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Stupid, Vee.
I force myself to stare forward, to keep my eyes on the blond ponytail in front of me. Do not react, Sylvie Grace. You don’t know him. He doesn’t know you.
Heat sears into my left side and the scent of French toast hits me as he moves up next to me, ignoring the grumbles of the people behind me as he cuts the line. “Its fine,” he says, waving a hand and flashing his most charming smile. “I’m with her.”
I swallow thickly and resist the urge to look at him as I mutter, “I don’t know you.”
His low chuckle reaches my ear as he leans in close to me. “You are such a terrible liar, Vee.”
“Not lying. And my name is not Vee.”
Another low chuckle and I feel his hand flutter at the base of my spine for a moment before it drops away. “Oh? Then what is your name?”
“Sadie,” I say firmly, without hesitation. “Sadie Kinsella.”
The blond in front of us moves to the side after placing her order. “Well, Sadie Kinsella, can I buy you a drink?”
“You say that like we’re in a bar,” I say, unable to stop the smile from twitching over my face, even though I still haven’t looked at him. I can’t. If I do, I’ll crumble. I cave. I’ll fall into his arms and beg him to never let me go.
And that will be really embarrassing, seeing as he already has an omega.
He shrugs. “Its all the same, isn’t it, Sadie? Bar, coffee shop, the fucking moon. Doesn’t change the fact that you and I are together again for the first time in seven years. Its fate, Vee.”
The barista clears her throat and my gaze snaps to her. “Sixteen ounce oat milk latte, please,” the order spills out of me.
I risk looking up at him, but yank my gaze away just as quickly. Dammit. He looks as good as I remember. Dark brown curly hair doing that thing where it falls just so over his forehead, blue-gray eyes, dimples on either side of his full mouth. He looks like the Davis I remember only… older.
Of course he’s older, Vee. It’s been seven years.
I try to hand money to the barista, but Davis is spouting off his order, a pistachio lavender latte, along with enough pastry to feed… well, his whole pack. My stomach lurches at that. Of course, he’s here buying pastry for his pack. He’s not here to see me. I bet he even bought that birthday cake donut with the rainbow sprinkles—my favorite, by the way—for Yasmin. She always had a penchant for liking the same things I did. What’s that saying? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?
Sure it is… until imitation takes the form of stealing my goddamn pack.
Not mine.
Never mine.
He tucks his wallet away. “So oat milk, hmm? And no flavored syrup?” I ignore his attempt at conversation, but he’s not dismayed. “Maybe I am mistaken. The Sylvie I know would never order a coffee without at least one flavor in it, and a mountain of whipped cream.”
Davis’s hand at the base of my spine urges me away from the register and before I know it, he’s guiding me to a table, where I sit with a quiet groan. I blame the hangover and my own stupid body. Aches and pains are my normal, but add in dehydration and a wine headache and I’m downright miserable.
Of course, I want to sit down.
I brace my elbows on the table and press the heels of my hands into my eyes, hoping that will ease some of the pain in my head. There’s a thunk and the sound of something sliding over the vinyl table. I blink my lids open and find a glass of water in front of me. I look up at Davis and he smiles softly at me.
“You seem like you could use that. Rough night?”
I scowl at him. “My night isn’t any of your business.” But I scoop up the water and down half of it. I need to be somewhat human when I go back to Aurie’s office today. And I have a long drive ahead of me to get home. I won’t do myself any favors by being petulant about him giving me water.
Davis chuckles, not bothered in the slightest by my surly attitude. “See, that’s where you’re wrong, Sadie.” I ignore the way my heart clenches when he says my friend’s name and not mine. “Everything you do is my business. Our business.”
My scowl deepens and I open my mouth to once again insist I’m not who he thinks I am, but the barista calls his name. Davis holds up a finger in the universal one moment sign then stands from the table to go get the drinks.
I don’t know why I’m so stuck on this, on pretending I’m not Sylvie Benson. It’s not fooling anyone.
You know why, Vee, a voice inside my head that sounds a helluva lot like Sorrel chides me. I do know why. If I stop pretending, then I have to actually deal with all this bullshit. And I’m not ready for that.
I watch as Davis scoops up the drinks and grabs a few napkins. He’s so freaking beautiful. Handsome. A familiar ache starts in my chest, and I swear my body knows he’s near because my aches fade a little. My bones don’t feel on the edge of snapping. And the low level nausea I almost always feel? Gone.
