Chapter 13 Isabella
ISABELLA
Isabella stood in her cottage bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror.
She’d changed her outfit three times, finally settling on dark jeans and a cream-colored blouse that made her look put together without trying too hard.
She didn’t want to look like she’d been struggling, even though she had been.
She wanted to face Todd as the woman she’d become, not the broken girl he’d left behind twelve years ago.
“You ready?” Christopher’s voice came from the doorway, gentle and careful.
Isabella turned to face him, and her heart did that now-familiar skip at the sight of him. He held the small microphone and transmitter, the equipment that would keep her connected to him and Charlie during the meeting.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt.
Christopher stepped into the small bathroom, and the space suddenly felt even smaller with both of them in it. He held up the tiny microphone. “This needs to go right here,” he indicated a spot just below her collarbone, hidden by the neckline of her blouse.
His fingers were gentle as he helped her position the microphone, attaching it with the small adhesive backing. Isabella held very still, acutely aware of how close he was standing, how she could smell his cologne mixed with the scent of soap and something uniquely him.
“Can you say something?” Christopher asked, stepping back slightly and holding up the transmitter to test the connection.
“Can you hear me?” Isabella asked, feeling slightly foolish talking to the empty air.
Christopher’s face broke into a small smile. “Loud and clear. Perfect.” He handed her the transmitter. “This goes in your pocket. Just slip it in and forget about it.”
Isabella took the device with hands that trembled slightly. She slid it into her front pocket, feeling the slight weight of it settle there.
Christopher noticed her shaking hands. He reached out and took both of her hands in his, his grip warm and steady. “You’ve got this, Isabella. Just listen to what he wants. Don’t agree to anything. Charlie and I will be right there the entire time.”
He squeezed her hands gently, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her chest tight. “I won’t let him hurt you. Do you understand? Whatever happens in there, you’re not alone.”
Isabella nodded, not trusting her voice to stay steady if she tried to speak. The care in Christopher’s expression, the protectiveness, made something inside her want to both cry and sing at the same time.
A car horn honked outside. Charlie had arrived.
“That’s my cue,” Isabella said, her voice coming out smaller than she’d intended.
They walked to the front door together, and Christopher opened it for her. Charlie’s sedan sat in the driveway, engine running. Isabella took one step outside and then felt Christopher’s hand on her arm, gently turning her back to face him.
He leaned down and kissed her forehead, his lips warm against her skin. The gesture was tender and reassuring, and it made Isabella’s heart pound for reasons that had nothing to do with nervousness about the upcoming meeting.
“See you soon,” Christopher said softly. “You’re going to be fine.”
Isabella climbed into the passenger seat of Charlie’s car, and through the window, she watched Christopher stand on her porch, hands in his pockets, watching them drive away.
Something about the image made her throat tight.
He looked like he belonged there, standing on her grandmother’s porch, waiting for her to come home.
She pushed the thought away. She couldn’t think about that right now. Had to focus on the task ahead.
“How are you holding up?” Charlie asked as she navigated through Anastasia Island toward the bridge that would take them to St. Augustine.
“Terrified,” Isabella admitted honestly. “I haven’t seen him in twelve years. I never thought I’d have to see him again.”
“That’s completely understandable,” Charlie said, her voice carrying the calm competence of someone who dealt with difficult situations professionally.
“But remember, you’re in control here. You don’t have to agree to anything.
You don’t even have to stay if things get uncomfortable.
Just find out what he wants, and we’ll handle the rest.”
Isabella nodded, staring out the window at the familiar streets passing by. “You’ll go over the strategy one more time?” she asked, needing to hear it again.
“Tell him upfront that you’re recording the conversation,” Charlie said, repeating what they’d discussed earlier.
“Put your phone on the table where he can see it. He’ll probably refuse to let you record, but the important thing is that you’ve been honest and upfront about your intention.
The hidden microphone will catch everything anyway. ”
“And you’ll be able to hear everything?”
