25. Wendy
“You’re not going to go over and talk to him?” Marissa nudged my shoulder from behind, almost making me drop an entire tray of chocolate croissants with the perfect sprinkling of confectioner’s sugar.
“What do you mean?” I asked, squinting at the kitchen door’s square fogged window. Stephen sat in the front of the restaurant, sipping on a cappuccino for too long. He wasn’t lingering around to enjoy an overpriced cup of coffee. He wanted to talk, but I had nothing to say. Yes, our friendship shifted since the night I failed to seduce him, and especially once Vincent proposed to me. But I guess that was what happened with certain friendships. Some weren’t meant to last. Also, Vincent stole Stephen’s beloved poker table…so yeah. There was a lot to keep track of, and I was just trying not to jinx the three-week streak of no other threats popping up. To say I was relieved was a grand understatement.
Vincent, oddly enough, was not. Even though he tried to appear relaxed for my sake, it was obvious how often he peered over his shoulder, absorbing every minute detail surrounding us. Vincent failed at hiding his trepidations from me. I guess that was the downside of knowing someone as well as you knew yourself.
I set the tray of croissants gently on the counter, brushing a stray fleck of powdered sugar off my apron. Marissa watched me, her thick brows furrowed.
“Maybe you should,” Marissa pressed, fixing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You know, clear the air. It's been weird between you two.”
I glanced at the tray on the stainless steel counter, then at Stephen through the misty glass. His gaze was fixed on his coffee cup, its steam curling up like tendrils of smoke. “Maybe,” I murmured, knowing I would only say hello, and then quickly retreat to the safety of the kitchen.
Tightening my apron tighter around my waist, I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. Marissa was right. It was time to face Stephen, not just for him but also for myself. If you didn't confront it, the past had a way of gnawing at you. I was the expert.
I pushed open the kitchen door and stepped into the bustling restaurant. Conversations blurred into a soft hum around me, occasionally punctuated by laughter or silverware clinking against plates. The smell of coffee and baked goods filled the air, creating an atmosphere that was, under different circumstances, comforting.
Stephen looked up from his cup as I approached his table. His eyes had an odd light as if he'd been looking back on better days. He offered a small smile, which I returned with an equally forced one.
“Hey.” I craned my head. “Can I sit?” Before I knew it, I pulled the chair from the table, sitting without permission.
“Sure.” Stephen smirked, scanning me as I sat. “How’s it going?”
“Let’s just cut to the chase.” I leaned forward, propping my elbows on the table. “You’re upset with me.”
Stephen blew a heavy breath through his lips. “That’s a loaded statement. I’m not upset with you.”
“Then what is it?” My heart lurched, waiting for his response.
“Why can’t I just have coffee and relax?” Stephen pointed to his half-empty cup, struggling to hold eye contact with me.
“I don’t know, Stephen. You tell me.” I maintained my gaze, unblinking. He was never very good at keeping secrets, and how he avoided my eyes told me everything I needed to know. “We’ve always been able to talk to each other.”
“That was before things changed,” Stephen finally admitted, pushing the beverage away. “And you know what I’m talking about. Don’t play stupid.” He swallowed. “Because you’re not. You’re anything but that. You’re smart. Strong…” Stephen paused a beat. “Loyal.”
I blinked, shaken by his last word, shaking off its sting. “I’m confused, Stephen. What are you exactly trying to say? I apologized for that night and have tried to do the right thing. But now I’m confused. Is this about the poker table?”
“Oh, fuck the poker table.” Stephen laughed. “This is about your boyfriend.”
“We’re engaged now.” My pulse increased, as did a budding anger in the pit of my stomach. Was Stephen jealous? Was this all about a green bout of envy?
His eyes, usually warm but now cold and distant, darted around the restaurant before settling on me again.
“Engaged,” he murmured, rolling the word around in his mouth like a bitter pill. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his unshaven jaw with a sudden weariness. “It’s not right.”
