Displeasure twists Noah’s handsome face as he turns to Joey.
“I believe you. He doesn’t even stick around.” I spit the words out between clenched teeth.
“Right?” Joey says with a broad grin. Noah shoots him a murderous look. If gazes were tangible, Joey’s brain would be splattered all over the unfinished meal. “But don’t worry. Ted will take care of everything, as I said. With my assistance, of course.”
“You don’t want this leper colony reject near us,” Noah says.
“Hey,” Joey protests.
“Come on, Bobbi. Let’s go.” Noah puts a hand on my arm, the feel of his skin on mine sending warm shivers through me. “You and I will have a better time alone with each other. We can catch up and talk about our future.”
“There is noourfuture. There’s onlymyfuture andyourfuture.”
“Joey upset you. I have a reservation at La Mer,” Noah says, mentioning a high-end seafood restaurant that also has a long waiting list.
“No!” I stand up and shake his hand off my arm. “I’m not having dinner with you whenever you decide it’s convenientfor you. We don’t have that kind of relationship. In fact, we don’t have any kind of relationship. We might as well be strangers.”
Noah looks like I just slapped him. And the hint of vulnerability shakes me more than the charming façade he wore this afternoon. But I can’t afford to let myself weaken. Give him an inch, he’ll take five or six miles. I’m not putting myself through such cruel and unusual punishment out of some misguided hope that he’ll be different this time. “It was aninterestingevening. I hope I never run into either of you again.”
“Bobbi,” Noah says. “Look—”
“Wait, we have to hammer out the details!” Joey sounds slightly desperate.
“Better not to. Bring a hammer anywhere near me, and I’ll be forced to kill you with it to save my sanity.”
Chapter Eight
Bobbi
I toss and turn, then punch the pillow next to me hard. Breathing out roughly, I turn on the lamp on the nightstand. The pillow stays dented, like it’s sulking about the unfair treatment it’s received.
“Shit.”I’m personifying inanimate objects,and I only do that when I’m stressed or frazzled. I glare at the clock-radio. 11:23. Way past bedtime. I make it a habit to go to bed at the same time because I have to get up so early to open my bakery.
But sleep eludes me. It’s all Noah’s fault for showing up again after so long and acting like there isn’t anything wrong between us.
I love you, my light.
The easily said confession rips a long, ragged scar into my heart. Do I look so starved for affection that he thinks a carelessly tossed out L-word will make me fall to my knees? Especially when he’s proven—repeatedly—that he has no problem abandoning me and breaking his promises? Just how pathetic does he think I am?
And ruining my vision board? Joey happened because of Noah. I know it. The universe totally got the wrong message when he put his face on the photo I’d so carefully curated.
I feel wounded and frustrated, and my pride bristles. It demands I stop wasting my time trying to get some sleep and just get even.
Except I can’t think of a way.
I trudge to the kitchen to grab some ice water. First step is to cool my temper—fast. Señor Mittens stops in the middle of grooming himself and watches me open the fridge.
“Just getting something to drink,” I say to my cat.
He stares at me, unblinking. He knows I go to bed early.
“It’s Noah. That rat bastard. He comes back into my life, and now I’m so off balance I can’t even sleep.”
Señor Mittens’s eyes narrow into slits.
“So you think he’s a piece of crap, too, right?”
He meows. I don’t speak Cat, but it sounds like ayes.
