Page 6 of Monsters, Vows, and Growls
Punch, punch.Punch.
"Damn, chef, what'd the dough do to you?" A familiar voice ripped me from my dark thoughts.
"Oh hey, Evan, shit, you startled me," I laughed nervously, hoping he didn't see the tear that had rolled down my face.
"You're up and at it early," He remarked, scrutinizing the dough that was nothing but a mangled mess on the counter now.
"I have a meeting later and wanted to get a head start," I lied. Well, not lied, lied. Ididhave a meeting. The head start was only because I couldn't sleep.
"Oh?" Evan fished for more information. I hesitated. He was my main chef; he should know what I was planning.
"I might have an opportunity to open another location in Cedar Hollow," I filled him in.
"Oh, wow!" His face lit up. He was instantly aware of the opportunity offered to me and, by extension, to him. Cedar Hollow was an exclusive shifter community; nobody who wasn't family was even allowed to visit. The town had everything—boutiques, grocery stores, pharmacies, you name it. Opening a restaurant there would be an honor, especially for a non-shifter. New people would flock in droves to my other restaurants just because they were affiliated with Cedar Hollow. And like I said yesterday, magazines likeCuisine Chefwould be sure to want an interview, maybe even do a feature.
There was no way I was going to let Patrick ruin this for me. Damn him anyway.
"Damn, boss, I'm proud of you." Evan moved in like he was going to give me a hug, but I evaded him with an apologetic smile, pointing at my floury apron and hands. I quickly made a beeline to the bathroom to get washed up. I was a mess. My eyes were glassy, my lips turned into a perpetual frown, flour graced my hair and my face, and of course, there were the undereye circles from lack of sleep.Great, you're a mess, Ella, I congratulated myself. I sighed, because I couldn't go meet Patrick looking like this. I needed to get back to my apartment, take a shower, wash my hair, and put on layers upon layers of makeup.
I checked my phone and saw a message from Patrick, or Pats, according to my high-school-era contact info, flanked by one of the last pictures I took of him when he was eighteen. My heart even did that stupid little lurch it used to do when I got a message from him. Over the years, he moved down my contact list far enough that it was no longer a constant reminder of what I had lost, of how deeply he had hurt me, but one look was enough to bring it all back. The love and the joy, the pain and the heartbreak. How many months had I sat there holding my phone—not this one, an older version—in my hand, hoping and wishing for it to ring?
I skipped by the message he just sent, ignoring it for now, and moved up. The last ones were all from me.
Can we talk?
I miss you.
Please call me
I don't understand
One from Patrick.
Pats
It's over Ells
Ells, I sighed. That's who we had been to each other, Pats and Ells. Yeah, yeah, I know, stupid Hallmark and all that. But we liked it. In his last message, he had called meElls. Just like we always had. New tears filled my vision, and I wiped at themimpatiently. How could he still do this? How could he still hurt me after all these years?
Pats
It's better this way, trust me
Please, let's just talk about this
Shit,I wiped my eyes again.You're a grown woman. An adult. He doesn’t get to hurt you anymore, Ella! I pep-talked myself before I finally scrolled to his newest message.
Pats
I can meet you at Cedar Hollow this week if you want to go over the layout in person.
I stared at the message like it might explain itself if I glared hard enough. What was he talking about?
If I want to go over the layout in person…Like we didn’t already have a meeting planned today. Like he hadn’t ambushed me yesterday under the guise of a business deal. Like my heart wasn’t already twisted up in knots because of the look in his eyes when we stood across that table pretending to be strangers.
I scoffed out loud. “Pats, you idiot.”
I typed.
