“Please tell me you didn’t pay for this,” I say, sitting up and placing his suit jacket on the back of the couch.
“Of course I did,” he replies, amused.
I shake my head, smiling, the lingering tension melting away.“You know, if you’d told Helen you were bringing these back here, she’d have insisted it was on the house.Especially after…” I trail off, the memory of James’s attack casting a shadow over the moment.
“It was someone else at the register,” he says, handing me a warm mug.“Besides, your coffee is worth paying for.”He winks, holding out the plate.
Despite the recent turmoil, the gesture eases the knot in my chest.
I take a bite of the croissant, savoring the flaky, buttery layers.“We source the best croissants in town,” I say with a touch of pride.
“They do smell amazing,” he agrees, taking a seat beside me.“Your café is pretty busy.”
I can hear the muffled sounds of customers filtering through the door.
“It usually is around this time of day.We have very loyal customers.”My smile falters as sadness creeps in.“Mary would be devastated if she knew we were being shut down.”
“Mary?”Matthew inquires, brow furrowing.
“Mary O’Connell, the previous owner,” I explain.“She poured her heart and soul into this place.Named it after her daughter, Maddy.If she knew some greedy landlord was refusing to renew our lease, she’d flip.”The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth.
I take a large gulp of coffee, hoping the strong brew will wash it away, but it doesn’t.It just mixes with the bitterness, creating a more potent kind of ache.
Matthew’s gaze softens, holding a hint of understanding.“I…” He hesitates, his expression conflicted.“I’m just doing my job, Amy.”
“But this café is more than just walls and coffee beans,” I argue.“It’s Mary’s legacy.And it’s become a second home to so many people in this neighborhood.Your job is to erase all that?!”
“No,” he says, firm.“My job is to represent my client.But it doesn’t mean I agree with his actions.”
“Then why help him?”
Matthew sighs, running a hand through his hair.His lips press into a thin line.“Even if I drop him as a client, he’ll find another lawyer to do the exact same thing.”
His words are rational, but cold.A dismissal of everything this café represents.
A surge of anger rises within me.“So you’re all alike,” I say, my disappointment sharp.“That’s a shame.”
I stand, slamming my mug down on the desk.“Well, I’ve taken up more than enough of your time.I need to get my ring so I can get back into the apartment and out of these clothes.”
“Don’t.”Matthew springs to his feet.“Don’t go back to him.It’s not safe,” he pleads, his eyes burning into mine with a fierce intensity.
“Is this your thing, Mr.Warren?Selective concern?”
“This isn’t a game, Amy,” he warns, his voice rough.
I slip into my stilettos and grab my handbag.“No?But my café is fair game, right?”
“It’s not that simple.”He throws his head back, frustration etched on his features.
“It never is, is it?”I fling open the door and shoot him a scathing glare over my shoulder.“You can show yourself out.”
I storm into the bustling café.I weave between the tables, ignoring the curious glances and whispered comments.Anger and frustration claw at me.A relentless storm.
I burst out onto the sidewalk, waving my arm, desperately trying to hail a cab.They all seem to be occupied, ignoring my pleas.
Minutes crawl by.Each one an eternity.
Where are all the damn cabs when you need them?
