Chapter 10
Ramzi stepped into the coffee shop and scanned the room. No Tabitha yet.
He walked to the counter and ordered two drinks—black coffee for himself and a latte for her. He grabbed several sweeteners before settling into a seat near the window, both to watch the passing foot traffic and to catch sight of her the moment she arrived.
That last interaction between them still played on repeat in his mind. Her blush. Stacy’s comment about her having “a thing” for him over the years. Not a crush. A thing. Interesting.
He sipped his coffee, barely settled, when the bell over the door jingled. Ramzi looked up.
The overly made-up woman from the sidewalk earlier strolled in. She looked far less pregnant now than she had that morning. Her clothes were tighter—jeans clinging to her hips, a scoop-neck tee framing breasts that were clearly on display. The belly she’d so proudly rubbed earlier? Gone.
Very interesting.
She sauntered to the counter and ordered a small coffee, glancing over her shoulder at him with a coy smile while the barista worked behind her.
Ramzi considered signaling to his security team, who sat scattered around the café.
But no—he wanted to see what she’d do. This woman had gone to too much effort to change her look.
Let her deliver whatever message she’d rehearsed.
Sure enough, she moved closer to his table, her hips swaying with practiced “charm”. “Hey there,” she said with a sugary tone, coffee cup in one hand, the other twirling a strand of hair. “May I join you?”
He didn’t answer before she slid into the seat across from him. Her hand nudged the latte he’d ordered for Tabitha, nearly knocking it off the table. She leaned forward, cleavage pushed high, desperation radiating from her pores.
“I’m Leandra.”
Ramzi said nothing.
“I’ve heard so much about you,” she purred.
Still nothing.
“You know, Tabitha isn’t really… your type.” Her voice dropped into a breathy murmur. “She doesn’t know how to meet your needs.” Her lashes fluttered in a practiced pantomime of seduction. “I could satisfy you so much better.”
He simply stared, unmoved. Her cheap makeup, too-tight clothes, and false confidence were almost painful to witness.
She leaned closer. “I think she’s a virgin,” she whispered dramatically. “She wouldn’t know how to really get your engines going.”
Ramzi rolled his eyes. “You need to leave.”
She stared at him for a long moment, her coy smile stiffening as his rebuke slowly sunk into her brain. Then she blinked. “Wait—what?”
“I’m not interested.”
There was a beat of stunned silence before she rallied, that fake smile coming back, brighter now. “You just don’t know how fun I can be. Why don’t we—”
“No.” His patience vanished. He leaned in, his voice sharp. “Honey, you sound like a cheap hooker trying to get fifty bucks out of a ‘John’. I don’t think that’s what you’re aiming for, so maybe try a different script.”
Her face paled, her makeup turning chalky.
He didn’t stop. “If I hear you say one more word against Tabitha or her family, I will personally ruin your world.” His voice dropped lower. “And believe me, I won’t even have to try.”
“But—”
“Out,” he snapped, flicking his fingers in dismissal.
She froze, then gave a snort of fury and stood abruptly.
Her chair screeched. She left the coffee behind and stalked toward the door, walking with far more ease than any pregnant woman he’d ever known.
From what he’d seen, the first trimester came with exhaustion and nausea, and by the second, the women in his family guarded their baby bumps like a priceless treasure.
By five months in, there was no hiding it—nor moving with that kind of speed.
Her act had been a poor one.
So, what game was Leandra playing?
Besides the obvious attempt to steal him from Tabitha—just like she’d stolen that sorry excuse for an ex-fiancé…Marvin? Martin? Whatever.
Speak of the devil.
The coffee shop door slammed open, the little brass bell above it clanging with the force of it. In stomped Martin, his scuffed shoes squeaking slightly against the polished floor. His jaw was clenched, face blotchy with fury and something less definable—shame, perhaps.
Well, this should be entertaining, Ramzi thought, casually lifting his coffee for another sip.
“You’re not good enough for her!” Martin burst out, his voice carrying through the café like a slap.
Ramzi didn’t respond. Just raised an eyebrow, calm as stone. The scent of roasted beans mingled with cinnamon rolls and tension. Martin puffed up like a toad, taking a step closer.
“Did you hear me?” he snapped, face flushing a deeper red. “You’re not good enough for Tabitha! She’s…she’s smart and kind and decent!”
Still no response. Ramzi tilted his head slightly, cool and unbothered, letting Martin’s fury sputter and fizzle.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the door open again. A shaft of sunlight fell across the worn wood floor, and in stepped Tabitha. Her dark hair cast glints of gold in the light, cheeks pink from the breeze or maybe from catching the scene in front of her.
