Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
Popeye
The coffee had gone cold, forgotten as I read the words Christina wrote. I kept the cup between my hands anyway. Needing something to hold onto. Something solid. Because everything else felt like it was slipping through my fingers like sand.
Christina’s handwriting stared up at me from the journal, neat and careful. Every letter perfectly formed, as if she’d been afraid the words would escape if she didn’t pin them down just right. That was Christina, always so goddamn careful. Measuring every move, every word, every breath.
“She is the only good thing I have ever done in my life.”
The words burned into my brain. Grace. Our daughter.
What the fuck did that mean? What had she done that was so bad that Grace was the only light in it? Christina hadn’t been like Caroline. She wasn’t evil, manipulative. She didn’t hurt people for sport. Christina had been kind and gentle.
“Why I took the lives I took.”
My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.
Lives. Plural. The woman who’d never raised her voice, who’d shrunk back when I raised mine, who’d gone along with every decision I made. The woman had been so goddamn compliant about everything. What lives had she taken?
I thought I knew her. Thought I understood why she ran, why she’d hidden Grace from me. Told myself it was about protecting our daughter from this life. From the clubs. From men like George Stone, who’d use anyone to get what they wanted.
But sitting here reading her words, I realized I didn’t know shit.
“Worth every second of pain. Worth the lies and the betrayal.”
What pain? What lies and betrayal? Was she talking about lying to me? Betraying me by running? Or was there something else? Something deeper that I’d been too blind to see?
We’d made the choice together to keep Grace in the dark about who I was. Told ourselves it was safer that way. But had it been her choice? Or had I just decided, and Christina had gone along with it like she went along with everything else I said?
Christ, I couldn’t remember anymore. Couldn’t separate what had been a mutual decision and what had been me making calls and her just... accepting them.
I heard the swish of the double doors that led to the kitchen, but I didn’t look up.
Didn’t need to. I knew the sound of Trudy’s footsteps by now, the particular rhythm of her moving through the shop.
Six months I’d been coming to this shop.
The first time was out of necessity. I needed to see the place where Grace’s life had changed.
Needed to know how. As soon as I walked through the door and saw her behind the counter, my world tipped upside down.
It was just like the first time I’d laid eyes on Christina, only... more.
In the past six months, I’d memorized everything about her.
The sway of her hips when she walked. The curve of her ass in those jeans she wore, which were tight enough that I could see the line of her panties underneath.
The way her tits moved under her shirt when she reached for something on the top shelf, full and heavy, the kind a man could lose himself in.
The way she breathed, chest rising and falling, made me wonder what sounds she’d make when she was under me.
The way she existed in this space as if she owned every inch of it.
Which she did, even if technically it was her granddaughter’s bakery.
“You planning on sitting there all day?” Her voice cut through my thoughts, sharp as a blade. “Because I close at five, and I’m not staying late just because you’re having some kind of existential crisis.”
I looked up then, and fuck me, she was something.
Standing there with her hands on her hips, her dark hair that had more gray than color pulled back in a bun that was coming loose, flour dusting her apron.
Sixty-eight years old, and she looked at me as if I were nothing more than another complication in her life—one she would work through without effort.
“Might be,” I said, my voice rougher than I intended because I was imagining what she’d look like bent over that counter, apron pushed up, jeans around her ankles. “That a problem?”
“Depends.” She moved behind the counter and started wiping it down, even though it was already clean. “You gonna order something else, or are you just taking up space?”
There it was. That fire. That refusal to let me get away with a goddamn thing.
Christina would’ve asked if I was okay. Would’ve sat down across from me with those big, worried eyes and waited for me to tell her what was wrong. Would’ve waited until I was ready to talk, ready to let her in, waited for a fucking eternity if I didn’t open up. And she would have accepted it.
Trudy didn’t give a shit about any of that.
“What if I just want to look at you?” I asked, watching her hands stutter briefly as they moved across the counter. Strong hands. Capable. Hands I wanted wrapped around my cock. Hands I wanted gripping my shoulders while I fucked her slow and deep. “That so bad?”
“Then you’re wasting your time.” But her cheeks flushed pink, spreading down her neck, and I couldn’t help but wonder how far that blush went. Wondered if her tits turned that same shade when she was aroused. If her pussy got wet when I talked to her like this.
I saw the way her breath hitched. Just a little. Just enough to make my dick throb.
“Don’t think so.”
She stopped wiping and looked up at me with those sharp eyes. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Been told that before.” I let my gaze drop deliberately to her mouth. To her full lips, the kind made for sucking dick. The kind I wanted wrapped around me while I fisted that gray hair and watched her take me deep. “Usually by women who end up in my bed.”
Her eyes flashed. “You’re awfully confident.”
“Just honest, darlin’.” I leaned back, letting my legs spread wider under the table.
Wanted her to see the bulge in my jeans if she looked.
Wanted her to know what she did to me. “I want you, Trudy. I’ve been pretty clear about that.
Been wanting you since the first time I walked through that door.
And you can stand there and pretend you don’t feel it, but we both know that’s bullshit. ”
She tossed the rag into the sink and leaned against the counter. Her nipples were hard under her shirt. I could see them pressing against the fabric, and my mouth watered.
“What’s in that book that’s got you looking like someone kicked your dog?”
She deflected, and I smiled. It was a pattern I was becoming familiar with: her changing the subject, running whenever I got too close.
The journal felt heavy in my hands. Heavier than it should. “Questions,” I said. “More questions than answers.”
“About what?”
I looked up and gave her my best easy smile. The one that had gotten me out of more trouble than I could count. The one that usually had women dropping their panties. “Old business. Nothing that can’t wait.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s a bullshit answer.”