“Every word,” Charlie confirmed. “Christopher will be parked on the other side of the diner. You’ll be surrounded by people who care about you. You’re safe, Isabella.”
Isabella tried to take comfort in that as Charlie drove across the Bridge of Lions into historic St. Augustine.
The last time Isabella had seen Todd was twelve years ago in their apartment in Miami.
She’d been seven months pregnant with Maddy, her feet swollen and her back aching.
He’d told her he was leaving, that he didn’t want to be tied down, didn’t want a kid, wanted to build his restaurant empire without the burden of a family holding him back.
She’d begged him to stay. Hated herself now for having begged, but she’d been twenty-two and terrified and pregnant, and she’d loved him once. Or thought she had.
He’d walked out without looking back. Hadn’t even waited to see if she and the baby would be okay.
And now he wanted something from her. Wanted it badly enough to track her down after twelve years of silence.
Charlie pulled up to the Beachside Diner at two fifty in the afternoon.
The building looked exactly as Isabella remembered it, a quaint little place with blue shutters and window boxes that probably held flowers in the summer.
She and Todd had come here often when they’d visited her grandmother, back when Isabella had still believed in their future together.
It felt wrong to be here for this.
“We’ll be right here,” Charlie said, parking down the street with a clear view of the diner’s entrance. “Christopher’s parking on the other side. You’re completely surrounded. You’re safe.”
Isabella nodded and opened the car door. Her legs felt weak as she stood, and she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. She adjusted her blouse to make sure the microphone was completely hidden, then started walking toward the diner entrance.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle.
Another deep breath. She could do this. She had Christopher and Charlie backing her up.
She wasn’t the scared twenty-two-year-old girl Todd had left behind.
She was a mother, a successful cook, a woman who’d built a life through sheer determination.
She pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The diner was half full with the late lunch crowd.
Isabella’s eyes scanned the space and found him immediately.
Todd sat in the corner booth, the same booth they used to sit in years ago.
He looked older than she remembered. Still handsome in that polished way that had first attracted her, but there was a weathered quality to him now.
Tired lines around his eyes. Gray threading through his dark hair.
He saw her and stood up, that charming smile spreading across his face. The smile that had once made her heart race, and now just made her feel cold.
“Isabella. You look beautiful,” he said, his voice smooth and warm like nothing had changed, like he hadn’t abandoned her and their unborn child.
Isabella didn’t return the smile. She slid into the booth across from him, keeping the table between them like a barrier. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Todd. What do you want?”
She pulled her phone out of her purse and set it deliberately on the table between them. “I’m going to record this conversation.”
Todd’s smile faltered slightly. “That’s not necessary. This is just two old friends talking.”
“We’re not friends,” Isabella said firmly. Her finger hovered over the record button. “And I think it’s very necessary.”
She hit the button, and the screen showed the red recording indicator. Todd’s jaw tightened, and he reached across the table, pressing the stop button and turning the phone screen down.
“No recording,” he said, his voice losing some of its warmth. “If you want to talk to me, we do this without that.”
Isabella nodded slowly, leaving the phone on the table with its screen dark. The hidden microphone was still working. She could almost feel Christopher and Charlie listening, and it gave her strength she wouldn’t have had otherwise.
“Fine,” she said, meeting his eyes steadily. “Now what do you want?”
Todd leaned back against the booth, and his expression shifted into something meant to be nostalgic and warm. “Do you remember when we used to come here? We’d sit in this exact booth and talk about our dreams. About the restaurants we’d open together, the life we’d build.”
“I remember,” Isabella said flatly. “I also remember you walking out on those dreams when they became inconvenient.”
“We were good together once,” Todd continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “We built something special. We had real chemistry in the kitchen. I made mistakes, Isabella. I know that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for leaving the way I did.”
Isabella studied his face, looking for genuine remorse and finding only practiced sincerity. “You’re not sorry you left,” she said quietly. “You’re sorry you need something from me. Get to the point.”