’t be a good planner. I’d want to enjoy myself instead of work.”

“
So…something more solitary so you don’t get distracted?”