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Stupid good red meat covered in gooey cheese on a giant piece of bread sounded just about right. Considering my last two meals had been a take-out salad delivered to my room, consumed while I sat at the foot of my bed, it sounded necessary. If it was the worst type of coping mechanism I could come up with, then I’d like to see a single person judge me for that.
The restaurant sat just across the parking lot from the hotel, with a big black-and-white-striped awning over the bright red door. The front of the building had a big line of windows stretching from end to end, so anyone sitting in the booths facing that direction had a front-row seat to whoever was about to enter.
That was when the muscle memory kicked in, unlocking some hidden trauma of an entire room full of people staring at me.
Above the door was a little gold bell, and when it heralded my arrival with a whimsical little chime, it took less than three seconds for every person in the place to turn and stare. The single exception was a tiny old man hunched at a nearby table, staring down at a chess board.
Two women at a booth by the front leaned closer, one of them whispering to the other, with a quick glance at my shoes and the cream dress I’d worn. It was one of my favorites, with a crisp collar, buttons running all the way down the front where it landed at my knees, and black piping along the edges.
It was the whisper that pulled the trigger.
My chest went heavy, some giant invisible fist pressing down on my sternum.
My throat felt tight, the second giant fist closing, closing, closing over my windpipe.
And immediately, I wanted to pivot and flee. Ditch the heels and sprint my ass back to the hotel.
I didn’t even need to ditch the heels, actually. And the fact I was willing to run in stilettos should tell you how powerful that instant slice of panic was.
Wasn’t that the weird part about anxieties you didn’t know you had? They could lie dormant for years until one single thing brought them clawing and scratching to the surface.
Consider my surface officially scratched open, because I darted my eyes around, looking for a hostess to seat me. There was a little chalk sign by the entrance—please seat yourself.
Around the big open room were plenty of options—booths toward the back, high top tables along the left of the room, stools at the counter facing the open kitchen, and scattered options throughout the middle.
I chose the closest fucking one because the thought of walking through that room with heads swiveling to follow made me feel like that fifteen-year-old girl again.
Except the arrogant tilt of the chin wouldn’t work quite the same here. Challenging stares wouldn’t help either.
In fact, all I could hear as I picked the closest table and slid into a chair with my back facing the line of windows was Cameron fucking Wilder telling me that Ian would probably say the same things about me that I was saying about him.
As friendly as an ice pick.
The words echoed in my brain on an endless, obnoxious loop.
God.
Just what I needed was an emotionally intuitive man who’d seen me at my very worst.
Now he thought he could say things. Make observations.
It was so much worse that his observations were true.
Honestly, I was just lucky that Cameron didn’t press on why I’d shown up at the house at all. There was a good chance I wouldn’t have been able to answer.
A pretty, smiling server with blue-tipped braids came to the table. “Hi, what can I get you to drink?”
“Iced tea, please,” I said.
Her dark eyes were heavily lashed, and she had a tiny diamond winking from the side of her nose. Those eyes did a quick skim of my face and clothes, then she nodded. “Of course. Here’s your menu. I’ll give you a couple of minutes to look it over.”
Even though my heart still hammered relentlessly against the inside of my ribs, I managed a polite smile.
The menu sat untouched because if there was even the slightest chance I’d talk myself out of the cheeseburger, that chance was long gone.
At the table next to me, the old man moved a hand to one of his pawns, then paused, pulling it back and settling it back into his lap.
My brows lowered, and I found myself watching with interest as he studied the board with cloudy dark eyes. The short curls of his white hair stood out in stark contrast to his dark, wrinkled skin, and after a minute, he finally moved a bishop to the far side of the board.
