Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Elise
H alf an hour left until I could shut down my work and freshen up before heading out to see my friends.
And maybe Luc.
Ugh, Luc.
A man who was apparently my boyfriend now.
In no fantasy of mine had I ever conjured that up. Except, maybe I had imagined those words during the Callum-Luc confrontation? Luc hadn’t mentioned it again, so had I somehow hallucinated it?
For now, I had to finish the handful of tasks remaining in my queue for my virtual assistant job I did to supplement my income. I’d never fooled myself into believing I could quit my job outright when I opened Glazed, but I’d hoped to pull back on hours. Maybe go truly part time. Alas, as we straddled ski and summer seasons, the shoulder season had already confirmed quitting altogether this year was a pipe dream.
At least I still had two part-time employees and one of them, bless her, loved the early Saturday and Sunday starts. The first ten months after opening, I’d been at Glazed every single morning we were open at the crack of dawn. When I hired Marisol and discovered she genuinely wanted those early morning weekend hours, I could’ve cried.
Actually, I totally cried. A lot. Because I’d been stressed and exhausted but also proud and happy, and finally having someone want to take the toughest shifts had been a dream. I didn’t want to go back to the place where I did the jobs of three employees, or what should be more like four during ski season.
Couldn’t a girl just sell perfect donuts by day and read books and sip champagne by night? Was that not a reasonable expectation?
My phone buzzed, and Callum’s name flashed across the screen. It should’ve been silenced altogether during my timed working hours, so I didn’t answer. Zero temptation to talk to the man who’d been hounding me since Luc gave him the old touch her and die.
Gah. I mean… seriously.
Talk about fantasy meeting reality with bubble-shattering swiftness. I had spent so many mornings daydreaming fictional tales about the man, I’d somehow forgotten he was an actual badass. He just looked so… polished. Had it been Jess’s beastly husband sitting there, there would’ve been no forgetting he was a soldier. Even Bruce, who was far more traditionally handsome than Jude, had this look that said he was a little rough around the edges and had maybe once been a man of violence.
A man whose nickname was Cookie? Who’d supposedly spent time modeling and looked every bit like he knew his way around a skincare regimen but magically didn’t need it? The whole “touch her and die” moment shook all my illusions away, and I saw him.
Him.
I couldn’t get distracted with thoughts of sexy Luc yet again or I’d never get this stuff done, and I wanted to run away from my dingy little office and into the loving arms of my friends and a bustling pub and feel like a young professional launching into an exciting weekend instead of a woman strapped with responsibility and worry and an ex who still had his fingers twisted into her life. Call me Carrie Bradshaw and watch me trot across cobblestones in my ridiculous Jimmy Choos for drinks with the gals with my day job far behind me… though I didn’t want Carrie’s life or friends. I loved my girls, even if I didn’t always let them in.
Twenty-seven minutes later, I sent the last email and shut off my timer, submitted my timesheet, and sighed.
My phone lit up again, and I squinted at it as though seeing it this way would make it less dreadful Callum was calling again.
No, you jerk. I’m not selling my shop, and even though you think you can coerce me into it, it ain’t gonna happen.
See? I could be strong up against that egomaniacal tyrant. It just happened to be harder outside of my head.
Exhaling all of those messy thoughts out, I perked up and grabbed the phone, launching from the chair and hustling to the bathroom as I read the group chat pinging away. My friends were hyping each other up, clearly all more than ready for the weekend.
Except Jess, who couldn’t drink or stand the smell of beer, and who was still struggling on and off with severe morning sickness and low energy, poor thing.
Dove called as I pulled out my makeup to give myself a refresh.
“Tell me you’re coming and staying,” she said, her sweet voice ragged through the speaker.
“I am. Are you? Are you sick?” I asked, swiping on some mascara, which I hadn’t bothered with yet today.
“No, just dragging,” she said, then chatted through her day while I continued getting prepped, jumping off once we were both ready to head out.
Why was I putting mascara on to meet my girlfriends? First, there was such a thing as dressing for oneself. Feeling good in one’s skin. Liking the way one looked when one spent a fair amount of time with one’s hair in a ponytail and one’s clothes covered by a bright pink Glazed apron perfumed with the combined scent of fried dough and frosting.
So yes, I wanted to feel a little less schlubby and a little more put together.
But also… Luc would be there.
Our interaction after he’d stepped in with Callum didn’t mean we’d talk or… do anything other than maybe make eye contact a time or two. I hadn’t seen the man since the incident earlier this week. Kind of odd, so maybe he was avoiding me? More likely, he had work obligations pop up. It wasn’t unheard of for him to go a few days between visits to the shop.
If I saw him tonight, not that I was counting on it at all, I’d ask him about the whole calling himself my boyfriend thing. I mean, it was situational, obviously, but it merited a conversation between us. Didn’t it?
Still. Even if he wouldn’t be there tonight, couldn’t a girl want to look decent after a day slogging through boring emails and tasks?
Yes, she could.
Saint Security, Luc’s employer and the entity where a few of my friends, and many of their partners worked, held a weekly cocktail hour where they socialized and let off steam. This worked perfectly since our girl group met at the same time, and many of us had paired off with Saint men to do the whole happily ever after thing.
