Page 69 of Selfish Desires

“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.