Oliver purrs louder, as if in agreement, and I close my eyes, willing myself to believe it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It's been six weeks, three days, and a handful of hours since I last saw Caine. The acute pain of his absence has dulled to a persistent ache, something I've learned to live with, like a phantom limb.
I've managed to carve out some semblance of normalcy in the day-to-day chaos of my life, but normalcy is a fickle friend—it never fully chases away the shadows of what could have been. Little Oliver has kept me occupied and has filled a little bit of the hole Caine left in my heart.
I'm restocking the shelves below the bar, the scent of cleaning solution mingling with the faint musk of stale beer, when I feel the air shift.
It's a peculiar sensation, like the world has suddenly stilled, all the noise and clatter of mythoughts silenced by a single, heart-stopping presence.
I rise, a case of whiskey in my arms, and there he is—Caine Hall—sitting at the bar as if he's never been away. His posture is the picture of casual elegance, one arm draped over the back of the stool, the other resting on the polished mahogany.
The sight of him steals my breath away. He's like a fever dream come to life, all sharp angles and soft edges, gorgeous as ever in his fitted black shirt.
“I’m sorry… I just couldn't stay away," he says softly, and his voice is a balm to my bruised soul, and instantly rekindles the fire I've been trying so hard to extinguish.
Just like that.
It takes less than a second.
Fuck.
I'm speechless, my mouth dry, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribcage.
He tells me he's missed me, that he can't stop thinking about me. The admission makes my stomach ache with a complicated mixture of longing and guilt.
His green eyes hold mine, unwavering and intense, as if he's trying to memorize every flicker of emotion crossing my face.
I grip the edge of the bar to steady myself, the cool mahogany beneath my fingertips the only thing anchoring me to reality.
"I've tried," he continues after one of his characteristic pauses, his voice a low, honeyed rumble that seems to vibrate through my very bones. "God knows I've tried to forget you, Jenna."
The way he says my name—slow and deliberate, like he's savoring each syllable—sends shivers cascading down my spine.
I watch, transfixed, as his long fingers trace patterns on the bar top, remembering all too vividly how those same fingers had once traced patterns on my skin. How they’d once made me come.
The memory alone is enough to make my breath catch, to make the familiar warmth of desire pool low in my belly despite all my internal protests.
"S-same," I finally whisper, the word barely audible.
His eyes darken with an intensity that makes my knees weak, the green in them deepening to the color of a forest at dusk. The subtle change is mesmerizing, hypnotic even.
He leans forward, closing the distance between us. I can smell that sweet, delicious, familiar scent, so distinctly him. The air between us crackles with unspoken promises, with possibilities I shouldn't even be considering.
My wedding ring feels suddenly heavy on my finger, a weight of responsibility I'm dangerously close to betraying.
I step back, overwhelmed.
I need to lighten things up.
“Um… thank you so much for Oliver, by the way.”
“Oliver?”
“That’s what we named him… the kitten you gifted us,” I explain. “We can’t thank you enough… he’s so sweet and perfect, and Liam loves him so much.”
A huge smile stretches across his face. “I knew he’d be perfect for you.”