“Maybe.” I let my gaze travel over her body. Let her see the hunger in my eyes. “But it’s the one you’re getting.”
“Fine.” She grabbed the coffeepot and moved around the counter with sharp, efficient movements. Her ass swayed as she walked, and I bit my lip as I thought about the way my hands would grip those hips, pulling her back against me, feeling her grind on my cock. “Don’t tell me. Not like I care.”
But she did care. And we both knew it.
She refilled my cup without asking permission, and I watched her hands. They didn’t shake, didn’t hesitate. But I could see the pulse jumping in her throat. Could smell the faint hint of arousal mixing with the vanilla and cinnamon that clung to her skin.
She wanted me too. She just wouldn’t admit it.
“You always this curious about your customers’ reading material?” I asked, my voice dropping lower. Rougher. “Or is it just me you can’t stop thinking about?”
“Only when they sit in my shop looking like death warmed over.” She set the pot down on the table with more force than necessary. “Bad for business.”
“That right?”
“That’s right.” She crossed her arms under her tits, pushing them up, and Christ, I wanted to bury my face between them. Wanted to feel her nipples harden against my tongue. “And stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?” I asked with a fake innocence.
“Like you’re imagining me naked.”
I grinned. Slow and dirty. “Darlin’, I’m way past imagining you naked. I’m thinking about what you taste like. How tight your pussy is. What sounds you’ll make when you come.”
Her breath caught. Her cheeks flushed darker. But she didn’t back down. “You’re crude.”
“I’m honest.” I held her gaze. Let her see the raw want in my eyes. “And you like it. You like that I don’t bullshit you. That I tell you exactly what I want.”
“What you want doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t it?” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then why are your nipples puckered up? Why’s your pulse racing? Why do you keep coming over here when you could just ignore me?”
“You’re a paying customer,” she huffed.
“Bullshit.” I watched her throat work as she swallowed. “You want me just as much as I want you. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
“You’re delusional.”
“Am I?” I let my eyes drop to her tits again, then lower, to where she pressed her thighs together. “Bet if I slid my hand between your legs right now, you’d be wet. Bet your panties are already soaked just from standing here talking to me.”
“You’re—” She stopped. Took a breath. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m right.” I leaned back again, adjusted myself openly. Let her see what effect she had on me. “And you know it.”
She stared at me for a long moment. I could see the war happening behind those sharp eyes. Wanting to give in. But too stubborn to give me the satisfaction of showing she cared.
I liked that about her. Liked it way too fucking much.
“It’s just old history,” I said, keeping my voice light. Casual. Tapping my fingertips on the leather cover, drawing her attention back to the journal. Even though my cock was hard as steel and my hands itched to touch her. “Things that happened a long time ago. Nothing worth losing sleep over.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?”
“Yes.” She didn’t blink. Didn’t back down. “You’ve been coming here for six months. Think I can’t tell when something’s weighing on your mind?”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “You got me all figured out, do you?”
“I know enough.” She picked up the coffeepot again, holding it like a weapon. Or a shield. “I know if it weren’t for Grace, you wouldn’t be here. You’d still be in that big city out east.”
“That bother you?”
“Why would it bother me?”
“You tell me.” I eyed her, waiting for the crack in her wall. The air between us crackled. Charged. Like touching a live wire.
Trudy’s jaw tightened. “Not everything is about you. You walk in here like you’re doing me a favor, like your money and your attention are supposed to make me fall all over myself. Well, they don’t. And the fact that you think they should? That’s exactly the kind of arrogance I can’t stand.”
“That all?”
“That’s all you’re getting.”
There it was. That wall. That refusal to give an inch. She threw my words back at me and my dick twitched in my jeans. Christina would’ve melted by now. Would’ve sat down, touched my hand, asked me what was wrong and wouldn’t push if I refused to tell her. Would’ve made it easy.
Trudy made nothing easy.
And Christ, that did something to me. Made me want to push. Made me want to see how far I could go before she cracked. Before she admitted she felt this thing between us, this pull that had been building for six months of her pretending she didn’t notice the way I looked at her.
“You’re a hard woman, Trudy.”
“Don’t you forget it.” She turned to walk away, then stopped. Looking back at me over her shoulder, she said, “You’re the kind of man who’s used to getting his way. Used to women who roll over and let you make all the decisions.”
“That a problem?”
“Not for me. I don’t need a man to make decisions for me. So if that’s what you’re looking for, maybe you should go back to that big city.”
She walked back behind the counter, and I watched her go. Watched the set of her shoulders, the sway of her hips, the way she moved as if she were daring me to follow.
Daring me to try.
I looked down at the journal again. At Christina’s careful handwriting. At all the secrets she’d kept; all the choices she’d let me make without ever pushing back.
Trudy was right. I was used to getting my way. Used to women who complied.
And sitting here, watching her refuse to give me a goddamn thing, I realized something that scared the shit out of me:
I didn’t want compliance anymore.
I wanted her.
Wanted that fire. That defiance. Wanted someone who’d make me work for every inch of ground I gained. I wanted her to fight me even as she gave in. Wanted to hear her moan my name while she clawed my back and told me to fuck her harder.
But I also wanted her surrender. I wanted her to choose me. Not because I demanded it, but because she couldn’t help herself. Because the need was too fucking strong to deny it. Because she wanted me as badly as I wanted her.
And until that happened, until she stopped fighting this thing between us, I’d keep coming back. Keep sitting at this table and watching her pretend she didn’t feel it too. Keep pushing until she cracked.
Because I’d already lost one woman I loved because I was too fucking scared to live. Already missed twenty years of my daughter’s life because of the choices I’d made.
I wasn’t losing another one
Not without a fight.