Chapter 17

17

Abrielle

The emptiness of the building makes me feel uneasy.

Each time I step into this place I feel two intense things.

First, I feel excitement.

How can I not feel excitement? I'm on the verge of opening another gallery. My gallery. No contracts. No outside nonsense. No man involved…

Which instantly makes me feel the second intense thing.

The memory of Colver.

It's been a month since I saw him last. Since he walked out of my apartment. A part of me not wanting to believe that he would actually stay away. No reason to believe otherwise other than my flirty fantasies and wild desires that burned heavily deep within my core. My body knowing that what Colver gave to me I'd spend a long time trying to find again.

Can one dick really matter that much? Honestly. Think about it. Amazing, wild, hot sex. Does that mean I'll never enjoy myself ever again?

Well, here's what I can officially tell you.

My nightstand has an array of toys that don't come close to making me feel what I did with Colver. And I'm talking a little of everything. Toys that buzz. Toys that shiver. Toys that move. When I open the drawer and look, it makes me blush at the collection I've gathered.

As far as the real thing goes?

I've been too busy with my new gallery to even think about it.

But not too busy to use toys?

Apples and clitorises, okay?

Without Colver helping me get away from Simon, my current life status would not be possible. And everything Colver said came true.

His lawyer scared the hell out of Simon to the point where Simon actually apologized to me. He sent me a text. He sent me flowers. That was a little cringey. Then he showed up to my place in person. I kept a straight face, he looked nervous, and I told him to just stay away from me.

I haven't seen him since.

Now, how did I end up with a new gallery…?

I smile and look to my left.

I swear I can smell the coffee through the wall, but it's a memory instead of actually smelling it. My nose wrinkles and my senses demand coffee.

The long walk next door takes me a handful of seconds.

I can't believe how busy the place is.

I kind of step and wiggle my way through the crowd and I see Jess behind the counter, scrambling in a happy, controlled way.

All it takes it one look from her… help.

Okay, who is Jess?

No need for an entire book dedicated to Jess, but her grandfather owned the entire building. He sold it to her. She opened her dream bakery-slash-coffeehouse. A smoothie place had been her neighbor for a couple years before the owner decided to go to medical school.

Enter me.

A chance conversation with Jess because I wanted coffee is what has me opening a new gallery next door.

As for right now, I'm hurrying behind the counter to grab a spare apron.

"Rebecca called off again," Jess whispers to me. "I love the girl but I have to let her go. Every single time she has a test she calls off."

"I can't believe how busy this place is," I say. "This is great for you."

I turn and jump right to the register.

Everything is done on a big, digital screen.

Hit the screen, take the payment, and the order is processed.

It's not that hard.

It's not the first time I've jumped behind the counter to help Jess either.

Actually, the day I signed my lease for next door, I ended up working behind the counter. It was nowhere near as busy as this. I think Jess was testing me that day, just wanting to see what kind of person I was.

Order after order…

People paying with cash, credit cards, using their phones and smartwatches.

Jess dances between the big coffee machines and the bakery case with such soft grace. A big smile on her face. Every single customer gets a thank you , stop by again .

She's the perfect business owner.

The rush does quiet down.

When it does there are four people sitting at tables.

Two with laptops. One with a book. The other just sitting, looking out the front window.

I take off my apron. "What the hell was that?"

"Social media," Jess says. "I didn't realize it, but some influencer stopped in yesterday. She posted about my secret cinnamon bread and the coffee. I have a feeling it's going to be busy like this for a bit."

"That's amazing for you," I say.

"Not without help," Jess says. "Hey, any chance you want to bail on your gallery and work here?"

I let out a nervous laugh. "I just stopped over for a coffee…"

"Help yourself."

Jess breezes right by me to go into the back.

I make myself a coffee and make sure to pay.

Back in what is slowly becoming my new gallery, I look up at the installed lighting. I nod.

The walls are mostly done.

The flooring will be finished up later this week.

I've gotten pictures of all my artwork up on the site.

I even had a few offers come in.

I'm not sure if they are real offers or not though.

My entire art collection is randomly placed throughout the gallery, leaning against walls and on the floor.

I moved it all by myself.

A pain in the ass to do.

Very tempting to ask Colver for help.

No, Abrielle. No. That name needs to not exist. Ever.

I've been good keeping him in my memory and never speaking a thing out loud. And I have not watched any hockey either. I'm not a fan of hockey to begin with, but it's not like I'm in my bed, watching Colver play in a game and I have some buzzing battery toy between my legs pretending it's his tongue.

"Gabby," a voice says from behind me.

I let out a yelp and turn, almost spilling my coffee.

Jess is there, a small bag in her hand.

"Jess," I say. "Holy crap, you scared me."

"Deep in thought?"

"Yeah."

"I wanted to apologize to you, Gabs," she says.

Her smirk is contagious.

The first time we met she called me Gabrielle , like a lot of people do. She insisted on adding the G to my name until it became a little bit of a running joke. So now she'll occasionally call me Gabby or Gabs .

"Apologize for what?" I ask.

"I was a bitch."

"No, you weren't."

Jess nods. "I got overwhelmed and snapped a little. And you paid for your coffee. Not cool. I told you not to do that."

"Jess, please. You've done so much for me here."

"That's called paying it forward."

"You're letting me have this place rent free until I open up."

She shrugs her shoulders. "Everyone needs a break once in a while." She wiggles the bag. "And you're taking a break right now."

"Cinnamon?"

"Duh," she says.

She hands me the bag.

It's sort of cruel how good Jess is as a baker.

This cinnamon, sugary donut thing is… it's heaven.

"Two of them," I say.

"Shh," she says.

"Wait. Who is next door?"

Jess scoffs. "Rebecca showed up. She felt terrible for calling off. Said the guilt got to her. I told her not to talk to me for a bit and then I came over here."

I take a huge bite, groan and roll my eyes back into my head.

"My grandmother once told me that baked goods should be as good as sex," Jess says.

I cover my mouth as I laugh, spitting a sugary, cinnamon, powdery haze out of my mouth.

"She's right," I say with a mouthful of food.

I eat the first donut embarrassingly quick.

Then I go for the second one.

One bite and I pause.

"Gabs?" Jess asks. "You okay?"

"I don't know," I say. "I suddenly just…"

I hold up a finger.

I take a deep breath.

I turn and run and make it to a large trashcan.

I vomit.

"Abrielle!" Jess yells. "Oh no…"

I gasp for a breath and look back at Jess.

"No offense, but I hope that's not from what you just ate," she says. "Or else I'm in big trouble."

"It wasn't that," I say. "I've been kind of fighting a bug."

"A bug?"

"A stomach thing. This is like the third morning it's happened. It only happens in the morning though. Maybe too much coffee? Or stress?"

"Or maybe you're pregnant," Jess says.

She starts to laugh.

I feel all the color drain from my face.

I refuse to believe that I can be pregnant.

Because if I am…

You and I both know who the last person I slept with is.