Page 36 of Selfish Desires

My hand slipped off my hot face. “I mean, I don’t think I regret sleeping with him. I’m just not sure where to go from here.”

“Oh, please. Don’t regret sleeping with him. If you were here crying to me about regretting it, fine. Regret away. But you look great. Your face has this light I haven’t seen since I’ve known you.”

“Seriously?”

“Absolutely. It's like a fog lifted. You seem... alive.”

Her observation brought a smile to my face, one I didn't bother fighting off. Embarrassment slipped away, replaced by a warm weightlessness filling me from head to toe. Maybe it was reckless to sleep with Vincent again; maybe it was stupid, but for the first time in years...I did feel alive.

“I guess I better get my act together before he breaks my heart again,” I said more to myself than Marissa.

Marissa shook her head fervently. “No, Wendy. Don't go into this expecting the worst. If you're going to take anything away from your night with Vincent, let it be that you're capable of feeling something real.” Her eyes shifted to the front door, and she straightened her posture. “And speaking of real, is that him?” She pointed to the window next to the entrance, and I followed her eyes.

And then my heart skipped all its beats, and my stomach flipped. Vincent was pulling the door ajar and holding a dozen assorted roses. He swept through the entrance fluidly, his eyes scanning the empty dining room before they finally settled on me. Vincent looked different - his suit was replaced with jeans and a sweater. Even his hair was less formal, not neatly styled but ruffled like he had run his hand through it one too many times. The only vestige of the old Vincent was the self-assured smile he wore.

“It seems the universe is smiling at us today,” Marissa grinned, nudging my side as she pushed off the counter.

I shot Marissa a slight glare, begging her to be quiet and to wipe the smirk from her face, but the rush of blood flooding my face faltered my conviction. Nervously, I patted my hair down and adjusted my shirt as he approached, the scent of the roses already filling the room. His lips formed an endearing smile as he closed in on us, his stride confident yet cautious like a man trying to walk on ice.

“Oh please, don't just stand there with your mouth open. Say something,” Marissa whispered loudly enough for me to hear.

I nodded, unable to find the right words. Swallowing hard, I moved toward him. “Vincent,” I managed to say as our eyes locked onto each other's. “This is Marissa, the cafe’s general manager.” I gestured to Marissa’s figure standing beside me. “Marissa, this is my friend Vincent.”

He didn’t try to hide his smirk or the lazy wink he threw, causing a flurry of butterflies to swarm my stomach. “Pleasure to meet you, Marissa,” Vincent extended his hand in greeting, the striking smile never leaving his face. He then turned his full attention back to me as though Marissa had already faded into oblivion, “These are for you.”

I accepted the bouquet with a shaky hand, the bright hues of the roses reflecting the vibrant aura he had brought with him. Burying my nose in the flowers, their fragrance was intoxicating, almost as much as his own scent—earth and musk laced with a hint of cinnamon—that I was now only a breath away from.

“Thank you,” I managed to whisper, but my voice vanished into the thick air between us. His proximity began to unnerve me. “They’re beautiful.”

“And you look gorgeous,” Vincent said, planting his hands on the counter’s edge, leaning forward, eyes branding my skin.

Marissa silently took the roses from my hands. “I’ll put these in water and display them. Unless you want to take them home?”

I was about to answer, but Vincent took charge. “No, put them in the front. I think the red will pop against the white decor in here. What do you think?” Vincent motioned to the blanched ambiance of the place. And he was right. A splash of color would brighten the cafe. “Did you know Wendy’s favorite color is red?” He turned to Marissa.

“I thought it was blue?” Marissa answered, glancing at me.

“I go back and forth.” I shrugged before my eyes landed on Vincent’s slightly down-turned mouth.

“It was always red with me.” Vincent’s eyes lifted from the floor to meet mine, an uncertain sadness swimming in them that I couldn’t quite pin.

“Sometimes things change.” A weak smile crossed my face.

“I’ll put these up front.” Marissa held the roses in the air before disappearing to the storage room to grab a vase.

Seconds of thick silence passed until Vincent cleared his throat, shifting a step closer. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

“It sucks, doesn’t it?” I fired back, almost regretting the oil I had just thrown into the simmering fire.

Vincent’s hand slid along the smooth white counter, veined with gray streaks, until our fingertips touched. The light contact alone sent jolts of heat straight to my core, and it took every ounce of restraint in my body not to grab onto him to pull him against me. “I had been thinking about everything I missed…made you miss because of my actions. And I’m ready to do whatever you need me to do to make this right again between us.”

My eyes stayed glued to Vincent’s fingertips, now creeping up the back of my hand until his fingers curled around my wrist, offering a light, yet delicious, pressure. “What things were you thinking about?” I swallowed, my throat clicking.

“I hate how I missed your fortieth birthday.” Vincent’s grip tightened, heating my flesh.

“My fortieth birthday?” I echoed, fighting a shiver down my spine.

“All the birthdays,” he admitted. “All the milestones. Just the time lost because of my fucking stupidity.”

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