15. Riley
I lookmy reflection in the eye as I wash my hands, startled by how happy the girl in the mirror looks. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes bright. She smiles easily, unable to control her happiness. It’s been a good day.
I wipe my hands on a paper towel and leave the bathroom, eager to get back to the table and continue my conversation with Cole.
Before I make it back, I pause beside the jukebox to play a song or two. I can’t resist; this place has a real charm to it, and I want to make Cole and Archie guess what song I chose. Maybe I could even learn a little bit more about Cole—something about his taste in music, maybe.
While I flip through the available albums, a voice behind me makes me freeze.
“Riley?”
I half-glance over my shoulder. It’s Adam, an ex of mine from about a year ago. We only dated for a few months, and I haven’t seen him since I broke things off.
“Hey,” he says, suddenly jubilant—even though I didn’t respond, the fact that I turned around at all was confirmation enough for him. “It is you. Damn, you look good!”
“Adam,” I respond, trying to sound as neutral as possible without being rude.
“Happy to see me?” He leans against the jukebox, forcing himself into my line of sight. He looks almost exactly the same as he did a year ago—patchy stubble, shaggy haircut.
I give him a slight hum in response that’s neither a “yes” nor a “no.” Truthfully, there are only a few people in this world who I would be less happy to run into. But it might come across as a little impolite if I told him that.
When we dated, he was an absolute jerk. At every possible turn, he took me for granted. I don’t want to give him the time of day, but I’m almost certain that, if I brush him off, he’s going to make a scene.
“What have you been up to?” he says. Somehow, he manages to make even this simple sentence sound suggestive.
Nervously, I glance in the direction of our table, then back at the jukebox. “Not much,” I say shortly. With any luck, if I keep my replies short, Adam will take the hint and leave me alone.
“Oh, come on,” he says, leaning forward—too close for comfort. Instinctively, I take an uncomfortable step back. “There must have been something going on. It’s been ages!” He eyes me up and down. “You look even better than before. Have you lost weight?”
I’m silent, trying to figure out how to respond. Before I can think of something—some perfect sentence that will defuse this entire situation, banish Adam from my vicinity without some ugly reaction—I feel a weight drape across my shoulders.
I look up, and there’s Cole. His arm is across my shoulders, his touch gentle, but protectively firm.
“Hey, babe,” he says casually. “Who’s this?” As light as his voice is, there’s an implicit threat buried in the words, and his eyes are blazing as he stares Adam down.
Adam’s cocky grin fades instantly. “Who are you?”
“I believe I asked first.”
I swallow, startled, but gesture to Adam nonetheless, trying to play along. “Um, Cole, this is Adam—an ex of mine. Adam, this is Cole.”
Adam’s eyes flick up and down again—this time, not out of lust, but in analysis. I try to imagine things from his perspective.
The guy who just came up and put an arm around me is tall, well-built, and model handsome. He has a commanding voice, and even on an outing to a casual restaurant, he’s perfectly groomed, his clothes tailored and clearly expensive.
Not only do I appear to have a boyfriend—my boyfriend is confident, rich, and in the peak of physical condition.
Adam backs off a bit. He leans away, clears his throat, and mutters, “Hey.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Cole says, in a tone that suggests the opposite.
“Crazy, running into you all the way out here,” I say, forcing a false laugh. “Small world, I guess.”
Tight-lipped, his jaw clenched, Adam nods. “Yeah. Well, I’d better get going.” He makes a tiny movement, a strange jerk of the head, that might have been a failed attempt to look Cole in the eye.
Then he slinks off, back toward the front room of the restaurant.
As soon as he’s out of earshot, I heave a sigh. Cole retracts his arm from my shoulders.
“Thank you,” I say, relieved. “So much.”
“It’s no problem,” he replies. “It was pretty obvious you wanted the conversation to end.”
“Yeah, I definitely did.”
“I figured I’d help you out.” He gestures back toward the table. “Come on. I’ll get the check, and then we should probably head out.”
By the time we return home, it’s getting late. The sky is dark as we make it to the front door, ushering a tired Archie inside.
“It might be a good idea for you to head to bed, mister,” I say to Archie, who yawns widely as I make the suggestion.
He nods, not even bothering to protest, which I take as a sign that he’s exhausted from his busy day. I glance over at Cole.
“Is it okay if I take him up?”
“Go for it,” Cole says, nodding.
I get Archie in bed, and he falls asleep only five minutes into tonight’s bedtime story, in which Ralphie the sheep has joined the lion and the dinosaur on their adventures. As soon as I’m certain he’s out, I stand and turn off the lights, slipping out into the hallway.
