“I’m glad to see you’re alright.”
“What?” Hannah was baffled.
“I texted you and called you multiple times and you didn’t reply.
Concerned something had happened, I had the chauffeur bring me here.”
Lowering her gaze to her phone, Hannah noticed it was on silent mode.
She had missed two calls from Bryson.
“My phone was on silent. I apologize for worrying you,” she said.
“I’m glad you’re okay.”
Bryson carried a subtle scent of mint mixed with alcohol. As he stood in the moonlight just outside the door, he appeared unusually lonely.
Once he was sure that Hannah was unharmed, Bryson wished her a restful night and began to walk away.
Hannah called out, “Mr. Mitchell! Would you Like to come inside for a bit? I can cook some soup to help you sober up.”
The moment the words left her mouth, Hannah felt a wave of regret wash over her. Her fist tightened.
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If Bryson said no, she’d feel humiliated.
Bryson pivoted, the glint in his typically impassive eyes visible.
“If you’re fine with it, then I’d be glad to accept your hospitality, Miss Moore.”
He stepped into the doorway.
Hannah switched on the living room lights and fetched a pair of slippers from beside the cabinet.
Announcing she needed to change, Hannah dashed into the bedroom and shut the door behind her.
With a knowing smile, Bryson moved toward the kitchen.
When she reappeared, now in casual attire, Hannah found Bryson in the kitchen.
His coat was draped over a dining chair, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
He was gently stirring a pot of aromatic soup.
“Let me handle that, Mr. Mitchell!”
Hannah’s cheeks flushed.