Nikki, Winnie, Jo, Jess, and now our newest baddie babe Liz were all tethered to Saint men in various states of dating, engagement, marriage, child-growing. And God bless them. May their rings shine brightly and their wombs grow with… fruitfulness? Whatever. I was genuinely thrilled for everyone who’d found their person. Seeing the way these men loved their women gave me hope that good men still existed. Not even hope—it gave me proof.
As I loaded into my car, I reminded myself that it didn’t change the fact that I wasn’t heading down the same path. I thought I’d found the man for me in Callum. He’d had everything going for him, perfect on paper and even at first glance. Good looks, a secure job, the whole slick corporate former frat boy vibe to him. Somehow, I’d convinced myself he was right for me. I’d thought it even when we fought, even when he started finding fault with small things that then turned into essential things like how many moles I had or the size of my feet. I persisted in believing we were right for each other the first time he grabbed my arm so hard it left a bruise within hours. And when he convinced me to give him another try, that he’d changed.
At some point, the ignorance fell away and I said no. It was sometime after Adam nearly took a bullet for Jo, or maybe when my mom took off to Florida with her latest husband. It finally clicked, and I wouldn’t look back.
I wouldn’t get back together with Callum—not again—and I wouldn’t fall for the charming man sweeping me off my feet thing again. I’d even struggled to enjoy romance novels lately, instead favoring thrillers and books on business or time management to the happily ever afters I’d lived off of for years.
I’d quite literally lost that lovin’ feeling, and I honestly didn’t mind. It was more fun—and far less treacherous—to make up stories in my head or watch movies or worry about the fungal spawn causing an apocalypse than anything a real-life man could induce me to.
Shedding those heavy thoughts, I made my way inside Craic, ready to focus on my friends.
“Good to see you, Elise.”
I gasped, Luc’s low, smooth voice sending a thrill up my spine. I turned and braced myself for the sight of him— oof, direct hit— and nodded. “Luc.”
Then I kept walking.
Because lingering near that man was not an option.
The first time since breaking up with Callum I’d felt something in my cold, dead little heart of stone had been for him, and it continued to react like this mattered. Fortunately, I’d learned my heart was not to be trusted when it came to the male species, and therefore I ignored the little floor routine going on in my chest and hustled to the table where my friends were.
Think of the fungal spawn, Elise. Think of the zombies!
“I tell you, that man is just pretty. And I mean that in the most masculine, Calvin Klein underwear model type of way,” Dove said, raising a glass of water to the middle of the table.
Catherine chuckled softly and said nothing but touched her glass to Dove’s. Nikki, Winnie, and Jo laughed and took sips of their drinks but didn’t join in the toast.
“Come on, you know you want to.” Dove waggled her brows and held her glass aloft, waiting.
I grunted, accepted a beer someone had poured, and clinked my glass with hers.
She grinned. “Knew it.”
With a roll of my eyes, I took a long drink. “It’s not like it’s a surprise I’d agree. I have eyes to see. It also means absolutely nothing.”
And that was just it. Luc was beautiful and seemed kind, even, but the hoops I’d have to jump through to get from where I sat rather comfortably in the “single and not at all interested in mingling” to the “actually interested in a human man” spot were endless and therefore impossible.
Dove raised a shoulder, currently adorned in the pretty little boat neck, baby blue cap sleeve of her dress, and agreed. “Of course. But sometimes, it feels good to say true things out loud.”
My gaze cut to hers, but she’d already glanced away, eyes roaming the pub.
“Anyone know when Liz gets back?” Winnie asked, and Jo piped in, explaining her sister’s plans. She’d apparently had to go back to tie up loose ends of her job with some super-secret CIA organization and then she’d be back.
As if on cue, Kenny Carmichael gestured wildly at the Saint table across the room, likely telling some fantastical story with his usual flair. He was either entertaining or looking a little like a lost puppy lately, and I kind of loved seeing the super cheery guy so obviously lovelorn.
Smiling as I watched Kenny, my eyes snagged on Luc’s. He wasn’t watching Kenny.
He was watching me.
His full attention bore into me from across the room, and my stomach swooped low. Good grief, Dove hadn’t been joking when she said he was male model gorgeous. He was the kind of handsome that seemed airbrushed or conjured up by AI. He had to be the combination of all the best features of the world’s most beautiful men whittled into one perfect-looking man with the most delicious hint of a French accent.
Painfully beautiful was exactly the right phrase, and the twist in my chest reminded me why those looks didn’t matter. Reality was men being disappointing and me unable to trust my heart. Luc might as well have been a prince in a fairytale where everything worked out.
I tore my gaze away, focusing on my beer. I didn’t even like beer, but Nikki mentioned Kieran the pirate bartender had sent our table a free pitcher.
“Um, hi. Hi. He’s coming over here,” Dove said, nudging my arm with a frantic edge to her movement.
“Oh, yes he is, and he’s laser-focused on you, Elise.”
Winnie’s voice jolted me from my study of bubbles.
“What?” I said, eyes snapping up and seeing Luc walking toward me with that same intensity. Had he not ever looked away? Did he… what did he want?
When he reached me, he ducked his head close to my ear and spoke just loud enough for me. “Could we talk outside for a minute?”
More than a bit dumbstruck, I nodded, eyes catching Dove’s as she bit her lip and raised her brows high. Then I followed him out.