“What isn’t right?” I crossed my arms, shifting away. “Are you jealous?”
“Jealous?” Stephen repeated, scoffing. His fingers drummed on the table, his gaze turned down to them. “No, I'm not jealous.”
“Then what is it, Stephen?” I asked, tension pulling at the edge of my voice. “What is your problem?”
Stephen’s face contorted in a grimace before breaking into a strained laugh.
“No,” he finally said, meeting my gaze. “I’m not jealous of him .” There was a bitterness in his voice that I hadn’t heard before.
“Then what is it?” I demanded, my hand clenched tightly in my lap beneath the table.
He looked at me for a long time, his eyes searching mine as if trying to find the answer. Stephen sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
“You won’t understand,” he muttered, looking away.
A strange chill ran down my spine, but I ignored it. I wanted to desperately break this wall between me and Stephen because, after all, when I first arrived in Newport over three years ago, next to Marissa, Stephen was my other source of comfort, my confidante. And suddenly, we had become imperfect strangers in a small town.
“Try me,” I pressed, insistent now.
Stephen was quiet for a moment more before speaking. “It’s not jealousy,” he began slowly, carefully choosing his words. “It’s a concern.”
“Concern?” I echoed back at him incredulously.
“Yes.” Stephen ignored my skepticism. “I’m worried for you. Your reputation. The life you built here when you had to get away from your life with Vincent before he destroyed you.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, my heart thumping in my chest.
Stephen leaned forward across the table, his serious expression and sour caffeinated breath hitting my nostrils, making my stomach flip. “This man...he’s dangerous.”
My blood ran cold but also boiled at the same time. “Vincent?” My voice cracked.
He nodded solemnly. “Look at the trouble he’s caused since he got here. He purchased that ridiculous house, going for all those permits the town doesn’t want to approve, but everyone knows he won’t stop until he gets what he wants. And now interrogating everyone about something that’s going on with you.”
“That’s done. Vincent isn’t questioning anyone anymore.” I bit my tongue, tasting metal.
“And you really believe that? You believe him?” Stephen frowned, only fueling the swirling doubts and fucking intrusive thoughts pecking at my skull, threatening to break through.
“Stephen?”
“Yes, Wen?” His tone ticked up an octave.
“Just…” I massaged my temples. “Shut up.” My elbows fell from the table, and I reclined in my seat. “Just shut the fuck up.”
“But Wendy…”
“No. What I did to you was wrong. You know, trying to fuck you and all that. I was wrong. And I’ve said I’m sorry.” I pressed my hands against my chest.
“It’s not that, Wendy.”
“And I’m sorry if Vincent has rubbed you the wrong way. I’m sorry if he’s rubbed everyone the wrong way. I’m sorry about the poker table. If you want it back, I will return it.”
“I don’t care about the table.”
“But my point is, you really need to shut the fuck up. I’m whole again, and it’s not that I needed someone to make me feel complete, but my point is…” I took a breath I desperately needed. “I’ve found love again, and I hope you will find the same because the love Vincent and I share is the type I will fight for. And no, it won’t destroy me. So stop worrying. Stop the commentary to my face.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “And let’s all move on….please.”
Stephen's face fell, and he slumped back in his chair, his eyes wandering everywhere but mine. The cool steel of my words had stripped him bare. “We're friends, Wendy,” he mumbled, sinking further into the shadows. “I don't want to see you hurt.”
“And I appreciate that.” My voice laced with a hint of frost. “But you need to understand that I'm not the same person who stumbled into Newport three years ago looking for change.”
Stephen's silence hung heavy between us. He was digesting my words, each syllable a bitter pill he was forced to swallow. “Alright then. Message received.” Stephen forced a smile and squinted. He reached into his back pocket and whipped out his wallet, tossing a crisp twenty onto the table. “Keep the change.” He patted the table and stood.
“Stephen…” I began, a sudden pang of guilt washing over me.
