“That’s some creative justification, babe,” Jordyn says gently, sitting forward. “Why would you think Chaz’s feelings might change if he knew?”
“Because he blames his father’s death on the greed and relentless demands of a company that sounds a lot like Townsen Industries. He hates big business with a passion. How do I tell someone who went through such a painful loss that not only am I a VP in a company like that, but I’m also the heir to one? It would suck the oxygen out of what’s growing between us. He won’t see me as just the woman he cares about. He’ll see me as everything he stands against.”
“Lex,” Jord says, her tone gone serious. “I don’t think you’re giving Chaz enough credit. He’s not going to judge you based on something you were born into or a company you don’t even want to inherit.”
“Maybe not judge me,” I admit around the knot in my throat. “But with the kind of loathing he carries . . .When hefinds out I’m tied to a multi-million-dollar conglomerate, it’s not something he’ll be able to just swipe aside.”
“Chaz hanging onto that much hate doesn’t sound very healthy,” Dee points out, her expression more concerned now.
“You don’t know what he went through,” I say defensively. “There’s still so much that I don’t know—so much I still need to understand.”
Jordyn blows out a breath, shaking her head. “Keeping secrets is like playing with fire. It almost destroyed Dee and Mick and Stiles and me.”
“I remember,” I whisper, the memory a sharp reminder of how easily trust can be broken when the truth is withheld. “Iwilltell him. Soon. I just . . .need more time.”
They exchange disapproving looks that trigger the familiar feeling that I’m a disappointment. It hurts, but I know it comes from a place of worry, not judgment. They want what’s best for me and fear I’ll ruin things by waiting too long.
I get that. It’s my worry too.
I love the way his eyes light up when I walk into the café, the way the corners crinkle when his dimpled grin deepens just for me. The thought and care he puts into creating lattes and foam art to make my mornings special. His sweet, corny notes, his easy affection, and his passionate desire have transformed me.
Now that the woman Iwantto be is starting to emerge, I don’t want to lose her.
Or Chaz.
At the end of the week, we’re alone in the café. Sophia had patiently answered my endless questions and left a short time ago to pack for her trip. Jamar coached me on grinding andbrewing the coffee with detailed precision, then clocked out at five. It’s just us. The whir of the espresso machine has died down, replaced by the strains of guitar from the Santana playlist.
Chaz finishes wiping down the counters and grins. “How you feeling?” he asks when I stretch out my arms, easing the faint tension in my shoulders.
“Good.” My two days of training were nothing short of chaotic, but I survived. And that comes with a sense of pride. “You all make it look so easy, but it’s hard work.”
“You did great.” He comes up behind me, his warm hands settling on my shoulders. The faint scent of coffee and autumn spices brushes up against me.
“I didn’t spill anything today, so that’s a win.”
He chuckles, a low, decadent rumble, and his fingers knead my knotted muscles, making my body hum. “I was impressed by how quickly you caught on and clicked with everyone.”
“I had excellent trainers who didn’t make me feel bad for hitting the wrong buttons on the register or asking for an order to be repeated three times.”
“That’s normal. What matters is that the customers loved you. You remembered names, made suggestions, promoted the specials. That’s not training. That’s you.”
“Always my hype man,” I say, warmed by his praise.
“I love having you here, Blue.”
“Well, you’ve got me for the weekend—without Sophia. Let’s see if you still feel the same after that.”
He turns me around, his hands sliding down to my waist. “You could spill every drink, and I’d still want you here.”
He says it so confidently, so sure, like nothing could change how he feels. But he doesn’t know how much more is at stake than spilled drinks. He doesn’t know the weight of the truth I’m carrying—or how it could destroy what we’re building when I finally drop my bomb.
“I won’t hold you to it,” I say, burying the guilt beneath a practiced smile. “So, where are we going tonight?” I ask, steering the subject to safer ground.
“Into town.”
“That’s all I’m getting?”
“Yep. We should probably leave now before I get other ideas.” He leans closer, nuzzling his nose against mine, his message clear.
