Chapter 30 Kairo
KAIRO
Something’s off.
Three days ago, I had the greatest night of my life in bed with Devon.
She saw all of me and I saw all of her.
I thought that meant something between us was changing and a new beginning was happening.
Everything about the bakery and the marriage seemed to be falling into place because the woman I’ve fallen head over heels for likes me back.
But something isn’t right.
My fingers glide over the intricate stitching of the tablecloth at the quiet restaurant I’ve chosen to meet Devon for dinner.
I visited earlier that day because she hadn’t been returning my calls, but she’d been different.
Cold.
Withdrawn.
She kept her distance from me even as I spent a few minutes talking to her father about my plans over Christmas.
So I invited her to dinner, hoping the privacy will give us a moment to talk.
She’s late.
None of my texts have been answered either.
It’s impossible to stop my mind from running.
Maybe that night wasn’t amazing for her.
Did I push her too far?
Was I too rough?
Too demanding?
Should I have done less?
While everything felt perfect in the moment, something is clearly off.
The worry sits like an unsettled weight in my gut, rolling back and forth each time I shift my stance in the chair with my eyes glued to the door.
Still no Devon.
No text either.
Outside, my car sits across the street and I’m hyper-aware that Martin can see me sitting here by myself.
It amplifies the feelings of being pathetic so I distract myself with the menu until the door creaks and Devon finally arrives.
But she doesn’t look like herself.
Her hair is scraped back from her face into a messy ponytail that gathers in the hood of her sweater.
Her bulky clothes mostly hide her from view, and she hurries up to the table and takes her seat like she’s got somewhere to be immediately after this.
There’s no smile, no warmth, and certainly no touch.
“Sorry I’m late,” Devon says, perching on the chair. “Busy day.”
“You don’t need to apologize for that.”
Lowering the menu, my head tilts.
How do I approach this without scaring her away?
How do I stop my anxieties from invading the logical reasons that something has changed with her in the days we’ve been apart?
“How are you?”
“I’m good. You?” She picks up the water glass and gulps down a few mouthfuls.
“I’m fine. Work is understandably hectic. A lot of unhappy people at the closure of the apartment deal, but something I’m happy to deal with.”
“Good. Good.”
Devon looks smaller somehow.
Like something has deflated her, and my anxieties slowly calm only to be replaced by intense worry.
“Devon?”
“Mmhmm?” She glances up at me, her eyes lacking the warmth I’ve come to appreciate.
“Something is wrong.”
Her brows lift and she looks at me fully this time, then her eyes dart across my shoulders. “Are you sick?”
Her concern for me would be warming if I wasn’t so worried about her. “No, I’m fine, Devon. But I think something is wrong with you.”
Her brows dip. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. You’re different. You can barely look at me.
You won’t stand near me. Earlier when I dropped by, you gave the impression that you just wanted me to leave.
Now… I understand that what we did after the gala was a huge step for you, and it will take time to process.
If I’ve done something to hurt you, upset you, or make you feel unsafe in any way, please don’t hesitate to tell me.
Surely, I deserve that kind of honesty after everything we’ve been through. ”
“I’m fine,” Devon replies instantly. “I’m just tired. Christmas is at the end of the week and it’s exhausting getting everything done.”
She speaks honestly, but I don’t believe her.
She doesn’t meet my eyes and her hands twist together then drop down beneath the table.
What did I do?
Pressing the issue feels like a bad idea, but I can’t stop myself.
This jarring change is sending constant twitches up my spine and I need to know if I’ve ruined the one good thing that came into my life.
“Did I go too far when we were together?”
Devon freezes and shakes her head so quickly that she almost dislodges her ponytail from its home in her hood.
“Not at all!”
“Did something happen at the doctor’s? Are you unwell?”
“Low iron,” she replies instantly. “Nothing serious.”
“Then what changed?” As I lean forward, I raise my hand to deter the waiter I spot beelining toward our table. Thankfully, they get the hint and immediately do a one-eighty.
“Kairo—”
“Don’t I deserve honesty? I thought we—”
Catching myself, I press my lips together.
“Please don’t lie to me. When I last saw you, you couldn’t keep your hands off me, and you were smiling and happy.
Now, you’re acting like you can’t stand to be around me and it doesn’t matter what it is, even if it’s small, I can take it. And I will work on it.”
“Kairo!” She raises her voice slightly, silencing me. “It’s not… It’s not what you think. It’s not you, not at all. You’ve been nothing but kind and lovely and so decent to me.”
“Then what is it?”
Her lips remain parted as she hovers over words she can’t say.
Whatever is stopping her is obviously heavy and important enough that she just can’t blurt it out.
My chest tightens.
All my life, I’ve dealt with this kind of attitude switch from my mother.
Warm one moment and then inexplicably cold the next, with no way for me to fix it.
It left me walking on eggshells as a teen and now, as an adult, I’ve spent my years aiming to be direct and honest with everyone to combat those kinds of reactions.
Now Devon gives me the same feeling.
“It’s complicated,” she murmurs, her gaze falling to her lap. She pushes one hand through her hair. “I had a really good time with you at the gala, and afterward. But it made me forget.”
“Forget what?”
“We’re from different worlds, Kairo. And mine is just… You made me feel like I was living in this perfect dream, and I enjoyed it. It was supposed to be just business, remember? I let myself get sucked into this fantasy that you and I could actually be—”
She halts and when she looks at me, tears shine in her eyes. “I can’t put you through this.”
“Through what?” The tightness in my chest increases tenfold and my next breaths are overwhelmingly strained. “Devon, please just talk to me.”
Her eyes shine more as the tears build and her lips part.
For a moment, it feels like the truth really is balancing on her tongue.
Then a shadow falls over the table and my concern for Devon morphs into deep irritation that the waiter couldn’t wait a few more minutes.
As I lock eyes with the pale green eyes of the stranger, something shifts at the table.
The air grows colder.
Devon becomes rigid in her seat as a man looms over our table.
He wears a dirty-gray jacket with a green T-shirt underneath and low-slung jeans.
His face is covered in pockmarks and scars that lead up to his close-shaven, almost bald hairline.
“Can I help you?” Every drop of my irritation goes into those words, but there’s something else too.
Devon’s reaction immediately puts me on edge so I lift my hand and run three fingers through my hair.
“Nah,” the stranger replies, giving me one sneering glance and then focusing all his attention on Devon. “Let’s go.”
She doesn’t move.
She’s staring intently at the single rose within the small vase in the middle of the table as if she’s frozen in time.
She doesn’t speak.
“We’re in the middle of something,” I say, lowering my tone. “So if you don’t mind, I’d greatly appreciate it if you left us to it.”
“Oh, my bad.”
The stranger turns to me with a smirk, popping obnoxiously on some gum while placing both hands on his chest. “You’re having dinner with my wife and I’m the one who’s supposed to leave?”
Wife?
My attention splits between him and Devon as her brows twitch together and she still doesn’t move a muscle.
“Wife?” I manage to say.
“Yeah, buddy. I’m Axel.”
He sticks out a hand with warped fingers from too many breaks and a few scars along the joints. “I’m Devon’s husband.”