Chapter Four

Cecelia

S taring blankly out of one of the large windows into the parking lot, I refute the idea that I'm searching for any sign of the Camaro—for him. Yet another glance at the clock has me aggravated with the lies I'm telling myself. He dropped me off three hours ago. I know he hasn't changed his mind. I know he's coming back.

He came back, for me.

He left his life, for me.

He killed, again , for me .

"Where is your head today, woman?" Marissa asks, sidling up next to me at the counter.

"Just... distracted." I know I should probably give her a heads-up on what, or rather, who's coming, but I have no idea if he has any plans of invading my workspace as he has my home and my new life. I have no idea if he intends to remain incognito here as he has in the past. It's anyone's guess for now, especially mine.

Marissa is the closest thing I have to a girlfriend here, and I've told her enough about Tobias for her to know why I'm not entertaining men for the time being. I hold back in revealing any more for the moment because believing anything at this point is far too premature. He could very well disappear as quickly as he came .

But I don't believe that, despite my need to hold on to my skepticism.

I hate that I mostly believe him and the sincerity he's shown thus far with his words and actions.

But if I do believe him, take his words to heart, will I be forever a fool?

For now, I could be. I can't let him do it. He has to earn my trust again, no matter his place in my heart.

"Distracted? I'll say, you've been shining that napkin dispenser for ten minutes."

"What? Oh." I glance around the café, which is dead after the last of the morning rush. "Did you need me for something?"

"No, just worried. You've been acting out of sorts since the Presidential Address yesterday. Want to talk about it?"

"No, I'm fine, swear." I turn to her and force a smile, and she raises a brow.

"We've been joined at the hip since you hired me. You think I can't tell when you're faking it?"

"Sorry, you're right. Something is going on, and to be honest, I'm still trying to wrap my head around it. I'll explain later."

"Yes, you will, and it'll have to wait because he's back." She gives me a conspiratorial wink.

"What?" Paling, I glance behind me, following her gaze to see Mr. Handsome stroll in. Within the second of seeing he's the man she was referring to, I'm gifted with a little relief, quickly replaced by a spike of anxiety.

"All yours, girl. And in case you're wondering, our omelets aren't that great."

He takes a stool, dressed to impress, his eyes focused on me as I grab the coffee pot, snatch a ready mug beneath the counter, flip it and pour, refusing to meet his inquisitive gaze. "Morning. Western Omelet, no peppers or cheese, right?"

"Most people call me Greg," he quips, "but yes, please."

I give him an answering smile while I write out his ticket and haul ass back toward the kitchen, cutting off any chance to draw out conversation. So far today, I've filled a few salt shakers with sugar, dropped three plates, and in my haste, ran smack into my office door.

Bastard.

The fatigue has finally set in from lack of sleep, and mostly because I stayed up staring at the fucking French Adonis who took up over half of my queen mattress last night wearing nothing but black boxers. He is a dangerous temptation, his profile and build—all hard lines and thickly muscled curves—mesmerizing in half-light. His construct just as incredible as it was when we were together, maybe more so now. His surreal looks are just as distracting as they were before, threatening to replace my resentment with desire. And the minute I woke up from a dream that left me raw and aching, my first instinct was to pull him to me, to wrap myself inside him, and never let go. Oh, how much I wanted to touch. So much so I had to leave my own bed to get away from him. From his smell of citrus and spice. From any familiarity that might bring me comfort.

Because fuck that, I refuse to make it easy for him.

He wants another chance, but he's had years of chances to come back to me. He refused me at every turn in Triple Falls, forced me to let him go. Purposefully, he let me walk out of his office and his life.

And he's right. No matter his reasons, no matter how justified, they'll all be excuses for me at the moment.

I deserve more.

I will hold out for more, no matter how gloriously beautiful he is. No matter how many times over the years I dreamt of him coming back to me and saying the things he said. His words from yesterday cross my mind.

"I couldn't look away."

No matter how much the words mean, I'm no longer a teenage girl or twenty-something woman who'd had her first mind-blowing orgasm gifted by a beautiful, smooth-talking man. Been there, have the tear-soaked pillowcases and blood-stained clothes to prove it.

"Cecelia." Travis, my short-order cook, booms from behind the cutout steel window in the kitchen, making me jump where I stand.

I glare at him, and he winces. "Sorry, you weren't hearing me. Order up."

"Chill." Marissa grabs the plate from the hot bar and walks it over to Greg. She gives me a curious glance once it's delivered, as does Greg. Annoyed by the scrutiny and refusing to look again toward the parking lot, I retreat through the double doors of the kitchen toward my office for a timeout, wishing for the first time in months I had a joint to smoke.

It's minutes later, when I'm safely behind my desk, that Marissa bursts through the office door, a look of utter shock on her face that lets me know I'm not getting off so easily. She darts her eyes around the office in panic, chest heaving before she leaps for her purse.

"Jesus by the river," she says, brushing a week's worth of gloss across her lips, standing at the threshold of my office door. "Please tell me the man that just got out of your Camaro is your adopted brother."

Loathing the relief I feel, I slide my chair back, second-wind determination running through me as she looks at me with wide-eyed hope, while Travis grunts something unintelligible behind her.

"It's complicated."

"That tells me nothing." She's hot on my heels as I toss my shoulders back and push through the double doors.