Chapter 20 Elliot
“Nicole, what are you doing here?”
A sudden chill surges through me as her gaze locks onto mine. For a moment I question my own sanity, but as I focus on the woman standing at the counter, it’s undeniable that Nicole is not a figment of my imagination.
She’s here. In Cinnamon Springs.
“Elliot,” she murmurs, her voice softening to avoid anyone inside the café hearing us. “You weren’t answering my texts or calls. So, I thought…” Nicole’s voice trails off as my attention diverts to Madelina. She stands a few feet away, her expression blank, unlike her usual readable face.
I desperately want to take Madelina in my arms, kiss the lips that devoured me last night and this morning, but a voice inside me warns that this is a complex situation.
One wrong move and things will blow up. I don’t want to lose Madelina. But the shock of Nicole in front of me throws all rational thought sideways.
“We need to talk,” I urge, my voice steady despite the storm churning inside me. “But not here. Just give me a minute, please. I need to do something out back.”
I make my way toward the kitchen, casting a quick glance to ensure Billie is busy and won’t see me with Madelina.
As expected, Madelina avoids eye contact, busying herself while pretending I’m not standing right next to her.
Every single part of me wants her, but confusion fucks up my words, and the resentment in her silence speaks volumes.
We’re supposed to be just friends, no strings attached.
Yet here I am, faced with this mess of a situation, and Madelina is anything but happy seeing Nicole here. Her words, cold and full of resentment, are precisely why I stay away from all this relationship bullshit.
Madelina purposely avoids me. Billie, however, keeps her eyes on what’s unfolding. I motion for her to follow me to the kitchen.
“I need to step out for the rest of the day,” I tell her, my voice agitated as I run my hands through my hair for the fifty millionth time in the last few minutes.
“Of course, do what you need to do,” Billie answers, tilting her head with a sympathetic gaze. “Chloe is working with me tomorrow, so take as much time as you need.”
I want to tell her this shouldn’t take much time, but what the fuck do I know? Nicole is going to want to talk extensively, which is the last thing I need, but the writing is on the fucking wall.
I need to make a decision.
Hastily, I leave the kitchen and zigzag through the tables, exiting the café to step outside into the stifling hot air. This weather is something else, relentless and uncomfortable.
Nicole is waiting beside a lamppost, but before I reach her, my gaze drifts momentarily through the glass. Madelina is busy serving a customer, oblivious to or purposely avoiding my exit.
A smile is plastered on her face as if my leaving with Nicole means nothing.
“Are you hungry?” I ask, my voice etched with uncertainty as my thoughts spiral in chaotic loops. “When did you fly in?”
“Last night,” Nicole answers with a half-smile. “I stayed at a hotel next to the airport before driving out here.” The sunlight catches her hair, framing her face and reminding me how beautiful she is.
“Uh-huh” is all I manage.
“I could go for something to eat. If you want, we can head back inside. Those donuts looked delicious,” she mentions, glancing back into the store.
“No,” I slip out in a sharp tone. My lips press together to control my frustration. “This town has big ears. How about we go back to my place? I can whip up something for us.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
The last place I want to be is on the houseboat after everything that happened last night with Madelina, but the prying eyes of Cinnamon Springs folk grate on my nerves.
As I navigate the winding roads toward Peppermint Lake, I see Nicole’s rental car behind me. I pull into the parking area and cut my bike’s engine, the roar of the motor fading into the tranquil sounds of nature as I remove my helmet. Nicole exits the car, her gaze wandering curiously around.
Inside the boat, the air feels heavier, charged with this tension that weighs between us.
I motion for her to take a seat at the table, then open the refrigerator to see what I can prepare. My head is fucking clouded, unable to think of anything besides the half-bottle of rum on the counter calling my name.
“So, this is where you’ve been.” Nicole’s eyes wander around the small room, a mixture of disappointment and resentment etched on her face.
I slide a bottle of water across to her, and some canelé I prepared earlier. I was trying something new, and the easiest option is to offer it to her rather than worry about cooking something else.
I settle into a chair across the table, watching her take a bite. She nods with approval, then carefully licks her lips as if to entice me.
“This isn’t Paris,” she states, her eyes narrowing slightly.
“What are you doing here?”
“What did you expect me to do?” she challenges, frustration creeping into her voice.
“You refused to talk to me, and when you left Paris, everything was said with heated tension. Are we really going to throw away everything between us because you’re scared?
I’m scared, too, Elliot. I just don’t understand why we can’t be scared together.
We were supposed to build a new life in Paris. Leave the States behind.”
My fingers tap against the table in a restless rhythm as I stare at the woman I once envisioned a life with. We had a great life together. She’s everything I thought I wanted in a partner for life.
Say it… Just say it.
She’s not Madelina.
Nicole is not the crazy best friend of your sister you can’t stop thinking about.
“Dammit, Nicole. You can’t just waltz in here—and expect what from me?”
Nicole’s eyes blaze with frustration. She is usually calm and collected, but the long journey here and my lack of empathy have pushed her to the breaking point.
