Page 8 of Selfish Desires

How was I going to recover from this if Vincent did, in fact, just abandon me? What did I ever do to deserve this?

What did I ever do?

Three Years Later…

I dragged my feet to the door, finally flipping the blue and white open-closed sign with black letters to…closed. What a day. But what a great day. It was a record for us moving that number of coconut custard pies along with the rest of the bakery counter. Our berry bars paid off, all thanks to my right-hand woman, Marissa. Since I moved to Rhode Island about three years ago and opened Cafe Melle, I hired Marissa to help manage the restaurant. At the same time, I figured out everything else to make my life work in Newport.

“Come on,” said Marissa, slapping a warm hand on my sore shoulder. “Let's celebrate today.” She steered me to one of the only clean tables in the place, and it took little persuasion to have me sit. My feet were fucking toast after the breakfast, lunch, and early dinner rush. And we rarely served dinner. The cafe caught on last year, especially when we whipped together an early bird Prixe-Fixe menu that attracted nearly every senior citizen within a five-mile radius.

“Thanks, M.” I peered up at my friend, one of my only friends these days. Marissa's gentle green eyes smiled back at me, and coupled with her bouncy brown curls, she was one of the few lights remaining in my life. “Should we do a toast to a record ring?” My arms had a mind of their own as they stretched high above my head, the exquisite cracking sound from my shoulders releasing most of the tension in my body. What would complete this day is a warm bath with a glass of Sancerre and, as corny as it sounded, a romance novel.

“Um, how about we celebrate someone turning forty-two today?” The corner of Marissa's mouth lifted, revealing her surprise. “Did you really think I forgot your birthday today, babe?” She hooked her fingers in the loops of her black jeans before pivoting to the back.

I covered my eyes, fighting the heat rushing to my face as I heard a few clinks from the back and the opening of the wine fridge. Marissa reemerged from the back, holding three stemless glasses and a chilled bottle of rose. Scrunching my brow, I wondered who else Marissa invited to this impromptu shindig.

“Three glasses?” I held up matching fingers.

“Don't worry. You like him. I don't want to spoil the surprise.”

“Him? I don't like anyone.” I laughed while fighting an uneasy tightening in my chest. I hadn't dated or even touched anyone in three years. Not since that night had I been left bare and broken. I couldn't think about it, at least not on my birthday. I deserved to be happy on this date, and I refused to allow my mind to humor any intrusive thoughts from my past. Tomorrow was a different story.

“You relax, and let me handle everything before he gets here.” Marissa winked at me, kissing my head before disappearing in the back again.

I wouldn't challenge her and allowed Marissa to have her moment while I had mine. Closing my eyes, I inhaled the sweet smell of the restaurant I built from the ground up a few years ago when I decided to abandon everything and everyone I knew to build a new life and escape. My eyes danced around the space, and while it hit me how much we needed to clean up from the day only to prepare for a whole new crowd in less than twelve hours, I loved my new life. The white decor I purposely chose for Cafe Melle represented a blank canvas for each sunrise. Now that I thought about it, everything in the space was white. From the linens to the chair covers, the leather benches were off-white but still white. The paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling were white. Wow, I was on a roll when decorating this place, but it was mine.

I tossed my head back, my heavy lids fighting the imminent celebration that was about to happen. When I sensed myself drifting off to sleep, the bell above the café entrance chimed softly as the door opened. I didn't bother looking up, assuming it was just Marissa returning from the back and not thinking where the noise came from. Instead, I focused on the familiar pattern of seashells embedded in the cafe's concrete floor, reminiscing the many hours spent scraping and polishing to perfect its look.

“It's the birthday girl. Am I too late?” asked a deep voice I recognized way too easily. Was he surprised?

My eyes whipped up to see the walking, breathing, living Ken-Doll with sandy colored perfectly messed hair…Stephen. For any woman, his blue steely eyes with pinpoint set pupils, sharp cheekbones, a square jaw to trace your tongue along its edge, and a panty-melting smile…yeah, for anyone else, he’d be a dream. But for me? Stephen was simply a friend. He was a vision in plaid, and for my birthday, he chose red, knowing it was my favorite color…how cute. The white box in his hand caught my attention, though.

“We're just starting.” I smiled. “What's in the box?” I tipped my chin.

“Just a little something.” Stephen's eyes twinkled, his smile hinting at mystery. He laid the box down on the white-tiled counter, teasing me. “You'll like it, just wait.”

“I hate surprises.” I cocked an eyebrow. And if only they knew why. Three years ago, I loved the unknown and relished in the adrenaline a new situation carried, but now? I needed to understand the plan. When I said I changed everything about my life and how I operated, I wasn't bullshitting anyone.

“Trust me. This is a good and tasty surprise. Have no fear when Stephen is here.” He winked, flashing those sky-blue eyes that would make any normal woman's panties melt, but I wasn't just any other woman. I carried baggage packed with bricks; there was no way I'd ever shed it. But I learned to live with it and was okay with the decision at this point in my life.

“Are you trying to rhyme?” I grinned, drumming my iced pink nails on the table.

“If I said yes, would you finally let me take you to dinner?” Stephen popped his eyebrows and ran a hand through his thick, messed sandy hair. Most women would probably want to tug on his mane and wonder what he was like in bed, where all I wanted to do was collapse in my own bed, alone.

“Honestly?”

“Sure.” Stephen shrugged his square, broad shoulders.

“Probably not.”

Stephen threw his head back, laughing. He sauntered to my table and pulled out the chair beside mine, gazing into my tired eyes. “You know, there's something about you that I can't quite pinpoint. It's a good thing, though.”

“I wasn't worried.” I rolled my eyes but couldn't fight the smile that tugged on the corner of my mouth.

“Did I ever tell you that you were the first friend I made in Newport when I moved here three years ago?” Stephen pivoted ever so slightly, and his hard knees bumped into the side of my leg.

God, I just wanted to feel something. Any kind of sensation from physical touch, but there was nothing, and it was shit. Every time Stephen spoke to me, there was always a hidden innuendo in his words. Like one big, giant fucking hint dangling in front of my nose, but I could never grasp it. Because I was left to exist in unconditional numbness. Perhaps it was the years of detachment or the constant aching reminder of Vincent that left me paralyzed.

“I don't think so, but if you must know, you were the second friend I made here.”

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