Chapter Eleven

Cecelia

"T hat looks awesome," Marissa speaks up from behind me as I pull more of the fake web and tape it to the side of the window. Stepping back, I admire my handiwork and glance around the café, satisfied with the progress. After the morning rush, Marissa and I managed to transform the restaurant with monster motif. It's a bit premature with the holiday weeks away, but I needed the distraction.

"Looks good," I agree. I've never dreamed of being a shop owner, but I admit having a place like this is satisfying in so many ways—a place I myself would frequent as a patron. There are a few gathered around the cozy fire in the reading nook. There's a steady crispness in the air now as the leaves on the ancient oaks opposite the parking lot rapidly turn brilliant shades of pumpkin, red, and yellow, officiating fall's arrival. A season I used to loathe due to a few life-altering summers that I never wanted to end.

"Now," Marissa says sharply, "I'm going to whip us up some lattes, and you're going to tell me what the hell is going on. I've been patient enough."

Just as she speaks, a school bus pulls up and a few dozen kids start filing out before heading toward the café.

"Oh, shit," Marissa says. "Did you know they were coming? "

"No idea," I reply, equally as taken aback just as Tobias pulls up in the parking lot, his attention shifting from me to the school bus of children piling into the restaurant. By the time he reaches the door, he's already rolling up his sleeves. He winks at Marissa in greeting before leaning in and pressing a brief kiss to my lips.

"Just tell me where you need me."

Chaos, utter and complete chaos would be how I describe the next hour. Rows and rows of school children fill every table and booth monitored by just a handful of teachers who look to be at their wits end. Though I relieved our third waitress after the morning rush, Marissa and I, along with Tobias's unexpected help, manage to do a decent job of expediting the food and drink orders—but the noise is deafening. Tobias zooms around with a bin, collecting plates like the job comes first nature, sweeping up spills and taking orders for the few stragglers who come in to dine.

"Goddamn rednecks make us all look bad!" Billy booms from the counter in reaction to something on TV, making me jump as I began to tally up the tickets to get the bus full of middle schoolers out of my café.

"Billy," I scold. "Little ears everywhere . Please try to watch your language."

"Sorry." He looks over to the mortified woman in an adjacent booth. "Sorry, ma'am."

She scoffs at his apology, and he takes immediate offense. "Lady, you live seventy years, and you can say anything you damn well please."

The "well, I never" in her expression as she tosses a look my way lets me know Billy's behavior is on me. "I'll take my check."

She collects her purse and begins to usher her little boy out of the booth.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," I interject, handing it to her. "You didn't eat much. I would be happy to comp your meal."

"We won't be back," the woman snaps, handing me back her check expectantly.

When Tobias appears at her table, I see the immediate change in her posture as she drinks him in .

"Want me to bag this up for you?"

She shamelessly eye-fucks him before speaking. "That . . . would be nice, thank you . . . ?"

"Tobias. Avec plaisir, salope." With pleasure, bitch.

It's all I can do to stifle my laugh.

"Oh, that's beautiful. French?"

"Yes. Sorry, I forget my English sometimes," he drawls out, playing innocent foreigner. For a few seconds, I get lost in the sight of him in pedestrian clothes, standing in the middle of my café. Jutting his chin, he gestures over my shoulder with the knowing upturn of his lips as Travis rings the bell behind me. "Order up, boss ."

I narrow my eyes. "I'm aware, Frenchman. When you're done here, table three and six need bussing as well."

"As you wish," he concedes.

Turning to grab the order, I'm stopped by the heat in his voice. "Oh, Cecelia?"

I glance over my shoulder to see the smolder in his eyes as obnoxious laughter and cafeteria level noise sounds around us both. "Yes?"

"Je n'aime pas me réveiller sans toi. Je préférerais de loin me réveiller en toi." I don't like waking up without you. I would much rather wake up inside you.

"There goes that French tongue again," the woman scolds. "You know it's rude to say things that others can't understand."

Ignoring the self-important bitch, he keeps his focus on me.

"Tu as l'air un peu stressée. Je peux t'aider à te détendre. Avec ma langue, et ta chatte." You're looking a little stressed. I can help you relax. With my tongue, and your pussy.

Lips parting, I do my best to conceal my shock. "As-tu perdu la tête?" Have you lost your mind?

"Pas ce que tu avais en tête? Après tu décideras où ira ma langue." Not what you had in mind? Then you will decide where my tongue will go.

