Chapter 15
15
A very woke late for the second day in a row and drove to the café with bleary eyes and a headache. But she still loved this time of day. At 5:00 a.m. the sun was just cresting and the world seemed so quiet. This was the only time in her life when peace filled her heart and anything seemed possible.
But the pinch at the center of her head reminded her that everything came with a price. The stress was getting to her. She’d endured so much for so long her body was starting to show the symptoms.
Her mind swung toward Trace, and how much stress he’d endured. This situation was taking its toll on both of them. Hopefully that would be over soon. He and JT should be finished with the roof tomorrow. Once Mr. Smarmy was out of the picture, the tension should fade.
They were getting close. The appliances would be delivered right about the time the roof was finished. Those would take only a day or two to get in and then there would just be some finish work, some paint, some final landscaping, and Trace’s job would be done.
Then Trace would move on.
Whatever was between them would be over.
She turned onto the café’s driveway with a heaviness in her chest. “Work, work, work.” She parked, shut off her headlights, and climbed from the car. “Focus, Avery.”
She’d dressed in jeans, sneakers, and an old T-shirt again, planning to continue painting this morning. But first she had to fill lunch orders and mail out Internet orders.
Soon Trace’s wage could go toward assistants to lighten Avery’s load. Then she could focus on looking forward. There would be a lot to think about with the holidays coming up.
She stretched her arms overhead and arched her back. Painting left her sore, and lack of sleep didn’t give her body time to fully heal.
“Someday...” Someday she could have a real life with time away from the café to do other things. Develop more friendships, spend time with family, maybe even pick up a hobby unrelated to baking.
She wandered onto the porch, wondering when that someday would come. She reached forward to push her key into the lock, but the door eased open, already unlocked and unlatched.
A sliver of alarm tingled through her belly. “Oh, criminy...”
She must not have pulled the door completely closed behind her last night. It had been late, and she’d been so tired.
Inside, she started toward the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She set her keys down and flipped on the lights. Beautiful canned lighting flooded her equally gorgeous kitchen with soft, bright illumination that reflected off the white tile and stainless steel counters.
Avery’s belly warmed, and she smiled. She couldn’t wait for her appliances to get here. She’d spent half of her entire divorce settlement on them. Commercial appliances distinguished the professional from the hobbyist. Those appliances would complete her dream.
She pulled her list from her back pocket, spread it on the counter, and wandered into the pantry to gather supplies for the lunch orders.
When she flipped on the light, she caught sight of movement through the opposite door, leading to the main kitchen and a cleaning area with more storage beyond.
Great. She was so tired she was seeing things. Well, it wasn’t the first time.
With bread and mayonnaise cradled in one arm, she stepped into the opening between the rooms and flipped on yet another light.
And found a man sneaking toward the back door.
Shock hit her first. Then a mix of alarm and confusion. Then she recognized him, and anger burst free. “JT?”
He spun and gave her that big, charming smile. “Hey there, Avery.”
“What are you doing in here?” A million other questions hit her at once. Where was his truck? Why was he here so early? How did he get in?
“I was just going to grab some water before I started work.”
“In the dark?”
He hesitated. His smile faded. And Avery got her first real chill of fear.
She backed off the confrontation but maintained control. “I’m sure Trace will appreciate you coming in early. Go ahead and get started. I’ll bring some cold water from the fridge for you.”
His smile flashed again. “Perfect. Thanks.”
He unlocked the back door and slipped out.
With her heart beating double time, Avery darted to the door and locked it. Then she rushed to the front door, shut it, and locked it.
Then pulled her phone from her back pocket and called Trace.
He answered on the third ring with a sleepy, “Avery?”
“JT is here,” she said in a half whisper, as if JT could hear her from outside. She hated the fear in her voice. She was competent, intelligent, independent, but she didn’t feel like any of those now. “He was in the café when I got here?—”
“Are you all right?” Trace’s voice was suddenly alert and stern. “Are you safe?”
“I locked the doors, but?—”
“I’m there. Two minutes.”
Click.
“Trace?” She lowered her phone and closed her eyes on a quiet, “ Shit .”
She pressed her back to the wall and took a deep, steadying breath. She’d spent eight years in military life. She knew how to handle and shoot a variety of weapons—well. She knew self-defense—well.
She’d never panicked, virtually living alone for eight years, and she wouldn’t do it now.
Avery forced the panic to the background. She carried her bread to the counter and started pulling meat, cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and more from the fridge. When she turned to put them on the butcher block, Trace’s truck flashed past the front door, dirt flying from beneath the tires.
Instead of the sight relieving her, Avery’s unease amped up. The idea of a confrontation between him and JT suddenly flooded her mind with every bad scenario.
She grabbed several water bottles from the fridge and rushed outside. She found Trace faced off with JT, hands on hips, shoulders back.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Trace demanded from JT in a voice Avery had never heard him use before. It was cold and harsh. Threatening. And it stopped Avery’s feet from moving forward. “I was very clear about the rules. You don’t push them out here like you did inside. That’s not the way this works. This is my turf. You follow my rules or you get off this job.”
JT held on to that affable disposition with a lazy shrug. “I don’t know what you mean. Jeez, why are you making a federal case out of this? A guy can’t come in early to show some initiative? I’m just trying to do a good job for you here.”
Trace took one giant step and grabbed JT by the shirtfront. The move was so fast, so menacing, Avery sucked a breath and held it. Her stomach went cold, and the hair on her arms prickled to attention.
“I know what you’re about,” Trace said, voice lowered but no less frightening. “So don’t try to sell me your shit. If you want this job, then you stay out of that café and away from Avery.”
Those damn seeds Austin had planted in Avery’s head tried to take root again. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears like a ticking time bomb, building urgency inside her like a pressure cooker. She didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know whether she should walk away and let them settle this however men settled things, or step in before a fight broke out. She thought she knew Trace, but she didn’t know this side of him, and she didn’t know what he’d do if she interfered.
“You’d better back the fuck off.” JT’s voice suddenly matched Trace’s, his facade gone. And when Avery refocused on the men’s faces, she saw a war was about to break out. “Because you don’t begin to know what I’m about. You might be the boss on this job, but that don’t mean you can?—”
Avery started forward out of sheer fear. She shuffled her feet on the loose asphalt so they’d hear her coming. Trace released JT, but when Avery approached the look he turned on her was completely foreign. His features were dark and tight, his mouth thin and rigid. And that cold space in her belly deepened.
Unfortunately, that look wasn’t new to her. She’d seen it countless times on David’s face during their many arguments over the state of their marriage.
She offered the water to JT. “Here’s that water.” She turned to Trace. “Would you mind looking at the fridge? Things don’t seem to be as cold as they should.”
Before he could tell her no, she slipped her hand around his forearm and pulled him toward the café.
He walked fifty feet with her before he yanked from her grasp but kept pace beside her. “Why the hell did you do that?”
"Because confronting him like that probably isn’t the best idea.” All those that-only-happens-to-other-people crazy ideas filled her mind. “He could decide to take a crowbar to your head when you weren’t looking. Or push you off the roof. Hell, how do you know he doesn’t have a weapon? He’s an ex-con. No one knows what he might do.”
Trace’s feet ground to a stop. “ I’m an ex-con.”
In that instant, Avery realized how all the inferences she’d just made about JT also applied to Trace.
She shook her head. “That’s not?—”
He put a hand out in a stop gesture, but he didn’t look mean and dangerous anymore. He just looked frustrated and, yeah, hurt.
Regret swamped her. “Trace?—”
“You just deal with your work, okay? I’ll deal with mine.”
With that, he turned and walked back toward JT.