Page 14 of Cruz

The words don’t jam up. They don’t run into each other. They sound intentional and almost robotic, as though Cruz spent the entire night rehearsing them.

I don’t want to say yes. Going to the clubhouse is the last thing I want to do. Meeting people? That’s a hard pass. I don’t need to go to thug central to know how thug living works.

Guilt spirals through me. I can’t keep thinking like this. It’s narrowminded and mean. I don’t want to be spiteful. I want to be the kind of person that makes room in my life for more. For different. I want to be able to find the beauty in the darkest moments in my life.

I don’t say anything and keep my back to Cruz. I don’t want him to read my mind. Not yet. I’m still trying to get to the point where I don’t sound like a terribly judgmental person. I don’t want to be ungrateful, bordering on ignorant.

I could say that I’d rather not, and leave it at that, but then Cruz would be—what? Stuck here with me all day? Would he make Liam stay too, and then if I didn’t open the café, we’d be sitting here, all three of us, going crazy with boredom? I could find a dozen jobs that need doing, but I don’t know if Liam would appreciate that, and asking Cruz to do renovations seems like I’d be taking advantage of him. It would likely be a distraction that he wouldn’t appreciate anyway.

I flip the pancake and the eggs, realizing too late that I was supposed to start with bacon. I’m distracted this morning. Very obviously off my game.

When else am I going to get another invite to the clubhouse? If I could talk to the club’s Prez or VP, maybe I could make it clear that I don’t want Liam to patch in. I know that sounds silly, and Liam would hate it, but if I’m polite and list my reasons respectfully, would they hear me out and consider my point of view? Would Liam ever forgive me?

Here I am, wrangling eggs out of the frying pan and throwing in strips of bacon, all while trying to weigh how epically rude that would make me seem. Ungrateful times two. How can I accept the club’s help and tell them I don’t want Liam to join them at the same time?

“Do you want the eggs and first pancake now, or when the bacon’s done? They’ll be cool, since I messed up and cooked them first.”

I still haven’t turned around, afraid of what’s on my face, and maybe of what’s on Cruz’s too, so he’s going to have to use his words.

“Now, please.”

That gruff tone blasts right through me. It’s too early in the morning for this. This, being a muscled beast of a man with thickly lashed slate gray eyes and a bone structure that after careful inspection, trends on the gorgeous side. Too gorgeous for someone who punches people out for a living.

I silence that voice in my head. No thanks. I refuse to let my libido dictate the terms or control my thoughts. Yes, today is a fresh day, but there’s still a big old shit mountain waiting for me to shovel. I don’t need to start going off on a tangent. I repeat my old mantra. People are hot. That’s biology. It’s all good. You can notice. You don’t have to do anything about it. Nothing at all. You’ve got this.

Except, I sure as fuck don’t.

Not even close.

I flip the bacon quickly, then set Cruz’s heaping plate in front of him. I get out the regular condiments—mayo, hot sauce, ketchup, and syrup for the pancakes.

I cross my arms as Cruz picks up the fork. “Fine,” I mutter. “But only because you’re right about me having questions.” I could just leave it at that, but of course my anxious self can’t. “There are things that need to be settled. I doubt any of us got a good sleep and maybe it’s not the right time, but I’m not sure there’s going to be a right time for anything again.” Cruz’s jaw tightens. A vein throbs along his temple all the way up to his forehead. His eyes drill into me, worry lighting up his irises so that they’re almost pale blue.

“The club will take care of things.”

It’s only seven more words but they coil around me like a draft of warm air in the frigid wet cold of winter. I hear the assurance in what Cruz doesn’t say. Don’t worry. It’ll be alright. Everything will be fine. Liam will be okay. The café will be okay. Life will go on.

I don’t argue about him not being able to make promises that he might not be able to keep. He wants to keep them. He likely knows how to do all of this. It was his job at one time. Maybe? What do SEALs actually do? Did he really answer me about being into body guarding at one point as a job? I shouldn’t let myself get absurdly warm and tingly for a stranger.

I left bad decisions, at least when it comes to men, behind me almost two decades ago.

The sizzling hot pans distract me from my little mini-mental-meltdown. I quickly shift the bacon onto a plate, dab it with paper towel, and scoop all the slices onto Cruz’s eggs to warm them up. It would be nice if I let the man have hot food instead of hovering over him like a blustery storm.

I load up the frying pan with more bacon, then quickly walk down the hall to knock on Liam’s door. “Liam? Breakfast will be ready soon.”

A deep groan sounds from inside like a bear coming out of hibernation. “Okay Mom,” he calls back. “Thanks.” Liam’s used to eating at early hours as well, though a lot of the time, I’ll leave something in the fridge for him to heat up or scarf down cold, before I go start prepping and baking down in the café.

I powerwalk back to the kitchen before anything burns. Maybe I shouldn’t be trying to operate hot frying pans when my head is all over the place.

I find Cruz keeping an eye on everything. The pancake pan had enough butter that it’s not burning itself up yet. I add a fresh layer and pour in another giant pancake. By the time it’s ready for flipping, the bacon is done, and I’m able to mix up a bowl of scrambled eggs and get that into the pan.

Liam stumbles into the kitchen and pulls out the chair across from Cruz. He blinks into the mid-century globe pendant light hanging over the table. “It’s early.” His eyes flick between Cruz and me. “Did either of you sleep?”

I don’t know if tossing and turning and having horrific dreams count as sleep, but I nod anyway. Liam’s shoulders slump in relief. I don’t believe in lying to him, and I never have, but there are things that parents have to protect their children from. Maybe I did too much protecting. It’s a fine line. I don’t know. As a mom, I always think I could do better. Loving someone immensely does that. It pushes you.

I scoop a big portion of scrambled eggs and bacon onto Liam’s plate. He immediately smothers the eggs in ketchup, puts mayo on the side to dip the bacon in, and drowns his pancake in syrup.

I eat standing up while I scrape the edges of the bowl to make one last small pancake. I’m not a big morning eater. Once I have my coffee, I’m good for hours.