“Martin, what the hell are you doing?”
Martin spun around. His entire posture deflated the moment his eyes locked on hers.
His mouth opened, but no words came. He looked small—shrunken, even—as Ramzi stood from his seat with deliberate grace.
The difference in height and build wasn’t subtle.
Martin’s bravado dissolved under the weight of that quiet power.
But Ramzi didn’t raise a fist. Didn’t speak. He simply stepped forward and kissed her.
It wasn’t showy. Not overt. Just a light brush of his lips against hers, a whisper of a claim. But in that one act, he silenced the room. Even the espresso machine seemed to quiet.
Tabitha stilled in his arms, then melted just slightly, her fingers tightening around the latte cup he handed her. Her cheeks flushed, soft and pretty, and her lashes fluttered as she looked up at him.
“I got you a latte,” he said smoothly, voice low. “Would you take me on that tour of the town now?”
Her voice was breathy when she replied, “Of course.” She clutched the drink to her chest, the warmth of it curling around her fingers. The sleeves of her cardigan were now draped over her shoulders, her bare arms tinged with the pink of sun exposure.
“Just point the way,” he said, pressing a warm palm to the small of her back. He gave Martin a brief nod—more dismissal than greeting—and led Tabitha toward the door. He lifted his coffee in salute to the baristas behind the counter, who stood frozen in gleeful, wide-eyed silence.
Martin made the mistake of doubling down.
“You can’t do this to her!” he shouted after them, voice cracking slightly.
Ramzi didn’t even glance back. He held the door open for Tabitha, the sunlight flaring behind them like a scene in a movie.
The man should’ve been paying attention to his wife, not chasing ghosts. Maybe then Leandra wouldn’t be sniffing around strangers, slathered in drugstore perfume and desperation. But that wasn’t Ramzi’s problem.
Tabitha was.
And he wasn’t going to make the same mistake.
Once outside, the warmth of the day pressed gently down, the scent of lilacs drifting from a nearby garden. He removed his sunglasses from his pocket and slid them on as they walked.
“So,” he said, low and smooth, “what’s so special about Hendersonville?”
She gave a one-shouldered shrug. “There’s not much that’s unique.”
“There’s a waterfall,” he said pointedly. “Take me there.”
She laughed, tossing him a sidelong glance. “You really can’t stop being bossy, can you?”
He grinned, slow and unapologetic, the light catching on his sunglasses. “Not a chance.” He tipped back the last of his coffee and dropped the empty cup into a bin they passed.
“It’s much more fun to be in charge.” His hand slid gently up her back, fingers brushing her spine. “And don’t worry,” he murmured, “you’ll understand that soon.”
Ramzi felt the tremor ripple through her and his satisfaction intensified.
She didn’t say a word, just turned and led him away from the center of town, her steps steady but silent.
A few blocks down, a paved trailhead opened into the woods.
The trees pressed in, offering shade and a welcome break from the sun overhead.
They chatted easily for a while. Tabitha filled him in on the wedding chaos she’d picked up while catching up with Stacy and her mother.
Ramzi, in turn, mentioned Leandra’s unexpected visit—carefully leaving out the more vulgar elements—but made sure to note how the woman had made her dislike for Tabitha very clear.
“Why is that?” he asked as they walked deeper into the greenery. “Feels like more than just the fact she stole your fiancé.”
Tabitha sighed and pushed her sunglasses up onto the top of her head now that the trail was shaded by tall trees. “I honestly don’t know. She was a year behind us in high school, so there was no overlap with classes. Martin and I were in the advanced track, while she…wasn’t.”
Ramzi lifted a brow. “So how did she steal him from you?”
Her mouth twisted in discomfort. “I’m still not sure how it started,” she said, stepping carefully over a downed tree limb. “One day, Stacy and I were planning my wedding. The next, I walked in on Leandra and Martin…together.”
He turned to look at her, and she gave him a flat smile.
“In the church coat closet,” she added with a straight face.
His bark of laughter caught her off guard, and she glanced up, startled. But the sound—so rare and full—was beautiful. It lit up his whole face, his shoulders relaxed for once, his usual sharp focus melting into something lighter. That warmth slid through her chest like sunlight.
“In the church?” he repeated, clearly amused.
“Yep. And to make things even worse, several people were waiting in line to get their coats at the time.” She gave a rueful little shake of her head. “It was…awkward.”
He sobered slightly. “Were you upset?”