Page 1 of Edge of Secrets

Chapter One

Nell

I’d been waiting for my crush to show up at the café all day, even though I didn’t admit it to myself. Then the bell over the café door jingled, and he stepped through. And there he was at last, in my face. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Hyper-focused.

I stepped behind the dessert display case, seizing the opportunity to ogle him from over the pecan fudge brownies and under the Napoleon pastries. Looking at that man gave me such a rush. It was dumb, childish, embarrassing, inappropriate. I was making my own self cringe. But the rush was impossible to resist—at least right now.

I had to have that little buzz. It was the only thing that even momentarily eased the dull ache in my middle. I’d been carrying that heavy feeling around ever since my world imploded a few weeks ago with my mother’s death. Maybe I would be carrying it forever—always dragging those tight, forced, shallow breaths into that cramped, burning space around my bruised heart. No respite from it, ever.

At least not until I saw Mr. Hyper-Focused. The moment I laid eyes on him a few weeks ago, I got an effervescent rush through my body. It lasted only as long as it took for the guy to order, eat his lunch, pay up, and go—so, not very long. But oh, it was such sweet relief. Even for that brief interval.

The sickening awareness of what had happened to Lucia, my adopted mother, was never far from me. The home invasion. The alleged heart attack. Violence, fear, loss—it was always right there. Just pushed a little bit to the back so I could function in the world. More or less. I could dress a salad, pour coffee, clear away plates.

But when my crush walked out the door, grief slammed me back down even harder than before, as if to punish me for trying to evade it.

He checked to see if his usual table by the window was free, which it almost always was. Today was no exception. The lunch rush was over by the time he arrived—three-fifteen, regular as clockwork. That gave me a buzzy little hum of hopeful anticipation to carry me through all the hours of my shift that came before. Yay, me. Win-win.

He took off his jacket, tossed it on the chair, and seated himself. Then he pulled out a laptop, opened it, and set to work with all the grim concentration of a power drill.

For weeks he’d been here, every damn day. And ever since that first day, I’d been working all the lunch shifts—even though I would earn more tips with the dinner shifts, whenever I could schedule them around my teaching job.

But no. Broke and busted as I was, that fleeting rush I got from seeing Mr. Hyper-Focused was worth more to me than a pocketful of tips. How freaking silly and sad was that, considering the man was oblivious to my very existence.

I took my glasses off and swiftly polished them on my apron. The better to see you with, my dear. I perched them back on my nose and fished the order I’d just taken out of my short-term memory before it disappeared into the churning abyss, then promptly dished up ratatouille for the table of women under the aquarium—gawking at my crush all the while. I shot quick, surreptitious glances as I drizzled vinaigrette with a practiced flick of my wrist and tossed grated beets and roasted pumpkin seeds on their salads.

I loaded the tray and chose a path through the restaurant that brought me right past his table, close enough to smell the detergent his crisp white shirt was washed in. The next pass was to refill the water glasses. That run made me conclude that he’d asked his dry cleaner to put extra starch into his collars and cuffs. Another sneaky pass through the tables with the coffee pot got me a greedy whiff of his aftershave. Mmm, nice. Woodsy, notes of citrus. And those shoulders, flaring out—so broad, thick, and solid-looking. I wondered what it would feel like to sink my nails into them.

He wasn’t movie-star beefcake handsome—not with that rough, angular face and those deep-set, laser-sharp dark eyes—but something about him just got to me. I had studied his features, reviewing them over and over in my daydreams and sexual fantasies.

His face was rugged. Olive skin, that big, bladelike nose with the crooked bump on it, the black, slashing eyebrows set at a sharp upward angle. His cheeks were lean, with grooves flanking his mouth, and he had crinkled lines around his eyes, as if he’d squinted into the desert sun for a long time. His mouth was flat and unsmiling. His black hair was cut short, and stuck up wildly every which way.

The resulting look worked for me. No way would that guy affect such spiky, messy hair on purpose. He couldn’t be bothered with such petty considerations. He did not give a rat’s ass if anyone was looking at him. He didn’t care about his hair. For some random reason, that was a turn-on for me. Go figure.

I dared a peek at his computer screen from behind his broad, muscular back. I could make out his prodigious muscle definition even through the fine cotton of his dress shirt. The screen was thick with code—which was all Greek to me, besides being none of my damn business. I walked away, chin up, resolute. Mature. Ignoring him.

After one last, hungry peek.

Behind the counter, my boss, Norma, looked over from the marinated mushrooms she was grilling with a smile. “He’s here again, eh, Nelly?” she said. “Can’t get enough of that strip steak sandwich, I see. Before I lose you in a romantic daze, honey, I need to ask a favor.”

Oh, God. My crush was that obvious? I grabbed the bread knife and began slicing. “Ask away,” I said grimly.

“Easy does it, hon. Don’t maim yourself. Couldn’t help but notice that you never take your eyes off the fellow. Can’t say I really blame you. He’s definitely a hottie. Those big, thick shoulders, mmm. If I were twenty-five years younger ... hell, maybe even just fifteen ...” Her voice trailed off, a teasing gleam in her eyes.

I was too mortified to be a good sport today. I just kept slicing bread.

“Workaholic, though,” Norma went on in a musing tone. “Always tappity-tapping away, never a glance for the cute little waitress serving him. You’re wasted on him, sweetheart. Take it from an expert. Leave that guy alone. He’d be good for nothing but a bunch of plate-throwing arguments about emotional availability. And believe me—I know whereof I speak.”

“Thanks for the advice.” I apportioned the sliced bread into a bunch of baskets. “But I don’t need it. I’m not getting anywhere near him, or any other man. Believe me. I have enough drama in my life these days. Any more would break me.”

“Whatever you say, honey. Hey, are you free to work an evening shift? Kendra just called in sick. Again. That girl’s driving me crazy. Always at death’s door.”

I gave her an apologetic look. “I’m so sorry, Norma, but I’m teaching a discussion section tonight for the American poetry course.”

Norma clucked her tongue. “I was afraid of that. Oh well. We’ll be shorthanded, but we’ll survive. Maybe I can get Pete to come in, if he’s between boyfriends. Go on, get some coffee for that hardworking fellow before he starts feeling put upon. Do you absolutely have to wear those glasses, Nelly?”

I snatched the glasses in question off my nose and polished them again, defensively. “Unless you want me to bump into tables, yes! What’s wrong with my glasses?”

“They just make you look so, I don’t know. Bookish, I guess.”

---