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“I know Weston. Mon homme tranquille. Connor is your love, non?”
I literally didn’t know how to answer. Since the morning Connor slipped out of my bedroom, we’d hardly spoken. A few texts here and there, telling me he was preparing for deployment, putting me right back to where I had been before he’d left for Basic Training—in the limbo of not knowing where we stood or how he felt. The love I’d given wasn’t lost, but stuffed in his back pocket as he walked out of my bedroom. I had no idea if he carried it with him or had thrown it away.
He’s scared too, I thought. You put your heart on the line, but he’s risking his life.
It was a hollow thought, but all I had.
“Yes, Connor’s my boyfriend,” I said finally.
“A grave situation,” Edmond said. “I fear for him, then. And for my quiet man. And for my thoughtful girl who cares for them both.”
Waves of fear and love and pain rose up again, trying to drown me. Edmond de Guiche’s kindness was a life buoy. I could easily fall into his comforting embrace, clutch at him, cry my eyes out and ride the storm.
Instead, I sucked in a breath and pressed it all down.
“I’m scared for them, and it made me emotional. That’s all.”
Edmond frowned under his thick black mustache. “That is all? That is everything.”
Phil poked his head in from the front. “Mr. de Guiche? Things are getting rough out here.”
“Do you need to take the day?” Edmond asked me.
“No, no, I’m fine.” I dabbed my eyes on my apron. “I can do this.”
I had to do this. I couldn’t afford any missed pay.
Before we headed back out, Edmond stopped me and put his hands on my shoulders.
“You have a thousand hearts’ worth of love to give. A thousand tears may fall when one heart breaks. But never cry for shame.” He cupped my chin in his thick hand. “Even love lost was well-spent.”
I nodded and smiled, but silently I rejected his comfort. Love lost was only that… lost. I’d learned nothing from my failed relationship with Mark, except that I was gullible enough to keep trying. To keep loving, even if it hurt. Edmond would say that was a strength. From where I sat, on an overturned bucket with tear-streaked cheeks and an aching heart, I only felt lost too.
Edmond went home at three, leaving Phil and me to finish the day and close at five. At quarter of, Weston walked in the door.
My heart pounded. It was impossible not to notice Wes
ton’s post-Boot Camp physique. He’d been fit before but now, standing there in jeans, a dark shirt, and black jacket, the changes were tangible. Catlike—graceful and lean, but with a new, dark and dangerous beauty.
“Hey,” he said.
His expression stony. As usual. Half-scowling under furrowed brows and all at once, I was pissed. Angry at Connor’s unpredictable silences. Angry at the stupid wars of the world. Angry at farms that fail and hearts that give out. Angry at the tears that won’t stop coming. And angry at Weston for looking fucking beautiful and filling me with a confused desire to either slap the scowl off his face or kiss it off…
“Hi,” I said, shrugging the last thought away. “Would you like something?”
“I wanted to talk,” he said. “If you’re free.”
“I’m free. We’re about to close. Coffee?”
“Not tonight.”
He went to his usual table in the corner. I followed, untying my apron. He waited until I sat before sitting, then folded his hands on the table, long fingers laced. I tried to imagine those hands holding a gun. Weston taking careful aim at another human. Sadness and fear welled to the surface again, wrapped in anger at both he and Connor for putting themselves in danger.
“I wanted to see you,” Weston said in a low voice. “Talk to you. It’s been a long time.”
“You must be busy getting ready for deployment.”
He nodded. “Lot of shit for me and Connor to pack up.”
