Xander
TWO
There are very few things that stick with me.
Most people come and go without leaving much of an impression. Conversations blur together, cities fade into each other, deals close and disappear into the next one. I built my life on that. On moving forward, on not looking back, on keeping everything clean and controlled.
The fact that I’ve spent the last two days thinking about a waitress in a small-town diner is inconvenient.
I rest my hand on the steering wheel, thumb tapping once against the worn leather before I still it.
I don’t fidget. I don’t linger. And yet here I am, engine idling, staring at a place that, before the other day, I hadn’t stepped into in over a decade, feeling as if I’m about to walk into a situation that matters.
It shouldn’t.
She shouldn’t.
And yet, I can still hear her voice.
Commanding. Unimpressed. Completely uninterested in who I am or what I’ve done.
That alone should’ve been enough to make me forget her.
Instead, it did the opposite.
I push the door open.
The bell rings overhead, the same sound it made when I was nineteen and running on nothing but bad decisions and cheap beer. The smell hits next. Coffee, grease, a sweetness under it all. I’m standing in two timelines at once.
Then, I see her.
Behind the counter, moving as if she belongs here in a way I never really did.
Her hair’s pulled up, loose strands falling around her face, pen tucked behind her ear because she’s been working for hours and doesn’t care how obvious it is.
She’s talking to someone, smiling in that quick, effortless way that catches me off guard more than it should.
There’s nothing polished about her. Nothing calculated.
She doesn’t try.
And that might be the most interesting thing about her.
My body reacts before I can stop it. Those curves… I’m hard just looking at her.
My cock pulses with need.
And yeah, that’s a problem. But also, maybe, exactly the reason I’m here.
She glances up, catches my stare, narrows her eyes a fraction. Doesn’t blush, doesn’t look away. That mouth twists, sardonic. She’s already heard every line I might muster and found them all lacking.
I slide onto a stool at the counter. She finishes whatever story she’s telling the regular down the way, pours me a coffee without asking. Black.
As she slides it toward me, she finally looks up fully.
The smile disappears from her face.
“Willow.”
Her name feels too easy in my mouth.
She straightens, arms crossing loosely, chin tilting just enough to make it clear she’s not impressed. “You again.”
Her tone hasn’t changed. Still snappy. Still unimpressed.
I take a sip of the coffee, watching her over the rim of the mug. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not.” She gestures vaguely toward the door. “Men like you don’t usually come back to places like this. Even for jackets.”
Men like me.
I set the mug down, fingers resting against the ceramic. “And what kind of man is that?”
Her eyes flick over me. “The kind that leave big tips and bigger messes behind them.”
A corner of my mouth lifts. “Oh yeah?”
“Money which you’re taking back, by the way.” She rolls her eyes. “That was ridiculous.”
I study her. Take in the set of her shoulders, the way she plants her hands on the counter, bracing for impact. She expects a fight and is already halfway into it.
She has no idea who she’s dealing with.
“No.”
Her expression tightens. “No?”
I lean forward, resting my forearms against the counter, closing just enough distance to shift the air between us. “I don’t take things back once I’ve decided on them. That includes money. That includes you arguing about it.”
Her eyes flash. “I’m not something you get to decide.”
My gaze drops, taking in the curve of her waist where her apron ties, the way her shirt pulls when she moves, the shape of her beneath fabric that does absolutely nothing to hide her.
Christ.
Heat settles enough that I have to anchor myself before I do something reckless.
I look back up at her.
“You’re right. You’re not something I decide on.” A beat. “You’re something I pursue.”
Her breath shifts, and there’s a half-second delay before she snaps back into herself. “I didn’t ask to be pursued.”
“No,” I agree easily. “You didn’t.”
I straighten just enough to reach for my coffee again, taking my time with it, letting the silence stretch while she tries to figure out where this is going.
“I didn’t ask you to spill breakfast all over me either,” I add, glancing at her. “But here we are.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself. She fights it.
Loses a little.
Good.
“You’re really something else,” she mutters.
“I get that a lot.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I set the mug down again, then let my gaze move over her slowly. Her weight shifts, subtly.
“Stop that,” she says.
“Stop what?”
“That,” she repeats, gesturing vaguely at me. “The… looking.”
I tilt my head. “You’d rather I didn’t?”
“Yes.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
Her brows pull together. “Why?”
“Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I walked out of here.”
She stills.
“I don’t believe you,” she says.
Her throat moves when she swallows. She hates that I see it.
“I get a lot of people coming through here,” she says, trying to recover ground. “You’re not that special.”
“I know I’m not.” That throws her more than anything else I’ve said so far. “I’m just the one who came back.”
She arches a brow at me as she turns to serve someone else.
A chair scrapes somewhere behind me. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
I don’t need to turn to know that voice.
Still, I do.
Theo Hill looks exactly as I remember and not the way he should after fifteen years. A little more gray at the temples, a little more weight in his shoulders, but the same easy stance. The same knowing look.
“Xander Harlow,” he says, stepping closer, grin already pulling at his mouth. “Thought that was you when you walked in.”
“Theo.”
He huffs a laugh, shaking his head, trying to place me back into a version of the town that still makes sense. “You don’t just walk back in here like it’s nothing, kid.”
“Not a kid anymore.”
“That’s what worries me.”
