Honestly, those years in junior high are too traumatizing for me to reflect on sometimes, and it was when I was a senior high school that my therapist suggested antidepressants. My mental health was getting too bad to keep up with my grades and extracurriculars, and everything took a turn for the worse.
I thought I had it under control, but I didn’t. Turns out, I still don’t.
“I’ll always look after her,” Rowan says, and I think he might just mean it. He’ll be here whether I like it or not—whether he should be or not.
My dads smile at Rowan before Dad says, “We’d love to spend some time with you before we head out again.”
“Oh? Where are you off to?” Rowan sips his drink. I should have been the one to make it like I do every other day.
“Canada,” Daddy answers, grinning. “Then maybe Alaska.”
My dads are older—I see it more clearly now that I don’t see them everyday. And it breaks my heart every time I notice their hair is more white and gray than the last time I saw them, especially over video calls. It hurts when I notice the crow’s feet at the corners of their eyes and the lines around their mouths.
I miss them.
“Canada? Wow.”
I don’t hate Rowan Asher for any particular reason other than his devastating good looks, his annoying yet sweet obsession with my well-being, and because he’s too nice to me. I couldn’t possibly think of any more reasons, but, admittedly, whenever he doesn’t come into The Black Cat there is aslighttang of disappointment.
So the fact that he appeared today, only a few minutes ago, is either a blessing or a curse. Or the worst kind of omen.
But he laughs beside me, beautifully, at something my dad says and wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Well, I would love for you to come to my restaurant before you get back on the road. Dinner on me.”
Dad and Daddy share a look of happy agreement. “Of course, Rowan,” Dad says. “That is very kind of you. We’ve been meaning to make a reservation.”
“So kind,” I mutter under my breath and punch his thigh again.
Rowan grunts quietly, his jaw tightening, but he keeps his smile pasted on. “Great. Friday at seven?”
“That’s perfect, Rowan,” Dad says. “Thank you.”
Rowan smiles. “I’ll be sure to reserve us a table for fourthen.” His eyes slam into mine, his gaze soft and my gaze glaring. “Is that good for you, sweetheart?”
Ohh…
I peel my eyes away from him and find a corner of the room to focus on and settle my stupid heart.
My dads voice their approval, continuing in conversation as I try to navigate how Rowan ended up as my fake boyfriend until my dads leave.
Convenient.
His random appearance isconvenient.Comforting.
I can’t allow myself to get used to his comfort.
Feeling shaky and lightheaded, I stand from the chair and slur, “I’ll be right back.”
I wish they’d leave. I just want them to leave—everyone and everything. I want it gone; I want to be gone. I just want to stay home all day, every day, in bed with my cat—alone.
I brush past Rosa, one of my employees, and move to hide in the kitchen that smells like sweet sugar.Thatis comfort. Looking around with spotty vision and dots of red, I go for the only thing other thing I know that doesn’t involve crying in a corner.
I wash my hands before I gather sugar, flour, eggs, and milk, and prep my work station.
“Natalia—”
I jump at the deep sound of my name, flour flying around me and some landing on his navy sweater. “Wh—What?”
“Nat, you’re shaking.”
