I swivel my head in his direction, unable to read his tone. His gaze remains on his phone, but his words are a delayed punch in the face. His plea about not wanting to create a bigger stir rings in my ears.
Dammit.
I sit a little taller, resting my arms on the table as I try to relax and not make this worse for either of us. “So, Carly, your chef, will see me sitting beside you and think, what? That I want to kill her?” My sarcasm slips out before I can squash it.
His smile returns. “She might.” He takes a drink. “But I’ll introduce you as my. . .friend.”
“Friend?”
He sets his phone on the table, angling himself to face me. “Look, we can do this any way you want. People will make assumptions. If word spreads that we’re dating or hooking up or whatever story they want to spin bothers you, then maybe we need to rethink this whole thing.”
I lean back at his assertion, and his arm brushes me as he removes it from my chair. Tracker’s words kick me straight in the gut.
You quit running and hiding a long time ago. This is it. This is the final piece that will set you free.
The door swings open, and a woman steps through in flowy, high-waisted turquoise pants and a fitted white top with a large purse over her shoulder. She pushes sunglasses on top of her head to hold back her shoulder-length, curly, dark brown hair. She smiles and waves at Cole, her eyes snagging on me, but only for a second before she proceeds to the counter.
Carly. She’s tall, of medium build, and pretty. She holds herself confidently as she orders, reminding me a bit of Vanessa. I’m waiting to see how she interacts with the man sitting beside me.
I force out the breath I was stifling for comfort. “I’m sorry,” I offer quickly.
He turns to look at me, but my eyes stay trained on the woman at the counter.
“This is new for me.” Vulnerability is a real bitch. “Whatever assumptions are made will be fine, and I’ll. . .try not to look like all happiness has been sucked from the earth or like I’m going to kill someone.”
There’s silence from the man next door.
But then I hear, “Even if they think you’re my girlfriend or that we’re sleeping together or whatever else they try to sell?”I hear the hesitancy in his question. “Because as soon as Carly walked in, she probably thought—”
“It’s fine.”
He glances at me, likely wondering if it really is fine, but it has to be.
Carly swipes her drink from the counter and joins us.
No wedding ring.
“Hi.” Her tone is peppy as she slides out a chair and takes a seat across from Cole. Her dark brown eyes are bright, and her smile remains as they shift to me.
“Hey, Carly. This is Ryder. She’s—”
“We’re living together,” I blurt, jumping in like I bust through doors.
In my peripheral vision, Cole has turned into a sloth. His attention shifts to me, so slowly, but I can’t look at him. I sense the subtle curl of his lips, which I have no doubt turns into a grin that would make any other woman’s stomach do a flying somersault.
Carly’s eyes grow wide before her mouth lifts into an uncomfortable smile.
Is it my awkward bluntness or that she doesn’t like the idea of me living with him?
Cole clears his throat, recovering quickly, and gets down to business. “So, you have next month’s menu and wanted to discuss some new options?”
Carly dips her freckled nose, fumbling around in her bag, and pulls out several folders. She lays them in front of Cole and walks him through some kind of package details. I don’t miss the way she watches him as he reads over the material.
I sip my coffee and divide my attention between the room, the door, and her, but I sense her inspecting me when she doesn’t think I’m paying attention.
“Here’s the new menu I’ve put together.” Carly hands over an iPad. “As always, it includes all of your specifications. I already selected your favorites, but we can add some variety if you’d like.”
Cole takes the tablet and scrolls. He leans into my space, oblivious or ignoring Carly’s eagle eyes. “Are you going to let me buy your meals?” He looks at me, that smirk reappearing.
