The door to the coffee place opens again as a young couple enter. My line of sight is obstructed for less than a second. But it’s long enough to have me tensing and sitting forward in my seat.
Blonde hair comes into view as they move out of the way, and my shoulders relax with my rough exhale.
“There you are, Princess,” I rasp, taking in the anguish on her face as she talks to Zoey. The sight of it is like a thousand swords to my heart.
But I know her, and she isn’t ready yet.
Almost. But not quite.
“Not much longer now,” I say, my eyes drinking her in like I haven’t spent the past two hours watching her like a hawk. “Not much longer, Princess. I promise.”
43
SINCLAIR
The secondI walk into my apartment, I can sense something is different.
“Monty, wait,” I instruct, hovering in the doorway, my eyes darting down the hallway toward the open-plan living area. I tilt my head and listen but there are no other sounds except my heartbeat in my ears.
I pull my phone from my purse and bring up the app Denver installed after he informed me he’d increased the security at my place. He showed me how to use it, but I didn’t think I’d ever need to. He was with me all the time.
I fumble with the settings until I find the camera footage for the past couple of hours. Monty and I are leaving for his walk, so I speed past that until I find what I’m looking for.
My throat goes dry.
I drop Monty’s leash, and he races inside, barking.
That’s what’s different. I should have recognized it immediately.
The tinge of mint and herb in the air.
Him.
“What the hell?” I squeak as Denver walks into my apartment with purposeful strides.
There’s no mistaking that it’s him. I’d recognize his broad shoulders and that painfully strong beautiful profile he has anywhere.
He looks at the camera in the hallway, knowing exactly where it is. His eyes darken with intensity as he stares at it for a few seconds, like he knows I will see this.
Like he’s looking right at me.
I clamp a hand over my mouth, tears pricking at my eyes. He looks incredible, dressed in his usual black suit and tie and white shirt. Three weeks has made me wilt and fade. But every pound I’ve lost, he seems to have found, in muscle and pure raw manliness.
“What are you doing? Why aren’t you in LA?” I whisper as I follow him on the cameras through the living area and into the kitchen. He opens the refrigerator and places something inside.
I pause the footage and run to the kitchen. Monty is going mad, racing around the place, nose glued to the floor as he tracks the trail Denver must have left.
Flinging open the refrigerator, I see what he’s left for me immediately. It’s hard not to. I have almost nothing inside. Why does a girl need food when all she can stomach is coffee made the way the man she loves and pushed away likes it?
My fingers tremble as I close them around the cold cardboard, taking the smoothie cup out. There’s a sticker on the side with a whole fruit basket on it, and the text:
You better get juiced to my jokes.
I sob out a half cry, half laugh as tears spring free and race down my cheeks.
Why would he come in here and leave this for me?
I put the straw in my mouth and suck. Flavor bursts across my tongue and I screw my eyes shut, swallowing down the first fresh thing I’ve tasted in days.
