Page 19 of Saffron and Secrets

She smiles at me and gives me a wave back. I could be wrong, but I think she walks a little bit quicker. When she approaches the table, I stand.

“Hey,” she says breathlessly.

“Hi. You look beautiful.”

Her teeth sink into her pillowy bottom lip and tug it into her mouth, and I feel a rush of heat to my groin. Yeah, she does things to not only mess my head up but my heart and cock too.

“Thanks.”

“Come sit. I haven't ordered anything yet.”

“Okay.” She sits, and I take my seat after her. I want to rip the Band-Aid off and tell her the bad news first before I spend the rest of the morning getting to know her.

“Well, the investigator hasn't found anything yet. But he’s promised to keep looking for me because I'm not happy with that answer.”

She puts her hands under her chin and stares at me. “Maybe I am crazy, then.” She laughs at herself, but I know it’s masking her embarrassment, and I don’t want her to feel like that for speaking up when she feels scared.

“No, I think you have a reason to. Let's just wait and see once he's done a full report. At least for now, you have nothing to fear. Have you been jumpy and anxious still? No pepper spraying anybody?”

That gets a real laugh out of her and it’s infectious, causing me to laugh with her.

“No, I haven't pepper sprayed anyone else. I'm too scared to even use it after hurting you.”

I frown. “Definitely use it if you must. I don't want you ever to feel bad for doing that. You're better off protecting yourself. And it’s always better to be safe than sorry.”

She nods but stays silent, and the waitress appears. We order our coffees, and she walks away.

“A busy day with Grandma again?”

“Yeah. Our usual of baking pies and having fun. And then getting drilled about who I’m dating and going to marry.”

“Oh.” My brows rise in surprise.

“Yeah. She wants me married and settled down. And she loves to ask me every week.”

I chuckle. “She sounds fun.”

She snorts. “Fun to you, maybe. But for me, not so much.”

“Fair enough,” I say, and I’m about to ask her another question. But from the corner of my eye, I see my mother walking up to the table, dressed in a designer blazer, heels, bag; even her hair and make-up are all fucking done up. She screams of money.

Oh no.

I want to hide, but she's already noticed me. I put on a fake smile, and when she approaches the table, I say, “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, Jonathan.”

Fuck, she called me by my real name.

I hate getting called Jonathan. I much prefer being called John. No one else calls me Jonathan other than her and Dad.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, flicking her gaze to Ruby and me, annoyance etched into her face.

“I'm about to go pick up some flowers from across the road for James and Abigail. I've got to drop them off to Abigail from James.”

“That's sweet of James, isn’t it?” she drawls.

“Yes, it is.”

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