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“So, the fact that I was close to your age made you nervous—is what you’re saying?”
I could tell without even looking at his face that he’d have a dark brow raised in an attempt to be funny, or flirty…either was unacceptable.
“I’m saying…” I inhaled a deep breath and looked up. “That I just moved back, and I’m tired…and the last thing I wanted to do was meet some recluse that can only seem to make friends with people old enough to be his parents. It’s obvious you don’t have much of a life, but now that I’m home, you won’t have them all to yourself anymore. Sorry, but the meal ticket is up.”
My heart raced as I bit out each venomous word, hating that I was forced to watch his playful expression turn hard and resentful.
Steadying myself, I went to leave when I felt a tug on my elbow and suddenly his palm was against the door, shutting us in with my back flat against the surface.
“Let’s cut the shit. I was nice for the sake of your parents, but that obviously was a waste. I don’t know what your problem is, but you don’t know me,” he seethed, one palm above my head, his face close to mine.
But I did know him—he just had a shit memory, which was not my fault.
Smiling, I lifted my chin, daring him to move closer. “I don’t need to know you to know that you’re a leech. You’re sucking the life out of my parents, and now that I’m back, I’m going to put a stop to it.”
There was a storm in those eyes that I once adored, a violent, turbulent tempest.
“You got back from being away for over four years, with what…a handful of visits throughout the entire time you were gone?” Shaking his head, he snapped, “Say whatever the fuck you want, but your parents deserve better than having their spoiled brat finally grace them with her presence and immediately start throwing her weight around.”
Guilt tugged hard at my chest, a rusty chain around my heart, aching with all the words I still owed to my parents about why I had stayed away. I had no idea why I wanted to taunt him into becoming this vile thing in front of me, but his words hit harder than a cement block to the face. I was too stunned to respond, so he continued.
“You think you know anything about me at all? You don’t know anything. I, on the other hand, know everything about you, Rae, and I know that they got the short end of the stick when they got you. I’ve been good to them, and I will continue to be good to them because we both know you being here is only temporary. You’re too selfish of a person to stick around.”
With that he tugged on the doorknob, forcing me forward. He moved so we didn’t touch, and then he slipped out into the hall, taking the last word with him.
6
RAE
SIX YEARS AGO
The bell rang,echoing through the restaurant, causing me to drop my ball of dough, and for what had to be the millionth time that day, I ran to the front to see if he’d come in.
“Raelyn Vernon Jackson, if you drop that dough one more time!” My mother scolded me from the back of the kitchen as I moved out front, searching for the newcomers, and other patrons sitting around tables, but the counter, where he usually sat, was empty. The spots were filling up fast.
“Excuse me.” I moved a sign that I had printed and laminated and taped it in front of the space he liked to sit. “This spot is reserved.”
“Reserved?” Jonas Stellate whined, sipping his coffee. “For who?”
I stood up straighter. “A VIP.”
He shook his head, muttered a few things under his breath, and moved down a few spaces. I pulled the name I’d also printed and laminated from my apron and set it down on top of the tag.
Davis Brenton.
The first draft I had made had little hearts circling his name, but Nora talked me out of keeping them on there.
“Rae, get your rear end back here right now!” my mother yelled from the kitchen.
Taking one last glance around the space, I ran back and hoped I wouldn’t miss him this time. Nora said he’d come in last Friday, while I was at school. The only reason she knew about it was because she’d been sick with strep, and her mother’s store sat across from my parents’ diner.
I worked the dough without thinking, without feeling. All I could think about were his eyes, and whether or not he’d be smiling when he saw the sign.
Thirty minutes later, I wandered back out on my break, not hearing the bell ring or any fuss, and there he was talking sternly to Carl, the shift manager. His navy eyes were murderous as he pointed a finger at the counter where I’d put his name sign. I crinkled my brows. I’d reserved him a spot; why wouldn’t he be happy about it?
I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it ended with Davis picking up the sign I had made and throwing it in the garbage on his way out.
It felt as if he’d tossed my heart in there with it.
