FRIGG. THAT.
Does he think that fucking me in his home somehow makes me his? Is that why he tried to keep me there? That is not our freaking arrangement.
I am not anyone’s side piece.
Rage propels me through the small apartment, grabbing a scarf and shoving my feet into slippers along the way. I’m wearing just my shortie pajamas and when I stomp down the stairs to the restaurant and out the front door, the cold hits me like a punishment.
I don’t care. I stalk down the block toward the SUV, my arms crossed tight over my chest. No idea what I’m going to say to him, but I’m so freaking angry it doesn’t matter.
He’s 50 yards away, then 40 then 30. At 20 yards, I can see the outline of someone in the driver seat through the tinted glass. My heartbeat is everywhere at once: in my throat, behind my eyes. I walk faster. Ten yards to go.
He pulls away.
But not fast like I startled him. The SUV rolls forward slowand unhurried in a smooth, deliberate arc, and as it passes me, the window slides down two inches, just enough for his eyes to find mine through the gap. Calm, dark and totally freaking infuriating.
I stand there for a few seconds, watching his tail lights, my breath coming in visible puffs, then let out a frustrated little scream and head back to the Arsenal and to my apartment, for another cup of coffee and actual clothes. I have to get to work.
**
Lunch service is good, better than good. We’re consistently full now, even in winter, even after the opening-night novelty has passed. My regulars are beginning to emerge: the couple from the fourth floor of the building two doors down who order the same thing every Tuesday, the journalist who takes the corner table and always asks for a second bread basket, the book club that takes over the big round booth in the back on Friday afternoons.
I love them all. I love knowing their orders before they give them. I love that they’re becoming my people.
We haven’t been open long when I see him. Vin is sitting at a small table by the window, menu untouched on the table. He sits up straight in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, knees wide, his jaw hard, his eyes mean.
I glare at him and turn away, waving Marco over. When he’s beside me, I nod in Vin’s direction. “Ignore him. Make sure the wait staff does not serve him or speak to him. Direct them that ifhe tries to talk to them that they should politely tell him to leave. If he does anything that makes anyone uncomfortable, call me.”
Every move I make, I can feel his gaze on me. It’s like a weight, pulling me toward him. I feel like I’m fighting a physical force, refusing to look in his direction. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
Gavin comes in just before 1pm and takes a seat at the bar. He always seems to look for ways to make things easier for me, to support without being intrusive, never taking it personally if I get busy. The exact opposite of Vin, who doesn’t rest until he’s figured out how to be the most aggressively disruptive he can be.
“The duck is incredible,” Gavin says, gesturing to his plate.
“Cherry gastrique,” I say smiling. “One of my favorites.”
He dips a piece of the duck into the sauce and holds it out to me. “Want a bite?”
I can practically feel Vin behind me, puffing up twice his size, as Gavin tries to feed me. Part of me wants to make him watch. The other wants my restaurant to stay standing.
Smiling, I shake my head at him. I don’t think he’s seen Vin yet, and I don’t want him to. Since I can’t explain why he’s there, I don’t want to try yet again to tell Gavin how Vin is no one to me. He already doesn’t believe me.
Before I can stop myself, I glance over my shoulder and get snared by Vin’s gaze. We stare at each other for a long moment. Everything in the restaurant seems to disappear. The clatter of dishes quiets to nothing along with the low murmur of conversation. Everything outside the light haloing Vin evaporates. It’s just us, his anger, and my resentment as timedisappears. Then Gavin clears his throat, pulling me back to the present.
“You okay?” He asks, watching me in concern. “You seem kind of… unfocused.”
That’s one way to put it. I shake my head, my hand resting gently on his forearm for a moment. “Yes, fine. But I need to get some work done in the back.”
Gavin gives me an understanding nod. “Of course. I’ll finish up here and head out so I don’t bother you.”
“Thanks,” I say, genuinely grateful, and hoping that without me to stare at, Vin will move on as well.
The rest of the lunch service passes quickly. I direct the kitchen staff on how to prep for dinner and take care of few things in my office, before finally taking off my apron. I have a couple of hours before dinner begins and I want to rest before I get started.
I pause before pushing through the kitchen door and heading out to the dining area, taking a deep breath to steady myself. I need not have worried. When I step out into the open space, almost all the tables are empty. Including Vin’s.
My shoulders relax, and I head up the stairs to my apartment. It’s quiet, if a little messy, always a safe haven from the chaos downstairs.
I drop my keys on the hook by the door and slip my shoes off, running one hand over the back of my neck where it’s tight.
