Chapter 9 #2
The three of us ordered the special, and after Pops paid, we turned from the counter with a numbered table card.
Griffin stood and dropped some cash on the table.
The blonde stood too, cozying up to his side.
Their arms brushed.
A green haze spread across my vision and my jaw clenched so tight I doubted I’d be able to unlock it and eat the chicken salad sandwich I’d ordered.
I had no right to be jealous, yet here I stood, fuming.
Not just at Griffin and the fact that clearly he had some sort of relationship with that woman and hadn’t bothered to mention it. But with myself.
Once again, fooled by a handsome man.
“Hi, Griffin.” Pops walked over. “How are you today?”
“Fine, Covie. You?”
“Famished. Lyla can usually fix that problem though.”
“I came here for the same reason.” Griffin grinned, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. His gaze flicked to Frank and his expression flattened. “Frank.”
“Eden,” Frank muttered, then walked away to claim the last remaining empty table.
What the hell? What was I missing?
“Here’s your coffee, Covie.” Lyla came over carrying a cup balanced on a saucer. “Want me to put it at your table?”
“Oh, I’ll take it.” He lifted it from her and smiled, his attention completely on Griffin and Lyla.
The blonde glared daggers at Pops like Griffin had at Frank.
Definitely missing something.
Silence stretched awkward and thick as Pops lifted his coffee cup to his lips, ignoring the blonde’s existence.
Finally, Griffin cleared his throat and met my gaze for the first time. “Winslow Covington, this is Emily Nelsen.”
Emily Nelsen.
The reporter.
Well, damn. This just got better.
“Hi. Nice to meet you,” I lied with a fake smile.
“Same.” She leaned in closer to Griffin.
He stiffened but didn’t move away. Bastard.
“We’d better claim our table,” Pops said. “Have a good one, Griff.”
“You too.” His gaze met mine for a split second, then darted away as he headed for the door.
Emily scurried after him.
Don’t stare. Don’t stare.
Griffin was just a hookup. A casual fling. A fling that was very, very over now.
I’d mourn the loss of sex and distraction later, so I followed Pops to join Frank.
The front wall of the coffee shop was made entirely of windows and beyond the glass was the sidewalk and Main. It was impossible to miss Emily walking to Griffin’s truck.
“The goddamn reporter,” I muttered. “Really?”
Why, of all the people, did Griffin have to be with the fucking reporter who’d smeared my name before even meeting me? I gave up any attempt not to stare and watched their every move.
Griffin said something to her, his expression stern. That didn’t mean much. He often wore a serious face. It was rare that he’d smile and laugh. But he had a few times. With me.
He leaned in closer to Emily, speaking low. The pout on her face said she didn’t exactly like what he had to say.
She crossed her arms over her chest and gave him pathetic, pleading eyes.
He shook his head, his shoulders slumping. Then he gave her a small nod before walking to his truck and climbing inside.
She hurried to the passenger door, getting in with a smug grin aimed toward the coffee shop. No doubt she could see me staring through the glass. Bitch.
What was the joke he’d made the other night? You can’t throw a rock in Quincy without hitting an Eden. At the moment, I wouldn’t mind throwing a boulder at the man.
I tore my eyes away from Griffin’s truck as he reversed out of his space and rolled down Main.
“Those goddamn Nelsens,” Pops said.
“Those goddamn Edens,” Frank muttered.
Lyla chose that moment to appear, her hands full with three water glasses. Her cheeks were flushed, and I was sure she’d heard both Frank and Pops.
Frank didn’t notice but Pops gave her an apologetic smile. “Thanks, Lyla.”
“Sure, Covie.” She walked away, returning to the counter.
“You don’t like the Edens?” I asked Frank. Then why was he at Eden Coffee?
“Oh, I like Lyla just fine. And Talia and Eloise. But no, I’m not exactly fond of Harrison or Griffin. They think they own the whole town.”
Envy crept through his voice. There had to be more to it than just dislike but I didn’t care to hear it. Not today.
Griffin hadn’t once given me the impression that he owned Quincy. Then again, he also hadn’t given me the impression that he was cozy with another woman, so clearly, when it came to that particular Eden, my judgment was impaired.
Oh God. My stomach churned. On Monday, he hadn’t come over until ten. Had he been on a date with her first? Had he visited her bed before coming to mine?
“You okay, Winnie?” Pops asked.
“Yeah.” I nodded and took a sip of my water. “Just been a hectic week.”
“How are things going at the station?”
“Good.” They would be good. Eventually.
Maybe this run-in with Griffin was what had needed to happen. Hadn’t I just been thinking about how I needed to get my life at home together? Griff had been a constant on my mind and a regular intrusion during my evenings.
I had a life to establish in Quincy. I had a house that needed to become a home. Building lasting relationships with my staff was more important than a fleeting one with a hot cowboy.
I’d moved here to heal. To build a new life. To repair the heartache from my split with Skyler. Jumping into bed with Griffin wasn’t going to help me achieve any of those goals.
It had to end. Tonight.
When he showed up tonight, I’d call it off.
I shot out of bed, my heart racing. My stomach lurched.
The bedroom was bathed in gray but my mind was swimming in red. Blood red.
I ran to the bathroom, tripping on the shoe that I’d kicked off in the middle of the room earlier. I managed to catch myself before I smashed into the wall, righting my feet as I slapped a hand over my mouth.
My knees cracked on the tile floor as I landed by the toilet, retching until my stomach was empty. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I shoved the hair from my eyes.
“Damn it,” I cursed to the empty room, burying my face in my hands.
This was the worst nightmare I’d had in months. Maybe years. It was like the versions I’d had early on. The ones where I was at the scene of the crash.
It was the nightmare where I found my father’s mangled arm outstretched on the pavement. The dream where I saw my mother’s head severed from her body.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the smell of torn flesh and burnt rubber and scraped metal out of my nose. Think of something else. Anything else.
The first image that popped into my mind was of Lily Green. Her disfigured body shattered on the rocks below Indigo Ridge.
My stomach roiled again but there was nothing left to puke.
“Fuck.” I pressed my fingers into my eyes until the black became white.
Shoving myself off the floor, I stood on shaking legs and shuffled to the sink. After splashing water on my face, I brushed my teeth, then turned on the lights.
All of the lights.
I flipped every switch as I made my way from the bedroom to the kitchen. The clock on the oven showed it was just past midnight.
The house was still and quiet. My heartbeat filled each room with a resounding boom, boom, boom.
I brewed a pot of coffee. There was no way I’d go back to sleep tonight. With a steaming mug in hand, I went to my bedroom and began organizing. I threw myself into the task, refusing to think of the nightmare. Refusing to think of Griffin.
For the past week, each night he’d slept in my bed, I’d slept all night long. Chances were, if he’d been here tonight, I still would have had the nightmare. Or maybe the dreams had been waiting for me to be at my weakest.
Sometimes, it was like the images had a sick mind of their own. The harder I fought them, the harder they struck. Every nightmare I’d had since moving here had been brutal. It was like they’d crept their way into my new pillows, waiting to pounce.
Of course it would be the night of Griffin’s absence.
Maybe he was with his reporter tonight.
Maybe not.
It didn’t matter anymore.
He hadn’t shown up for me to end it tonight. I guess that was end enough.
So I worked alone to unpack my house. Because that was what I was.
Alone.