Paige #3
There is a man staring hard at Hayes, occasionally dragging his eyes to me, then back.
Our eyes meet the next time he looks my way, and a flood of cold streaks down my spine.
He’s familiar in that I can’t quite place it, but I know I’ve seen you before way.
I quickly look back to my plate, my mind spinning through possibilities to make sense of this. Why would I know anyone in Atlanta?
“Something bothering you?” Hayes asks, his voice low and rumbling with heat.
I look up and shake my head, plastering on a contented smile, like I’ve always done when Mama questioned my mood. “I’m fine,” I say, adding extra cheer to my voice to sell it.
“Don’t gloss over whatever it is. Your face… that was a look I don’t want to see on you. What’s wrong?” he asks again, reaching for my hand and running his thumb along my knuckles when I take his.
“A man was looking at us and I just… I just had a feeling I’ve seen him before and I can’t place it.
But it wasn’t a good feeling, even though I have no recollection of why it would be bad,” I admit.
I’m struggling to make sense of the foreboding I feel, and why my flight instincts would be so torqued up I want to hop out of my seat and flee the restaurant.
Hayes looks around us, nearly turning in his chair to catch the offending gaze I mentioned, but when I look at the table the man was sitting at, it’s empty.
I feel so dumb. There’s absolutely no reason to feel that prickly feeling along my spine here with Hayes.
It’s not like I know anyone, and I haven’t made a habit of making people want to threaten me—not as far as I know.
I can only chalk it up to the run-in with Liliana and the horrible way every accusation felt in Savannah.
She knew exactly how to hurt me, targeting every insecurity and worry I have.
Thinking of my run-in with Liliana sparks a connection in my brain, putting together the frayed threads that are loosely woven through my consciousness.
I think I may have seen that man in the park the same day I fled that horrid interaction.
He bumped my shoulder on the path when I was walking home.
A cold dread passes down my spine, and my heart rate quickens once again.
I look past Hayes, but the table is still empty.
I decide it isn’t worth pursuing, and reach for his hand, just wanting to be closer to him as the adrenaline pumps through my system and puts a tremor into my hands.
“He’s gone,” I say so Hayes will turn back to the table and settle down.
“Thank you for noticing the distress, even if it wasn’t warranted.
” I bring his hand, still clasped in mine, to my lips and kiss his knuckles.
I smile against his fingers when I see him visibly soften, his shoulders drawing down, away from his ears, and his posture loosening up a fraction.
“You let me know if anyone creeps you out again,” he says, a note of wrath in his tone. “I’ll move heaven and hell to keep you safe and protected,” he promises.
I do not doubt for a second that he would do just that if his one command at a restaurant got other patrons removed and the previous altercation we experienced outside of Napoletana are anything to go on.
“If I have to hire a security detail to keep you safe when I’m not around, I will. Actually, that’s not a bad idea. We have a security contract for the company; it would be easy enough to arrange.”
“Kick back, killer,” I say with a hint of amusement. “It was nothing, just an overreaction on my part for no reason other than I’ve been a little jumpy with all the attention lately.”
The white lie slips easily out of my lips, wanting to appease Hayes rather than throw him into an overprotective mode for likely no reason. He tilts his head at me and the face of disapproval he makes speaks loudly enough that I continue.
“But of course, I will let you know if anything else happens that freaks me out.”
“Good.” He nods in approval. “Do you feel up for dessert?”
I tug my lip with my teeth and watch as his eyes zero in on the movement, intensity heating the jungle-pool depths in the low lighting. I let my lip go and smile.
“I smelled churros when we were in front of the restaurant. Do you think there is a cart nearby we can try to find?” I don’t know why, but street food always appeals to me, and the buttery, cinnamon-sweet dessert sounds really freaking good right now.
Comfort food is the best way to deal with possibly seeing the same stranger in two different cities, right?
Hayes laughs and shakes his head. “You have a whole dessert menu at a five-star restaurant to choose from and yet you want food from a cart,” he says softly, with real warmth.
“Yes, and with caramel dipping sauce. Or maybe chocolate? I don’t know, it depends on what they have,” I muse, really craving the treat now.
“And now I have to find you this damn churro cart, or I’ll be buying a whole bakery tomorrow to sate that desire,” Hayes says, a glint of challenge in his eyes.