My Great Escape Led Me to You (Emily Blair) novel Chapter 871

It was Andrew Lane.

Andrew still held Dennis Lane’s hand, and trailing behind them was a couple in their mid-fifties.

Emily’s gaze flickered.

They’d just been discussing Isabella Austin, and even though it was all speculation, Emily couldn’t help but wonder if Andrew Lane knew anything about it.

Andrew’s eyes landed on her for only a second before moving on.

Dennis, thrilled and energetic, tugged Andrew by the hand, urging him forward. Andrew leaned down to quietly remind him to slow down.

Emily meant to look away immediately, but the middle-aged couple behind Dennis suddenly sensed her gaze and looked up.

Just a moment ago, their faces had been lit up with gentle, indulgent smiles as they watched Dennis.

But as soon as their eyes fell on Emily, the warmth vanished; their expressions turned cold, eyes hard as glass.

Emily was baffled for a second.

But after thinking it over, it made sense— the only people who could dote on Dennis like that and dislike her so openly were Isabella Austin’s parents.

Isabella’s parents turned away with icy indifference, following Dennis to the other end of the restaurant.

Tristan Davis sat with his back to the entrance. Noticing Emily’s attention had drifted for a while, he turned to check, catching only a glimpse of Andrew Lane’s retreating figure.

Tristan’s eyes cooled for a moment. He looked at Emily, frowning. "They’ve already left. What are you still looking at?"

Emily pulled her gaze back. "Just looking, that’s all."

Tristan slid the plate of steak he’d just cut in front of her. "What’s so interesting about Andrew Lane, anyway? Right in front of you is one handsome guy—if you’re not looking at me, who are you going to look at? Focus on eating and admire me properly."

Emily took a bite of steak, half-smiling. "You’re hopelessly vain, you know that?"

"Just eat," Tristan replied with a smirk.

They were nearly done with their meal when Emily spotted Dennis Lane skipping down the restaurant hallway, making his way toward them.

Emily glanced at her watch. "Our flight’s in two hours. We can leave in about one."

Tristan nodded, scanning the area. "There’s a stand over there selling drinks. Want me to grab you something?"

Emily smiled, lips curving. "You pick—I just don’t like anything too sweet."

"Got it," Tristan said, getting up.

Left alone, Emily closed her eyes and let the sea wind wash over her. Moments of leisure like this were rare for her, and she savored every second.

But her peace was short-lived—a shrill, panicked child’s scream suddenly pierced the night.

Emily’s eyes flew open, and she turned toward the sound.

There, out where the surf broke, a little boy—no higher than her waist—was being swept up by a wave, struggling desperately to get back on his feet. He’d already swallowed several mouthfuls of seawater.

It was dark, and the kid had wandered far from the crowd. No one else seemed to notice—except for Emily, who was closest.