23. Eric
— ? —
Eric
It’s after midnight when I get to the restaurant.
I told myself I was coming to check inventory. To review the new supplier contracts. To do any of the hundred things a responsible owner does.
I’m lying.
The restaurant is dark except for the kitchen lights. I let myself in through the back, expecting silence.
Instead, I find her.
Valentina is restocking shelves, still in her uniform, hair falling out of its ponytail. She’s reaching for something on a high shelf, stretching on her toes, and the motion pulls her shirt up just enough to reveal a strip of bare skin at her lower back.
I stop breathing.
“Need help with that?”
She startles. Turns. Her eyes go wide when she sees me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
“Restocking. Someone has to do it.”
“At midnight?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” She crosses her arms. “Your turn.”
“Couldn’t sleep either.”
We stare at each other across the kitchen. The air feels charged. Electric. Like the moment before a storm breaks.
“Let me help,” I say, moving closer. “What do you need from up there?”
“The big serving bowls. Third shelf.”
I step behind her. Reach up. My chest presses against her back, and I feel her go still.
I don’t move.
Neither does she.
Three seconds. Five. Ten. My arm is extended, hand closed around the bowl, but I’m not pulling it down. I’m frozen, consumed by the warmth of her body against mine, the smell of her shampoo, the way her breathing has gone shallow and fast.
“Eric.”
“Yeah.”
“The bowl.”
I pull it down. Set it on the counter. But I don’t step back.
She turns. We’re chest to chest now, barely an inch between us. Her eyes are dark. Her lips are parted.
She reaches up like she’s going to fix my collar.
Instead, her finger traces the vein in my neck, from my jaw down to where my pulse is hammering against my skin.
I catch her wrist. Press her palm flat over my heart.
“Feel that?” My voice comes out rough. Wrecked. “This is what you do to me. Every fucking shift. Every time you walk past me. Every time you look at me like you’re looking at me right now.”
Her hand trembles against my chest.
“We can’t,” she whispers.
“I know.”
“The rules.”
“I know.”
“If we do this, everything changes.”
“It’s already changed, Valentina. It changed the night you climbed into my lap and ran away.
It changed every time I watched you work and wanted to drag you into the back and kiss you until you forgot your own name.
It changed every single moment I’ve spent wanting you and not being able to have you. ”
Her eyes are bright. Wet. She looks terrified.
“I can’t make another mistake,” she says. “I gave everything to Sebastian and he destroyed me. What if-”
“I’m not him.”
“You could be.”
“I could be. But I’m not.” I release her wrist. Step back.
Give her room. “I’m not going to push you.
I’m not going to make you do anything you’re not ready for.
But I need you to know that I’m not playing games.
I’m not looking for a distraction. I want you.
All of you. And I’ll wait as long as you need me to. ”
She stares at me for a long moment.
Then she snatches her hand back and walks out.
***
Valentina
I make it to my car before I start shaking.
The drive home is a blur. The motel room is cold. Empty. Full of echoes.
I lock the door. Stand there in the dark.
His heartbeat under my palm. The look in his eyes. The way he said I’ll wait as long as you need me to.
Sebastian never waited. Sebastian took what he wanted and made me believe I wanted it too. Sebastian made promises with his mouth while his hands were busy breaking everything we’d built.
Eric keeps his hands at his sides. Eric gives me room. Eric waits.
I turn on the shower. Strip off my clothes. Step under water that’s too hot and let it scald my skin.
My hands are shaking. My whole body is shaking.
I press my forehead against the tile. Close my eyes.
I think about his hands. Those veins that stand out when he grips a wine glass. Long fingers that once pressed my cut thumb like I was something breakable. I think about those hands on my waist, on my thighs, sliding up my back to unhook my bra.
My hand slides between my legs.
I think about his mouth on my throat in the car. His voice rough in my ear: Tell me to stop. The sound he made when I rolled my hips.
I think about him on his knees. His mouth where my hand is now. His eyes looking up at me while he takes me apart.
I come hard and silent, biting my wrist so the neighbors won’t hear his name.
It’s not enough.
It’s never enough.