"We can discuss this at ho— "

"So, if you'll just bag that up," the woman interrupts, hating that I've stolen her thunder.

Her little boy, who looks to be around seven or eight, climbs out of the booth, watching our exchange with interest. Tobias leans down and whispers to him, and he giggles before he speaks up, mimicking Tobias perfectly. "Le pleck, le spit."

I toss my head back and laugh. Was it so long ago I was mimicking him the same way poolside at my father's house? Then we were at odds, fighting our attraction, denying our chemistry, the tension just as thick. When we were apart, it seemed like an eternity ago, but when he's this close, it doesn't feel that way.

"Tu m'as manqué, Mon Trésor." I've missed you, my treasure. The sincerity in his tone combined with the look in his eyes has my heart galloping, and visions swirling of the days he barely made it out of his Jag in my father's driveway before I was in his arms and our lips were colliding. A collection of days and weeks when our time was stolen, a time where we freed ourselves to openly love each other without uttering the words. A plate shatters behind me, breaking our spell.

"Did you just teach my son some sort of French curse?"

Without answering, patience thinning, Tobias grabs the loaded plate from her table. "I'll get this taken care of."

She eyes me suspiciously as he walks past. "That English seems to come and go so conveniently."

"Funny how that works," I agree, sauntering off and following Tobias through the double doors, zeroed in on his ass when I notice the label on his jeans. "Wranglers?" I can't help my laugh. "Planning on riding bulls anytime soon?"

"This is all they had in my size," he explains in defense as he heads into the kitchen. "Not much to choose from around here."

"You can't do that." I change the subject.

"Why should we let all that French you learned go to waste?"

"Not funny."

"I disagree," he says icily, dumping the contents of the woman's plate into a box .

"You didn't have to help, you know."

He cocks his head. "You know damn well I'm not irritated because I'm helping. I wanted to."

"Well, you don't have to play dirty to talk to me."

"You sure about that? Because we haven't had a real conversation since I got here."

"And now is not the time."

"When would be a good time?"

My silence only angers him further as he grabs a plastic bag and shoves the box inside.

"I'm adjusting, Tobias, and I'm thankful for the help, but need I remind you, you're a billionaire, not a busboy."

"And you're a millionaire, not a waitress. What the hell does that matter? I'm whatever you need me to be." He studies me for a second before closing his eyes and placing his hands on the metal countertop, seeming to muster up some patience. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, full of disappointment. "I'll be out of your way when I finish up with the tables." He gathers the bag, and without another word, walks through the double doors.

"Condom or knife?" Marissa nudges me, sidling up to me at the counter, my focus on Tobias, who's drawing with a little girl in the reading nook while he chats with her grandmother. We got a secondary rush after the kids left, a rarity. Despite our conversation, Tobias stayed to help us out, bussing tables without a word while running circles around Marissa and me.

"What?"

"Condom or knife. The ex-dilemma. When they first come back, you don't know whether to fuck them or kill them, am I right?"

"Nailed it," I chuckle, clearing the counter of some plates. "If you only knew." Which she doesn't and most definitely never will. That's the crux of being in a relationship with a man like Tobias .

Restless, I spent last night in my garden planting spring bulbs as he typed away on his keyboard in one of my patio chairs. Every so often, I would catch him staring at me, and I would return it. After I showered and dressed for bed, I found him waiting there for me. When I clicked off the light, he wordlessly pulled me into his chest. I knew he was there to help me combat whatever dream my imagination would muster up. I hadn't dreamlessly slept since he'd arrived.

"I've never seen a man that pretty in real life. It's like he's not even human."

"Trust me, he bleeds." I'm one of the rare few who knows where his scars are.

"So, are you glad he's back?"

"I want to be, but we're beyond complicated."

"Scared of getting hurt again?"

Tobias doesn't hurt. He murders hurt; he makes hurt seem like a trip on a merry-go-round, and I got off his ride eight months ago.

Latching a newly loaded napkin dispenser shut, I look to see him keeping rapid conversation with the older woman. "I gave him an ultimatum almost a year ago, and he's just now coming around."

"It's always like that, right?" Opening the register, she exchanges some of her tips for larger bills and pockets the money in her apron. That one simple act brings me back to a different time and place. Triple Falls, smiling Selma and her tortillas. A lifetime ago.

"It's always like what?"

"You finally get it together enough to get over them—live without them—and bam , they show up on your doorstep expecting you to feel the same way. My momma always said, ‘Don't ever count on a man to realize his wrongs on your emotional timeline 'cause men always take way longer to come around and deal with their feelings. They're emotionally stunted.'"