“No, it’s okay,” he interjected, not meeting my gaze. “You’re right. You’ve found happiness, and I shouldn’t interfere. Just… promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”
“I promise.”
He gave a curt nod and then walked away, his shoulders slumped and weathered with invisible weight. I watched as he pushed open the café door, the bell chiming melodically overhead.
I swallowed hard, trying to vanquish the lump in my throat as an odd mix of relief and regret washed over. Relief because Stephen needed to hear my feelings, but regret because I knew our friendship would never be the same. For a long moment, I sat alone at the table, my hands wrapped around the now cold cup of coffee, listening to the soft murmurs of patrons gradually fill up the quiet space Stephen had left behind.
Then, my phone buzzed, breaking me out of my reverie. It was a text from Vincent.
Vincent
Can you come to the new house? I need to talk to you.
Adrenaline surged through me as I typed out my eager reply.
Me
Be there in fifteen.
Anything, I thought. Anything to get me out of the restaurant, just for a little. My lungs craved fresh air, my eyes needed a change of scenery, and Vincent delivered on those needs. I folded up the twenty Stephen had left on the table, reminding myself to return it when I saw him next. I didn't want the weight of this conversation lingering any longer than it needed to. I slid from my seat and tucked my chair neatly under the table.
I caught Marissa out of the corner of my eye, settling up a customer’s check. “Hey, Marissa? I’ll be back in an hour. I need to run out. Are you okay to handle things?”
“Of course. Don’t worry.” Marissa smiled, popping the register open to gather change.
“You’re the best.” I squeezed her shoulder. I left the café, my heels clicking on the tiled floor as I pushed open the glass entrance door. The late afternoon sun hung low in the west, casting the world in a warm golden glow.
I reached Vincent's new investment property he just closed on five days ago. We hadn’t spoken about the details of me running the kitchen to the eventual bed and breakfast he planned to morph this place into. And that was fine. At least Vincent had something fresh to keep him busy. The house was beautiful, but right now, it reminded me a little too much of Vincent’s current mental state: beautiful yet carried an air of loneliness.
His black Benz stood parked at the foot of the driveway. The front door opened as I approached, and there he was—Vincent. He stood tall and formidable in a sharp charcoal suit, resembling every bit like the successful businessman he embodied.
“You’re here,” he said as I approached him. His voice carried a hint of surprise.
“You sound surprised.” I crossed my arms and eyed him suspiciously. “Everything okay?”
Vincent didn't answer right away. Instead, he ran his fingers through his dark hair before ushering me inside. I stepped into the grandiose foyer, with its high ceiling and opulent chandelier casting soft light in every direction.
“Take a look around.” Vincent closed the door behind me.
His eyes were not as bright as I remembered. There was an evident heaviness that hadn’t been there before, which stirred unease deep within me. I turned my gaze to survey the room; the walls were freshly painted in a soft, inviting hue, the floors gleaming and untouched. It was beautiful and intimidating all at once. A grand staircase was just ahead, its oak railing polished to perfection, leading to the second floor. To the right, French doors opened into a cozy living room with plush couches and an impressive fireplace. On the left was a spacious dining room boasting elaborate décor and a long mahogany table in the middle.
“This place is… stunning,” I breathed out, unable to hold back my awe. Vincent didn’t respond immediately; instead, he walked toward the living room. “I had no idea you’ve been doing all this.” I gestured to the evidence surrounding us.
“Follow me,” he called over his shoulder.
I trailed behind him, my eyes taking in every intricate detail of this enormous house. He led me toward the back, where glass doors revealed an expansive garden. The sight caused me to pause; it was breathtakingly beautiful, with its manicured lawn and flowers in full bloom. “I had them plant red roses, and the grass is fake for now.” Vincent broke the silence, his tone off-key. “You always loved roses. They won’t last long because of the weather, but this place needed some color.” Vincent walked until he stood an inch away from my body and took my hands in his strong palms. He ran his thumbs along my inner wrists, sending chills down my spine, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. “I know the threats have stopped, but I feel no better. It’s like the silence is worse than the noise.”