“Expect you to be a man?” She briefly shuts her eyes to ease her anger.
When she opens them, a warmth radiates back, reminding me of our past. “One minute, you tell me you love me, and we’re planning our future together.
Next, you tell me you want space? I’m in love with you, Elliot.
I don’t know how else to show you. And I know you still love me. ”
I freeze, caught in her storm of emotions, my gaze drifting up to meet hers.
Our time spent in Paris, every moment of it, plays in my mind like a black-and-white movie.
I was happy, and I had it all. But then, something changed.
I saw this future with her and it wasn’t how I’d envisioned my life turning out.
On several occasions, she mentioned wanting a family.
It always started as a joke, and one that I voluntarily laughed along with.
Yet the more it began to eat away at me, the more I pulled away.
It’s not that I didn’t want a family, it’s that it all moved too fast.
Eva asking me to come visit and help with the café was the exit I needed. Divine timing, one might call it.
As I search Nicole’s eyes, I find myself grappling for something I can’t quite grasp.
Something I’ve discovered in Madelina.
Nicole’s fingers glide over my cheek, gentle yet electric, and I don’t flinch away. The admission of my feelings for Madelina chains me to the ground, binding me in confusion.
It was supposed to be a “friends with benefits” situation.
But now, I’ve pushed her away.
Possibly into the arms of a man desperate to have her back.
All because of the woman standing in front of me.
Her fingers reach my chin, slowly trailing toward my chest before her lips press against mine. The warmth of her kiss lingers like a nostalgic memory, the kind that makes you smile—a reminder of a time in my life when things were exciting and new.
But it pales in comparison to the inferno that is Madelina’s kiss.
It lacks the wild passion that threatens to unravel my sanity.
I pull away and gaze into Nicole’s eyes one last time.
“We’ll always have Paris, but the truth is, it’s over, Nicole.” I take a deep breath and admit the truth once and for all. “It was over the moment I left.”
“Elliot,” she whispers, desperation lacing her voice. “We can try one more time. I’ll move here, if that’s what you want.”
I’m tired of lying to her, and to myself, but whatever I say, it won’t be the answer she needs.
“You deserve better,” I tell her with ease. “I can’t be the man you need, Nicole, but somewhere out there is a man who will love you the way you deserved to be loved.”
I lean in and place a kiss on her forehead, marking the end of our journey.
We had Paris.
But now, Paris is officially over.
Margaret Anne casually wandered in just before Nicole left. I could have sworn she gave Nicole the side-eye, but my head is so fucked, who knows what I was seeing at that point.
Nicole walked away with an overwhelming sadness. It was the end for us, and regret seeped into my thoughts, a bitter aftertaste lingering from my lack of honesty.
But right now, all I can think about is Madelina.
I need to see her.
Fed up with my own insecurities, I get on my bike and speed across town to Madelina’s apartment. I slam my foot on the gas and break all speed limits—not my proudest moment, but whatever is consuming me needs to stop right now.
My knuckles tap against the door, my heart racing a million miles a minute.
Seconds stretch into eternity as nothing but silence greets me.
I knock again, my chest pounding with urgency, willing her to answer.
My hand slips into my pocket to retrieve my cell. Without a second thought, I text Madelina to ask where she is. I knock on the door again, but still no response.
Turning away, I descend the steps to the street, where the sun has set and darkness slowly falls upon the sky. The windows in the apartment are blackened, an obvious sign she isn’t home.
I dial her number, but all I hear is the dead silence of her phone switched off.
“Where the fuck are you?” I growl to myself.
Calling Billie crosses my mind, but the thought of having to answer her questions forces me to abandon the idea. Instead, I wait at Madelina’s doorstep, knowing she has to come home at some point.
After a few minutes, I glance at my phone. It’s just after nine, and there’s still no sign of her. On impulse, I open social media and search for her account. She mentioned this morning that she’d finally stop stalking me from the shadows and add me as a friend.
With this newfound hope, I scroll through my notifications and see her account.
The circle flashes, indicating she has just posted a story.
I click the icon to see Madelina in a tight black dress, standing beside a bunch of people at a bar.
As I narrow my gaze onto the pic, I see some fucker has his hands around her waist.
Jealousy washes over me as I grip my phone tightly in my hand, my knuckles turning white. The screen glows with a pinned location that reveals where she is—a bar called After Dark in Manhattan.
I know the place, and I know how single men behave when a beautiful woman crosses their radar—sleazy doesn’t even begin to cover it.
My heart races, a tight knot of anger and insecurity twisting in my chest as I picture what she might be doing right now, probably half drunk and not thinking straight.
The thought of her laughing, carefree and glowing in that way she does, while some asshole leans in, trying to touch what isn’t his…
the thought lodges in me like a blade, sharp and merciless.
I have no choice.
If I leave now, I can be there in just under two hours.
And that, despite what I said earlier, erases all this “no strings attached” bullshit.
Madelina needs to know she is mine.