“Thank you,” is muffled by charcoal wool.
Yet he hears me. He heard me.
Chapter 11 - Iosif
The gold bell above the door jingles when I walk into The Great Escape.
She’s right there, fiddling with the coffee machine. Looking unbelievable in a brown sweater that clings to every curve. The machine hisses. She turns around with a proud grin, mug in hand.
Janella has come a long way.
Though I doubt she’d believe me, repurchasing the café for her had been a whim. So, imagine my surprise when it makes my pride shine to see Janella bloom in the wake of it.
For weeks now, I’ve honored the vow I swore to myself the morning after my slip.
I dragged her into a new life; it’s best that I back off and let her live it. There’s plenty of trusted security to keep an eye on her. I should be focusing on surveilling Viktor Zakharov.
Our paths still cross over and over.
Janella seeks me out, excitedly chattering about plans. Cajoling me into sitting down with her for at least one meal a day. Asking for my opinions. When I try to brush her off, telling her I’m no interior design expert, it backfires. What starts as her asking Gela for her number turns into coming home to often find some combination of the girls in the penthouse. One of them is usually in tears from laughing too hard.
Six weeks have flown by in no time at all.
Each day, I discover something new about her.
Past her resilience and sweetness, there is so much more to her.
I see her determination and drive. Quick wit and a sense of humor—and a habit of laughing at her own jokes before she’s through telling them. An ability to ask for help. Endless and profound appreciation for anyone’s time, effort, or even consideration.
Necessary or not, it isn’t easy to stay away from her.
When she insists that I come check out the café that’s become her pride and joy, how the fuck am I supposed to turn her down?
After all, a man’s got to eat lunch.
“Iosif, hey!”
Her face lights up like I’ve just made her entire day.
I’m so fucked.
She passes off the beverage to a barista, wiping her hands on her apron as she makes her way to me. “You came,” she says warmly.
I shove my hands into my coat pockets to keep them the fuck off of her.
“I’m a man of my word.”
She nods seriously, ushering me toward a table.
“I know you are. You’ve just been busy, that’s all! I’m glad you came.” She cajoles me into a seat like I’m not twice her size. “So? What do you think?”
It would have been impossible not notice how hard she’s worked on this. I almost felt bad about myself, watching her study the business diligently. From the nuances of coffee to handling the books, there’s nothing Janella hasn’t committed to mastering.
Obviously, the place is spectacular.
Despite how saturated the coffee chain scene is in Boston, she’s already got a couple of customers in the middle of the day. That says plenty about her customer service skills.
“Enchanting,” I tell her.
