Page 16 of It's Always Been You
“Because—” I start to answer, then I stop, realizing what she just said. “Wait, you live in this neighborhood?”
“Yeah, like three blocks away. This is my regular coffee shop. I come here every day.”
I start to laugh because what are the chances?
Molly huffs out an impatient breath. “Why are you laughing?
“Because I live here too.”
The barista chooses the moment I drop my bomb to call my name and slide our drinks across the bar. I reach across a very stunned looking Molly and grab both drinks. Then I nudge her forward and straight out the door.
We’re barely out on the sidewalk before she turns on me.
“What the actual fucking fuck do you mean you live here?”
I hand her one of the drinks I’m carrying before I answer.
“Caffeinate before I answer. You always feel better after caffeine.”
“Don’t fucking patronize me, Gabriel. I’m not twenty-two anymore. When I ask you a question, you answer it. And make it quick because I have a meeting.”
She grabs her peppermint mocha, taking a long sip, her eyes never leaving mine. She’s going for angry, but she can’t quite get there. She never was very good at holding onto a good mad when it came to me. She was always too full of sunshine for that.
She’s right, though, that I owe her an explanation. I was going to tell her everything when I met her in her office, but she’s here, and so am I and the sun is shining, and it’s a really good day. No time like the present.
“I started a company a year and a half ago. We specialize in cybersecurity for corporations.”
“I know. It was only, like, all over the news. San Francisco’s golden boy of tech out to save the corporations of the world from hackers.”
I smirk at her. “Keeping tabs on me, Rory?”
She flushes, whether at her nickname or the way I call her out on knowing what’s going on in my life I don’t know, but I love it either way.
“Like I could avoid it. You basically invented the internet. I can’t even turn on my damn computer without seeing your face.”
“I think I was about thirty years too late to invent the internet, but thanks for that. And the attention mostly sucks. No one needs to see that much of me.”
I make a face and she laughs. The sound is sunshine.
“You never did like people all up in your business.”
“Only you, Rory baby.”
She flushes again and I grin at her.
“Stop it.”
“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’m just so damn happy to see you. I missed you.”
It just falls out of my mouth, but I don’t regret it. Not even when her face sobers and she changes the subject.
“So, what does your new company have to do with you suddenly standing in front of my coffee shop?”
The door to the coffee shop opens then, and I take her arm to move her out of the way. And that damn electricity. I’ve never reacted to another person in my life the way I react to her. I hope it never changes. The way she sucks in a breath and pulls her arms away from me makes me certain she feels it too.
“I recently sold to a big tech company here in town. Part of the deal was that I move here to consult for the first two years after the sale.”
I don’t tell her that I practically bent over backward to convince them that they needed me. Or that I insisted that the kind of consulting they needed me for couldn’t be done remotely. As it is, I’ll be doing most of it remotely anyway. And on whatever schedule I want.
