The first day back, I was sure he’d do or say something at work, but he’s been nothing but professional. Hellos and goodbyes and order ups and behind yous and eighty-six the fried trout and all the other shit you say at work and none of the things my body’s geared up for. None of the phrases I think about over and over, likeFilled your warm cunt with my comeandUsing this little hole the way you’re using me.
Using me.
Using me.
Oh god. What am I doing? I can’t stand back here staring at him. I turn and shove through the door into the dining room, where service is starting to slow down. Cora walks up to the bar and tells me she needs an Irish for twelve. With relief, I swing away, happy for something to do with my hands. I grab one ofthe cute insulated glass mugs I purchased for just this occasion and start pouring.
“One spicy shrimp.” Startled, I turn toward the voice I can’t stop thinking about.
“Oh.” I sound out of breath. “Great, thanks.”
“And a slice of cake.”
I look at his hands.
“I didn’t order cake.”
“No. But you looked like you needed some.”
“I did?”
“I’ve seen the way you look at my cake.” With a wink, he leans in, hands me the plate, and looks around. “Where’s the shrimp going? I’ll take it.”
“Oh, you don’t have to?—”
“Don’t mind. Everything’s gone out.”
“It’s for Taylor, right over there.” I indicate one of my regulars at the far end of the bar. She’s a gorgeous twenty-something blonde who brings her laptop and has dinner nearly every week. Writing a book, apparently. I’ve watched her get chatted up by the businessman beside her for the last few minutes, wondering if and when I’ll need to step in and run interference.
I take a bite of a ridiculously delicious pistachio cake Jake made this afternoon and catch his eyes on me. The second I look his way, he grabs a roll-up and circles the bar.
Oh my God, this isgood. Caught in a weird sort of ecstasy consuming another one of his gorgeous creations—the man makes a lot of good cake—I watch him set the cutlery and plate down. Taylor gives him a smile brighter than any expression she’s shown her neighbor. She says something and Jake responds, leaning between her and the businessman.
I put the plate down on the bar, the cake suddenly too sweet in my mouth, too cloying. I turn and grab a rack of glasses and a clean towel and start polishing, my back to the room.
Taylor’s closer to Jake in age than I am. She’s twenty-eight, I think? Younger? And she’s interesting. Writes books and articles, travels for work. She’s creative and talented and gorgeous, with the kind of long, lean body I always wished I had instead of this overblown hourglass I was gifted with at adolescence.
They’d be perfect together. He’s big and tall and dark and she’s slender, strong. Smart as hell. And sweet, too. I mean, I really like her and I’m not easy to please.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out.
There’s a text from an unknown number. I open it and read.
Kitty. This is Clark. I’ve had to resort to going through someone else’s phone, since you’ve apparently blocked me. I wanted to do this amicably, but you’re making it impossible. I’ve talked it over with Lily and the lawyer and everyone agrees that we can’t settle as is. The restaurant’s too valuable and we’re not finished here until the assets are re-evaluated. Please, let’s have a chat. That’s all I’m asking. Call me on this number.
I shove the phone away. Asshole.Asshole.
He’s “giving” me the restaurant in the negotiations. Big quotation marks there, since I’m the one who built the place from the ground up. He’ll be demanding half my grandmother’s house next. I put him through fucking grad school, supported him through the PhD, and his lawyer’s still fighting for more.
Clark was so mad back when I got pregnant. He accused me of all kinds of things I’d never consider doing. The miscarriage, for me, was hell. Clark, though? The bastard was relieved.
Now here he is, all excited to be a daddy.
God,god, why did I stay with him?
Despite myself, I let my eyes lift to the antiqued mirror behind the bar. Unerringly, I seek Jake out. He’s still there, bent toward Taylor. Gorgeous, young, easy-going Taylor. Her body language is a full 360 from what it was with the disappointed-looking tech bro. She’s got a hand in her gleaming hair, her lips half pursed, half smiling, eyes wide as she stares up at him. And who can blame her? Jake looks almost unreal with how big he is, how wide and solid, striking with all that ink crawling out from under his chef’s coat. And then there’s that face. A living challenge. A fascinating map of too many years packed into too little time.
I’ll betshewouldn’t make him do it in the dark.
