Page 8 of Forbidden Love

She stared out the window, watching the streetlights flicker on as the sun dipped lower behind the town’s miniature skyline. She had always liked this time of day, the quiet moment between dusk and nightfall when the world seemed to take a breath.

The bell above the door jingled again, and a shift in the air made her pulse stutter. Her eyes moved to the door to see Brock walk inside, his intense gaze scanning the restaurant. She looked away quickly, hoping he didn’t see her sitting alone. His presence filled the small diner like a thunderstorm rolling in—heavy, commanding, and impossible to ignore.

Deb didn’t move or react, but she couldfeelhim approaching. It was a strange sensation that came over her body as if she could feel his presence.

“Mind if I join you?” The deep timbre of his voice sent something sharp and unexpected through her chest. Slowly, she looked up, meeting those dark, unreadable eyes.

“You don’t have to,” she said, forcing her voice to remain even.

“I know.” He slid into the booth across from her without hesitation.

Sharon headed their way, her eyes all for Brock. “What can I get you?” Her tone was much more pleasant, almost making Deb roll her eyes, but she stopped herself.

“I’ll have what she’s having,” Brock said without looking at the woman, instead he continued to stare at Deb.

Sharon frowned and then shot Deb a dirty look before walking away.

“Seriously, you don’t have to sit with me. I’m a big girl, and this place has plenty of open seats.” Deb said as soon as Sharon was out of earshot.

Brock smirked, settling in like he belonged there. “And yet, here I am.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious. “Why?”

“Why not?” He answered her question with a question.

Deb let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “You do realize sitting with me isn’t great for your reputation, right? I know you’ve heard some things about me, and I’m sure you’ll hear more the longer you stick around. Best cut and run while you can.”

“I don’t give a damn about my reputation, Deb.” Brock leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, his voice steady. “And I don’t run.”

She scoffed, stirring her coffee with unnecessary force. “Must be nice.”

“What?” Brock asked, cocking an eyebrow. “That I don’t care about my reputation?”

“No.” She shook her head, staring into the dark liquid in her cup. “That you don’t run. I think about running every damn day. Just before you walked in, I thought about running out of this place.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Brock’s voice was lower now, his gaze locked onto her.

Deb swallowed, suddenly feeling too exposed, and wondered why she even told him that. She shrugged, reaching for a sugar packet to have something to do with her hands. “Guess I was hungry.”

Brock didn’t look away or let her brush it off so easily. He leaned in just a little closer, his presence a weight she could feel, pressing against all the parts of her she didn’t want to examine too closely. “I don’t think that’s the reason.”

Her fingers tightened around the sugar packet, crinkling it in her grasp. “You know nothing about me.”

Brock smirked, but it wasn’t amusement—it was knowing. “You’re not a runner.”

That made something twist deep in her chest, something uncomfortable and unfamiliar. No one had ever bothered to try andseeher before. Not really. Then again, she had never really given anyone the chance.

Sharon returned before she could say anything else, setting their plates down with too much force. “Anything else?”

“No, thank you,” Brock replied smoothly, still ignoring her and continuing to look at Deb.

Sharon didn’t react; she just nodded and walked off, muttering something under her breath as she went.

Deb huffed out a humorless laugh. “See? That’s what I was talking about. You keep sitting here, and soon enough, they’ll be talking about you, too.”

“Let ’em.” Brock picked up a fry, chewing slowly before adding, “I’ve dealt with worse than small-town gossip.”

Deb studied him, searching for the lie, but there wasn’t one. He really didn’t seem to care.

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