"Never have more truer words been spoken." It's taken my stunted Frenchman too many unforgivable years to come around. That's what I'm having the hardest time with. More than that, I'm not sure my heart can handle another spin on his merry-go-round.

"Well, better late than never , right? I swear I've never seen eyes like that in my life. I don't know how you're handling this."

"Stop staring, or he'll know we're talking about him."

Not even a second later, his eyes lift, and he smirks.

Bastard.

We both burst back into motion, which makes us look even more ridiculous. "So, you're playing mouse with that lion? No offense, but it looks like he could swallow you whole."

I scowl.

"Sorry, but it's the truth. I feel the tension between you two, and you look like a geyser about to blow, and he... well, if a man looked at me like that, I would probably strip naked without being aware of it."

She nudges me, and I nudge her back—hard.

"Oh, testy. Yeah, definitely holding out on him. You don't look freshly fucked. You just look... fucked." She giggles, and I glare before winding up and snapping her with my rag.

"Ouch!"

"Tell me why I hired you?"

"For my sparkling, no-bullshit personality?"

"Yeah, well, since we're in the business of honesty, when are you going to put our cook out of his misery?"

She glances back to Travis and wrinkles her nose. "I can't go there. I dated his brother in high school."

When I wince, she misinterprets. "Exactly. I mean, how can you date a man's brother and then—"

"Marissa, order up," Travis calls, and I'm thankful for the interference.

I glance at Tobias, and he reads my expression. When I retreat to my office, he's right behind me before I get a chance to close the door.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Look, our... drama is distracting the staff. "

"Our drama is distracting you ," he corrects and crowds me against my office door, so I'm forced to look up at him.

"Tobias, you're making it hard for me to work." And sleep. And think.

He nods. "We've established that. I was just about to take off. Just wanted to let you know."

"I'm sorry. I'm just... I don't know what I am right now."

"You feel ambushed. We've got a lot to sort through, but until then, I'm here if you need me to be. And—" he leans in, encasing me in his arms, his hands caressing the wings on my back—"we have a lot to look forward to." He brushes my lips with his. "I'll see you at home."

Home.

"Okay. Thanks again for helping today."

His reply is a brief kiss to my lips. Releasing me, he shoves his hand in his jeans and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket, folding my hand around it. "For Marissa."

That afternoon, I return home to see a note from Tobias that he went for a run. After a scalding shower, I stand in front of my mirror and wipe the moisture away, jumping when Tobias appears behind me, his eyes rolling down my naked form before returning to mine. His hair completely damp and disheveled, his shirt soaked, he leans in and presses a kiss to my shoulder before snaking an arm around my waist and pulling my back to him. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he runs the pads of his fingers along my stomach. "Small talk is stupid, don't you think? Especially when you need to have big conversations."

He pushes the bulk of my soaked hair to the opposite shoulder before pressing his lips to my exposed neck, laving up droplets of water with his tongue. The sight of the act draws me back, so familiar, so intimate, it has me weakening in the knees.

I re-live the first time he did this, kissed me this way. It was the first night we were intimate. I bite my lip, remembering the sight of his cock as he pushed into me; the stretch, the fit, the intensity of that moment, and the recognition in his eyes.

But it wasn't just the feel. It was the emotion attached to it, emotions neither of us wanted to acknowledge.

"But I know why we aren't talking, Cecelia. I can wait," he murmurs as our eyes catch in the reflection. "Because I'm not going to walk around here chatting about the fucking weather, or the café—a business you can run with your eyes closed—or about what you're planting in your garden because I really don't give a fuck as long as it makes you happy. I can wait for a lot—" he pulls his mouth from me—"but I'm not going to let you deny that I'm here much longer." Erection pressing into my back, he leans in again, biting the nape of my neck before soothing it with his lips and tongue. Thoroughly soaked and needy, I fight to keep from rubbing my thighs together. "I'll talk to you about whatever you want, as long as we're having a conversation. But I do hear everything you're not saying, too. I'll always hear you." He studies me, watching my expression and reaction to him, my body blooming fully under his touch before his eyes close, and a curse leaves him. His expression pained like he's just seen something he can't handle before he releases me and shuts the door behind him.

My heart lurches after him, but my mind refuses to allow me to move. For the first time since he arrived, a thought occurs to me...

What if I'm incapable of forgiving him?