Chapter 6
Sloane
I’m not much of a leaf turner, as the saying goes, but I don’t like tense silence. I’m okay with quiet, just as long as it’s the right kind.
Despite the late night, I’m far too used to getting up early to open the café to sleep in. I find Cruz exactly where I knew that he’d be—sitting in one of the wooden chairs in the kitchen, watching the door, his phone right in front of him.
It’s clear that he didn’t sleep. Doesn’t he need a break? He isn’t really superhuman, is he?
I’ve showered, brushed my teeth, put on my usual bare minimum of makeup, picked out today’s sweater, and I still have half an hour to spare before I need to print out a sign and go stick it on the door downstairs. I think. I still haven’t decided if it’s the right move yet.
I pull out a frying pan and my big green mixing bowl and get to work making a batch of pancakes. The least I can do after this man sat up all night long, is feed him breakfast and give him a cup of coffee. After the batter is mixed, I get a second pan heating for bacon and eggs.
I can feel Cruz’s eyes on me, burning a hole in my back.
The tense silence gets more oppressive. “I’m not sure that closing down the café is the right call,” I find myself saying, facing the window over near the stove.
“Liam never said that he’s not planning on going to work at the garage, so I assume that the club is okay with life going on as normal?
Then again, that’s them. They’re likely used to handling threats of all variety.
” I freeze with two eggs in my hand, halfway to the sizzling frying pan.
“Liam probably didn’t want to tell me anything because he was worried I didn’t want to hear it. ”
“Hmm.”
There’s that noise again, the low hum that’s almost a growl. I don’t like how the sound moves through me as a shiver that ends up in my belly.
“Should you call someone and ask?”
I get the eggs cracked and go back for another two, and have them frying, as well as a big scoop of batter into the other pan, before Cruz makes a sound. Not that I’m expecting him to. “I was thinking we should go to the clubhouse this morning. All three of us, to check in.”
I drop an egg in shock. I scramble to pick it up, goop leaking out of the crack in the shell. I’m very glad that I’m not facing Cruz so that I don’t have to worry about what my face is doing.
“You can meet some of the others. Maybe see that not everyone is bad. And you could ask all of your questions. After, I could show you the club’s gym.
When I started training, I was in charge of redesigning it.
I could teach you some basic self-defense.
I would feel better knowing that you know how to protect yourself, even if it’s not needed because I’m here. ”
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.
Fuck. I’m a barista and I totally forgot about coffee.
“What’s your morning drink order?” I ask Liam, but I glance at Cruz as well. His plate is clean. Should I offer seconds?