I almost smile.
Almost.
He claps a hand against my shoulder, solid, familiar in a way I don’t acknowledge out loud. “Heard rumors you were back. Didn’t believe it.”
“I’m here.”
“Yeah,” he says, eyes flicking over me, taking in the suit pants and starched shirt, the watch, the version of me that left and didn’t look back. “I can see that. You look…” He trails off, then picks up somewhere else. “Your brother in town, too?”
Everything in me stills.
My shoulders lock just enough. My jaw tightens a fraction before I smooth it out. The atmosphere shifts, becoming colder. Emotion just got dragged up from somewhere I keep it buried on purpose.
“No.”
Theo watches me a little more closely now. He always could read more than he let on.
“Haven’t seen him around,” he says, casual on the surface. “Figured if you were back—”
“I said no.”
Silence stretches for half a second too long.
Theo exhales through his nose, nodding once, understanding more than I’m willing to say. “Yeah. Alright.” His gaze flicks past me, toward the counter. “Didn’t take you long to find Willow.”
“Yeah, this diner is… has always been special, and Willow seems pretty cool.”
Theo snorts. “That she is. And she’s already glaring at you like she’s deciding whether to throw you out or just make your life difficult.”
“Both, probably.”
“That sounds about right.”
Being around her is easy. Familiar in a way I don’t let myself sit in for long.
My eyes drift back to her.
She’s mid-conversation, pen moving across her pad, but I can see the awareness in the set of her shoulders. The way she knows exactly where I am without looking.
Good.
“You sticking around?” Theo asks. “You have some music project, right?”
He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t say “you were just on the verge of really hitting the big time before it all imploded,” but I’m sure he must be thinking it.
I’m sure they all must be. But how could the band carry on after what happened? How could I?
“Yeah, something like that.”
“That so. Town could use a little trouble again.”
Theo claps my shoulder once more, then heads for the door, leaving behind the faint echo of feelings I don’t have time, or interest, to unpack.
My attention shifts back to her. It never really left.
She’s already watching me.
I push off the stool and move toward the counter again, unhurried in a way that makes people notice, even when they don’t mean to. She tracks every step, chin lifting determinedly.
“Friend of yours?” she asks, nodding toward the door.
“You could say that.”
Her eyes narrow. “You know people here?”
“I grew up here.”
I see the shift of her posture, the way her gaze pierces, curious despite herself. I’ve stepped out of whatever box she put me in the second I walked through that door.
Before she can follow that thread, she reaches under the counter and pulls something out.
My jacket.
Folded carefully. Handled with more care than she’d ever admit to.
She holds it out toward me. “Here. Your very expensive, traumatized jacket.”
I don’t take it right away.
Instead, I let my gaze move over her. The line of her arm extended toward me, the curve of her under the apron, the way her body fills out the space she stands in because she belongs there more than anyone else in the room.
Damn.
There’s nothing restrained about the way my body reacts to her. It’s immediate. Constant. A persistent pull that’s been sitting under my skin since I walked out of here last time.
I take the jacket.
But my hand closes over hers in the process, fingers wrapping around her wrist instead of the fabric.
She inhales, caught off guard, and she doesn’t pull away.
I let my thumb shift against her skin, just enough to feel her react, just enough to make it clear this isn’t accidental.
Then, I release her.
She pulls her hand back quickly. She needs the distance more than I do.
“I had it cleaned professionally,” she says, a little too fast. “Like I said.”
“I expected that.”
“Well, yeah. I said I would.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who says things she doesn’t follow through on.”
Her eyes flick up to mine again. More aware.
I slide the jacket over my shoulders, adjusting it without breaking eye contact, letting the moment stretch instead of rushing through it.
“You’re still taking the money back,” she says, stubbornness threading through every word.
I take a step closer again, closing the space she just created.
“You’ve been thinking about that tip since I left,” I say. “Not because of the amount. Because you don’t like the idea of someone deciding something for you.”
Her mouth opens.
I don’t give her the chance to interrupt.
“You’d rather argue about it than accept it,” I continue, watching her carefully. “You’d rather push back than wonder why it got under your skin in the first place.”
She goes still.
I lean in just slightly. “And it did get under your skin.”
Her breath shifts.
I feel it.
See it.
“I don’t think about you at all,” she says, but there’s less bite in it now.
I let my gaze drag over her again, taking my time with it in a way that makes her shift her weight without realizing why.
“Yeah,” I murmur. “You do.”
“I’m taking you to dinner.”
She exhales in shock. “No. I don’t finish until seven.”
I don’t break stride. Don’t shift direction. Don’t give her space to turn it into a negotiation. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“You don’t need to.”
“That’s not how this works.”
I step closer again, close enough now that she has to choose between holding her ground or stepping back.
“You’ve been watching me since I walked in,” I say, holding her gaze. “Every time I looked at you, you felt it.”
Her breath catches again.
This time it’s impossible to hide.
“You noticed,” I continue, rougher at the edges now. “You just don’t like what it means.”
“I don’t—”
“I’ll wait,” I interject. “’Til seven.”
She shakes her head, stubborn, grounded, fighting it even now. “You’re wasting your time.”
I let my gaze settle on her one more time, taking in every detail I shouldn’t be this focused on.
“I don’t waste time.”