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Denise
My hands are shaking. I shove them into the pockets of my shorts before Brett can see them. I don't want him to worry.
Things have been tense between the two of us since the appeal went down. The sex is still good, of course. He still flies in every weekend, and with his new promotion, he can even afford to show up a day or two early. We'll stay in my bungalow, just the two of us, his lips on my body and my head in the clouds. It's been incredible. But when we're not having sex, things just seem to have a strange awkwardness to them.
I noticed it in pieces. In the mornings, after we'd make love, he'd trudge to the kitchen to make us coffee, his gusto gone and replaced with tiredness. He'd eat his breakfast quietly, no longer taking an interest in what's going on at the Sugar Breeze. No longer asking me about my work, something that used to be such a point of interest.
The worst was when he came with me to the bakery yesterday to help out. But despite his enthusiasm in the morning, as soon as he stepped in through the doors, he got that look again. The one he had before we gave in to our attraction. Back when I thought he didn't like me.
Nose wrinkled and eyes darkened, he stood against the far wall, putting fruit tarts into the glass case one at a time, his eyes flicking to the counter.
"You okay?" I asked him quietly as I passed by.
"Fine," was all he said back. He didn't even meet my gaze.
I looked at the counter as if hoping to see what was bothering him. But all I found were a bunch of colorful pastries and Brittany giggling happily with a customer. Nothing offensive in sight.
"You don't have to come here if you don't want to," I said quietly, my hand on his arm. Insecurity wiggling under my skin. "It was a nice offer, but if you're uncomfortable, you can sit in the back. I know it's more active than what you normally do for work."
"I'm fine," he repeated. "Please. Don't worry about me. There's nothing wrong."
And when I'd gone to check in with Brittany, she'd pointed out Brett's odd behavior too. "Your little friend over there feeling okay?" she asked.
I nodded. "He says he is."
"Maybe you need to let him outside. Take him on a walk. Get some fresh air."
I snorted, snuggling my shoulder up against hers. "I know you're just teasing," I said. "But he's the one thing I need to be working right now."
When we'd failed the appeals process, the landlord's lawyer thought it was fair to give us sixty days to move out. It had been a couple of weeks, and already the signs of the change were obvious. The tables and chairs were gone, and we'd narrowed our menu considerably. I'd even had to let a few of the bakers in the kitchen go, as much as it had pained me to do it. Most of them had been working here for years and had worked directly for my mother. It was embarrassing to keep letting people down like this.
At the end of the day, when I'd taken Brett back out to the car, I'd reached for the shifter only to find his hand on mine, stopping me. And as I turned to meet his eyes, they were even darker than they'd been that morning.
"What?" I asked him. "What's the matter?"
He'd bitten his lip for a moment, his eyes flicking to the bakery. Was he trying to give me a silent signal? Why did it look like something was eating him up inside?
"Brett, talk to me," I insisted.
Finally, after shifting uncomfortably in his seat, he'd managed to say, his tone flat and measured, "I just want you to be careful. Remember that not everyone has your best interests in mind."
"I know that." I was almost offended. "I'm losing my mother's bakery because of my awful landlord, Brett. I know to watch out for scumbags."
"No," he said, those serious blue eyes meeting mine again. His hand was still gripping mine, and in fact, his grip had tightened. I stared at him for what felt like several minutes, waiting for him to say what was on his mind. For him to tell me exactly what he was so worried about.
But instead, he just shook his head, his jaw tightening and his eyes falling from mine. Holding back whatever it was he'd been thinking of saying. "Never mind," he said. "I just want you to be happy."
That night, as Brett was out in the kitchen starting our dinner, I left the room to take a call from Sophia. With her getting on the plane to come down here in less than twenty-four hours, we were doing our final check-in for the night. And even then, I couldn't help but bring up what had happened with Brett at the bakery. The way his attitude had shifted, becoming quiet and pensive. Even evasive.
"That's kind of a red flag, Mom," Sophia had said, making my stomach sink in my chest. "A guy suddenly changing attitudes? Not wanting you to trust the people around you? I know he's kinda swept you off your feet or whatever, but you need to be careful of stuff like that."
"I don't want to think the worst of him," I said, my nerves still crawling around inside me. "He cares about me, Sophia. He really does. You'll see when you meet him tomorrow."
"Yeah, that's what they all say," she grumbled.
"Uh oh," I said, noticing something hidden in her tone. "What happened? What man messed with my daughter?"
Instead of answering, she'd just sighed. "I'll tell you about it when I see you."