My heart lurched.
“I know what you mean.” I peered down at his hands enveloping mine. His cold fingers bit into my skin.
Vincent looked up at me then, his dreamy blue eyes filled with something close to desperation.
“Wendy.” Vincent was an inch from breaking. “I can’t be here.”
My heart fucking hit the floor. What the hell did that mean? Was he leaving me…again?
“And I want you to come with me.” His grip tightened around my hands. “Just for a little while until I know it’s safe.”
“I’m not running, Vincent.” I wrestled my sweaty hands free. “We’re going to figure this out here. Together. Just what I’ve been saying since you came back.”
“It’s not safe. No news isn’t good news.” Vincent stepped toward me, but I stepped back.
“You can’t keep doing this.” I shook my head, my nerves thrumming. I couldn’t take this, and I refused.
“We’ll come back. It’s just temporary. A change of scene. Think of it as a getaway.”
The words sounded hollow even to him. His eyes, once so full of life and vibrancy, now held a shade of desperation that quelled any retort I had in mind.
“Vincent,” I began, my voice wavering. “This isn't a game. We can't run whenever things get tough.” I stepped back into his shadow and, for the first time, saw the raw fear cutting across his face. Vincent believed we were…I was in danger, and it was ripping him apart.
“One weekend. That’s all I ask.” Vincent held up one shaky finger, and witnessing his nerves on display shattered my heart.
“I have a life here, my restaurant. I’m not giving it up all because you’re scared. And all you know how to do is run,” I spat, turning my back on Vincent and staring out the window overlooking the ocean.
“But it doesn't mean anything if you're not safe, Wendy,” he pleaded, stepping behind me. Through the glass, I spotted Vincent’s hands hovering above my shoulders as if he were afraid to touch me. “You don't understand how serious this is.”
My teeth gritted against one another, anger flaring up like a beacon. “Don't patronize me, Vincent! I'm not some clueless ditz for you to rescue. If there's danger, then we face it together.”
He made a noise in his throat—a half-choked laugh, half groan. “Is that what this is about? Your pride?”
“No!” I spun around, my eyes flashing, meeting his. “It's about our lives. About not letting fear control you again.”
“Would you stop reminding me what happened? I’ve been trying my fucking hardest to prove to you I’m here. And I have been here for months. I proposed to you. I am trying to give you the world.” Vincent stalked me like a hungry predator, forcing me against the cool glass. “One weekend. That’s it, Wendy. If I can’t figure something out or see that maybe I am going crazy, we’ll come back here. Together.” Vincent cupped my face, bringing his lips inches from my mouth. “I promise I’m not asking you to give anything up. But, please. Trust me this time. And going forward. If you don’t trust me and constantly think I will leave, this won’t work. We won’t work. You have to trust me.”
“I don’t have to do anything.” My blood simmered beneath my skin.
“I’m not saying you do. But I’m asking you to. Just one weekend.”
As much as I wanted to scream and say no because of pride, my mind urged me to go with it. It was one weekend. Marissa could easily handle the restaurant, allowing me and Vincent to decompress from all the crazy swirling in our lives. What could really go wrong?
“Fine.” It was just forty-eight hours. What was I even fighting about? “Let’s do it.”
A wave of relief washed over Vincent's face, and for a moment, I almost regretted my decision. His shoulders relaxed, and the tense lines around his mouth eased up.
“Thank you.” It came out as a choked whisper. He wrapped his hands around mine, squeezing gently. It was a small gesture, yet it felt monumental given our storm.
I gave him a small nod but didn't say anything else. Despite threatening our relationship repeatedly, Vincent stayed by my side. I didn’t know what to make of it; the Vincent who left me years ago wouldn’t have done so. His actions were puzzling yet... reassuring.