I head back downstairs. Cole is in the living room, relaxing—well, almost relaxing, I’ve never seen Cole genuinely relaxed—on the couch. The TV is on, the nightly news playing, but as I enter the room, he switches it off.
“Drink?” he asks, lifting his own glass of scotch.
“No, thanks.” I shake my head; I still don’t trust myself that much. I do sit down in the loveseat adjacent to him, though. Even though we’re close to each other—closer than usual—the few feet between us still feels like miles.
“I’m curious,” he begins, setting the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table. “And you don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to—”
“I’m an open book,” I say with a laugh, then add silently, Unlike you.
“Who was that guy at the restaurant?”
“Oh.” I exhale, shaking my head. “Well, it’s like I told you—he was an ex.”
“How long ago were you together?” he demands. I’m not sure if I’m imagining it, but… is that a note of jealousy in his voice?
“It’s been a year since we broke up. It was… well, it didn’t end great. He was kind of a jerk the entire time we were together, which wasn’t very long. He pretty much blew it.”
Cole nods sharply, a strange intensity in his gaze. “I see. Did you end it, or did he?”
“I did.”
“What did he do to you?”
“It was nothing that bad,” I assure him—he seems like he’s starting to get angry on my behalf, imagining the ways this guy could have hurt me. “He wasn’t abusive, or anything, just… selfish. Unreliable.”
“What do you mean?” Cole asks.
“I would make plans, and he would blow me off.” I shrug, though the memories still sting a little.
I’m over Adam—it was really easy to get over Adam, since I never really had strong feelings for him to begin with—but it still bites to know that he couldn’t be bothered to care.
“I would get him gifts,” I continue, “and he wouldn’t reciprocate. He forgot my birthday. He flaked on dates all the time, usually at the last minute. That kind of thing. It became a pattern.”
I fall silent, hesitating. Cole nods again, but doesn’t respond. I think he’s trying to encourage me to keep talking.
“It’s just… the little things,” I say, faltering. “You know. The things a person does to show they care. To show interest. The way Adam acted… it made it hard to believe him when he told me he loved me. I don’t think it was even true.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever admitted that out loud before. I didn’t even say it to Adam himself while I was breaking up with him. I think I was afraid to. Like I wanted desperately to believe, despite everything, that someone had loved me.
“Hm.” Cole shifts, taking a long sip of the whiskey. His gaze fixes on the dark television, his brow furrowed like he’s thinking deeply.
“Do you know what I mean, though?”
“Yes,” he says. “I think I do.” He turns to me, heat in his eyes. “And you deserve a lot better than that asshole.”
The residual pang of hurt fades as our gazes meet. I feel something stirring in my chest, something I’ve felt several times since I started to work for Cole.
He leans across the arm of the couch as if drawn toward me by a magnetic force, and I, under the same spell, close the distance between us further. He touches my hair, running a lock between his fingers.
“You deserve a lot better,” he repeats, his voice low. I can’t reply; my mind is completely blank, my breath bated. The tension between us is supercharged, like the air before a storm, and I’m lost in the depths of his sea-blue eyes.
Storms are dangerous, I think wildly, my thoughts spiraling. Especially at sea.
Cole leans in until we’re inches apart. I can smell his cologne; it makes me feel empty with longing. My breath catches. Our lips are so close together that I can feel his own sudden, uncertain inhale.
He freezes, almost shaking as he withdraws. I do the same, vibrations running through my entire body, impossible to ignore. Slowly, as if it’s painful for each of us, we retreat.
The tension is still there, the storm still raging in his eyes.
“I want you,” he admits. His voice is clear, and rings through the room like it could shatter ice.
Finally, he said it out loud.
“But I can’t have you.”
Those words are more like funeral bells. He says them heavily, and I feel as though something between us has been stifled, like a blanket or a bucket of cold water thrown over an open flame.
“It would be a horrible idea,” he says, shaking his head reluctantly. “You know it would. It can’t happen.”
He’s right. I’ve thought the exact same thing. I’ve been telling myself, over and over, exactly what he just told me: it can’t happen.
“I know,” I say, the words falling from numb lips—lips that should, in a perfect world, be locked with his.
I get to my feet, trying my best not to trip on the couch on my way out of the room. I can feel his gaze on me every step of the way, hot enough to sear, and I want, so badly, to stay.
I have the distinct impression that, if I did stay, he would ignore his own insistence. He would have finally touched me, the way I’ve been wanting him to. The way I’ve literally been dreaming about.
But at the same time, he’s right. It would be a horrible idea. It can’t happen.
I say nothing as I leave the room, ignoring his burning stare, and go straight upstairs to lock myself into my room.