“Hey Coco, would you mind if I talk to Bails for a moment?”
“How long is this moment, hmm?” Coco put her hand on her hip, her gaze swiveling from Luc to Bailey then back again. “I thought you had parents to see.”
“I do. But I also have to see Bails as well. In private.”
Coco sighed. “Bails, do you want to speak to him, or come home with me?”
The little kid inside might want to run away, but the adult had to stay. “I’ll talk with him.”
“Want me to wait?”
Bailey shook her head. “You know these tough hockey players, once they start talking there’s no shutting them up.”
As expected, Coco laughed, but as she hugged her goodbye, Bailey caught the look of hurt on Luc’s face.
Oh. She hadn’t meant to do that. She moved to him, held his arm. “I’m sorry.”
He lifted a shoulder. “You don’t have to stay if you don’t want.”
“I do want.” And she suddenly did. More than icing her sore toe, more than sleep. She wanted to wipe that look of dismay from his eyes, and let him know she cared for him. “But your parents?”
“They can wait. You’re more important.”
Her shock at his postponing his parents faded in the sweetness of his last three words. She’d sensed that, that she was important to him. Which again showed why they needed to have a real conversation about real things, and clearly define boundaries before their next dance, the Viennese Waltz, blurred things again. If people thought their moves before had chemistry, wait until the most romantic dance of all put them in a spin.
They moved outside and he held her bags in one hand, her waist in the other. She caught how some producers looked at her, the way one of the singers eyed her askance, but nobody said anything. He found a taxi, he mentioned a restaurant, and her heart sank. “Are we going to see your parents?”
“We’re speaking to them for five minutes tops, promise.” He shot her a look.
She cringed. “I don’t know why I said that to Coco before. But I was joking.”
“Yeah, well,” he sighed, and her heart filled with fresh regret, “so was I. We’re talking five hours, not minutes.”
“Luc!” She slapped his arm, laughing, and he grinned at her.
“That’s what I like to hear. I missed hearing you laugh tonight.”
And just like that, the mood in the taxi tilted back to serious again.
“Five minutes, I promise. And I won’t ever break my word to you, Bailey.”
She nodded. She knew that. They mightn’t have known each other long, but she knew he would keep his promises. There was a core of goodness in this man, something her heart yearned for.
He picked up her hand, studying it, like it was made of porcelain, then the taxi slowed and stopped. Luc asked the driver to stay, with her bags, for which he’d get a sizable tip later, and they got out and entered the building.
He spoke to the maître d', and they were immediately shown to a booth.
“Lucas, oh, and Bailey. I’m so glad to see you again! Although you don’t look quite so glamorous now, do you?”
“Hello Mrs. Blanchard. Mr. Blanchard.”
A volley of French flowed between parents and son, and Bailey recognized certain words, but not enough to follow too closely. She shouldn’t be surprised Luc spoke French, he was from Quebec after all, but the French they spoke was different to what she’d picked up while dancing in France. Her gaze dropped to the table, where they’d started their meals, and she wondered why Luc had brought her here.
Then the maître d' returned with two boxes and Luc thanked him, kissed his mom on the cheek and hugged his dad, which seemed reason for her to do likewise, then Luc paid, and they returned to the taxi and her waiting bags, not five minutes later.
“How long was that?” he asked the driver.
“Four minutes, forty-two seconds.”
Luc shot her a smirk, and she laughed. “Okay, Mister I Can Do Pithy Conversations With My Parents, where to now?”
“I prefer Mister I Keep My Promises, but okay.” He glanced at her. “You need to eat, so do I. So we’re going to eat, and talk, and you’re going to get your foot seen to.”
“But where?”
“You’ll see.”
A minute later, they’d pulled up out the front of a tall apartment building not too far from Lake Ontario. “Who lives here?”
He grabbed her bags, and steadied her as she exited the vehicle. “My friend Dan Walton and his wife Sarah. They’re in Muskoka right now, at his cottage, and I called him and asked if we could stay.”
Her stomach tensed. “You don’t mean staying here together?”
He keyed in a code, the door opened, and they moved to the elevators and got in. “I’ve called a doctor who does home visits to come check your toe, then you’re either going to Coco’s or resting here if the doc says not to move, while I go stay back at the hotel.”
“You’ve called a doctor?”
He shrugged. “You’re an athlete. You need your toe to work. And I understand you didn’t want the show’s producers to know, so this way you get to avoid that, get to avoid people seeing you in public or any weird questions if we were seen going to the hotel together, and we can talk privately, and you can just relax.”
