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Panicked at where his thoughts are, I spin back to him. “No, that’s not what happened.” I reach up to rub my neck, and my fingers bump against the nape guard. “More like the other way around. And things are awkward now because…”
“You’re friends and being lovers is too weird?” Steve guesses.
My lips part in surprise. “We’re not friends.”
Steve’s brows sweep together in confusion. “You’re not?” He glances at the empty table again. “But, he comes in every day. You even have a table reserved for him. And when you’re not here, he always asks how you’re doing.”
Now, it’s my turn to be confused. “He does?”
Steve nods slowly. “Yeah. He’s been asking about you for the last week, too. Mia’s been short with him, of course, but he still asks.”
I scrub a hand over my face. “Sorry I put you two in the middle of this. I’ll stop being a coward and talk to him.”
Steve pats my shoulder in sympathy. “The longer you wait, the more awkward it gets. If you don’t want to be lovers, be firm about it, and, if he’s a good friend, he’ll accept that and move on.”
I give him an assessing look. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Hey, just because I’m a Beta doesn’t mean I haven’t had some awkward moments in relationships. Loving someone is messy, regardless of what you are.” A customer walks in, heading straight for the counter, and Steve squeezes my shoulder one last time. “I’m here to listen if you need someone to complain to about relationships.”
“I appreciate that.” Closing the pastry case, I return the tray to the kitchen, my thoughts swirling with uncertainty.
Can Roman and I be friends? We’re adults now, and all of my reasons for not liking him are rooted in who we were as children. I’m not the same person I was back then, and after the way Roman took care of me at the auction, I’m no longer sure he’s the same person, either. Even if we’re not lovers, we could be something.
He’d asked me to meet up after work. Maybe he wants to try being friends, too?
Tomorrow, I’ll buck up the courage to be on the floor when he comes in for his morning tea. If he doesn’t flat out reject me on the spot, I’ll see if he wants to grab dinner or something.
What’s the worst that can happen, right?
I check my reflection in the small rearview mirror one more time, making sure my turtle neck covers the nape guard and adjusting the collar of the sports jacket I pulled on after I left the tea shop. It helps dress up the slacks I wore while keeping my outfit casual. I have no idea what family Mother negotiated with to marry my sister, but my attire should be fine for a casual lunch.
The clock on the dash tells me I’m fifteen minutes early, so right on time as far as Mother’s concerned.
A quick comb of my fingers through my black hair sets it straight, and I climb out of my car. I parked it at the back of the house so it wouldn’t be an eyesore for our guest. I’ll miss the old thing when it’s gone, as I’m sure it’s on Mother’s list of things to destroy in my life. She wants me driving that ridiculous Bentley that’s been sitting neglected in the garage for the last three years.
A car worthy of a Heardst, she had said. She wanted to give me a driver to go with it, but I flat out refused the entire setup. I live in the historic district of Rockhaven, within walking distance of the tea shop and the local marketplace. I don’t need a fancy car with a driver.
But that will change if I move back home.
My steps slow as I pull my cell phone from my pocket and check for any messages. I’d broken down and called my father in the hope he’d let me come stay with him and his new wife until I can find a different job and a new place to live. So far, though, he hasn’t returned my call. I shouldn’t get my hopes up. When he left my mom, he cut ties with the Heardst family, which included his kids.
The back door opens before I reach it, and I glance up in surprise to find the butler waiting for me. He must have seen me pull around back. He’s too good for this house, and I won’t be surprised if he finds a post somewhere else soon, with a family that will bother to remember his name.
“Thank you, Stirling,” I say as I step inside. “Has our guest arrived?”
“Not yet, Master Heardst.” He gestures toward the front of the house. “Madam and Miss Katheryn are waiting in the blue parlor.”
“Thank you.” I head down the hall past the formal dining room and the small ballroom to a sitting room at the front of the house.
The blue parlor earns its name from the pale blue wallpaper that covers the room. Heavy, dark-blue damask drapes frame tall windows that look out onto a side yard, and the antique couches are done in the same dark-blue fabric. The glass and gold coffee table in the center of the room holds a white china teapot with small blue flowers. Mother and Katheryn both wear dresses in pale blue that pop off the couch and accentuate their long, black hair.
Mother frowns at my green blazer and looks past me to the butler. “Archibald, please fetch my son one of the blue house jackets from the downstairs guest suite.”
“I hardly think me not matching the furniture will put off Katheryn’s suitor, Mother,” I say.
She lifts her nose with a sniff. “We are a family; we should look like one.”
No one who looks at us will question that we’re related, but I hold my tongue. If changing my jacket will make her happy, it’s no skin off my teeth.
