Renee’s blonde hair falls into her face when she glances over her shoulder to follow the direction of my gaze. She knows why I'm staring at my bakery door; she's just hiding her disappointment from me.
It’s been six days since Cormack last walked through that door—six torturously long days. To a normal person, it wouldn’t be a big deal, but with my every waking moment of the past six weeks occupied by him, it feels like a lifetime.
Even though I’m still hazy on exactly what happened, I tried to make amends. After washing away some of my confusion with a long shower, I texted Cormack. He returned my message, but his reply was more of a blow-off than an acceptance of my apology. It wasn’t what he wrote, it was the lack of substance in his reply.
With most of our one-on-one time occurring amongst my staff, we experimented with all forms of non-verbal communication. Texting was the most accessible—and risqué.
The reply I got Saturday was nothing like the hundreds we shared the week prior. It was short and direct.
Cormack: It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.
I have considered texting him for every minute of every hour the past six days, but my spitfire stubbornness stops me. I messaged him last, so until he returns the token, our contact will remain nonexistent. I’m all for bending the rules, but this is one I can follow to the T. I miss the chaotic mess he caused last week, but I want him to be here because he wants to be here, not because I shamefully groveled for his scraps.
Not recognizing my brewing determination, Renee suggests, “Call him, Harlow.” Her voice is as high as my heart rate. “For all you know, he could have lost his cell. You know what men are like. If it’s not tied to them, they’re bound to lose it.”
“He knows my address—”
“As you know his. This is a two-way street. You’re not a damsel in distress. You take care of yourself.” The honor in her voice nearly bowls me over. After the shitty few days I’ve had, I need her praise.
I should be riding a high; my bakery is the busiest it’s been the past six months, but there is a sick, uneasy feeling in my gut not letting me bask in the glory. It's clear something I said Saturday morning flicked Cormack’s switch. I just can’t for the life of me work out what it was.
“Here, let me take over. If you keep kneading the bread like that, you’ll overwork the gluten.” Renee drags the bread board to her side of the counter before rolling it into a massive bun. “If we let it rise a little longer, we might be able to save it.”
Her knowledge of baking makes me proud. It also makes me want to cry. Those are the exact words I said to Cormack last week. I miss him more than I should. He was a stranger mere weeks ago, and now we’ve spent more time apart than we had together, but I still miss him like crazy.
There is only one man I miss more: my dad. If he were here, he’d steer me in the right direction. He always knew how to handle confusing men.
“Don’t,” Renee warns through gritted teeth when she spots the moisture brimming in my eyes. “If you cry, I’ll cry. If I cry, my brothers will kill the person responsible. So unless you want tonight’s supper to be Cormack’s last, I suggest you hold in your tears.”
“I’m not going to cry. . . I’m not.” I growl my last sentence when Renee bows her brow, calling out my deceit without words. “I’m going to do what my father taught me to do. I’ll confront the issue head on.”
Renee’s face lights up like a Christmas tree when I untie my apron and dump it on the counter. Flour billows into the air from my fast movements, but I continue on, too determined to worry about a little mess.
“If he wants to break up with me, he can do it in front of me and not by some cryptic half-assed text message.”
Renee whips a tea towel into the air as she hollers, “Hell yeah, sister! You show him who’s boss.”
Her support fuels my determination for the first three miles of my trip. The other thirty-seven are filled with nervous tension. I want Cormack to man up and end our relationship in a respectable way, but am I misconstruing the facts? Were we even in a relationship to begin with? He went down on me, but that was nearly two weeks ago. Since then, our interactions have occurred around my staff, so they never stepped over a PG rating. Don’t get me wrong, they had enough intensity to electrify a nation, but I didn’t up the ante Friday night for no reason.
I didn’t get drunk to trick Cormack into my bed. I merely needed some liquid courage to invite him into my bed. I rarely drink, so those three cocktails I had on top of the wine I sucked down with dinner hit me harder than anticipated. My mind is still a little hazy on the events that occurred between leaving the bar and waking up to Cormack sitting bedside, but I’ve never doubted Cormack’s recollection of events. He may have been a stranger weeks ago, but I still trust him.
After finding on-street parking a few spots down from Destiny Records, I check my face in the rearview mirror. Panic does wonders for my eyes. They’re not as luckless when they’re underscored by massive pits of black. My cheeks are colored from the cool air pumping into the cracked window, and my lips are plump from dragging my teeth over them. I’m not overly presentable to confront a man as handsome as Cormack, but he has already seen me at my worst, so I clamber out of my car and head for the double doors of his business.
With it being a little before 5 PM, I expect Cormack to be hard at work, so you can imagine my surprise when I spot him standing on the sidewalk. He’s speaking to a gentleman with inky black hair. Due to the low hang of the sun, I can’t make out any features of the stranger’s face.
“Done for the day already? I thought it was the second mouse who got the cheese?”
I raise my hand in front of my face to block the blinding sun in just enough time to witness Cormack cranking his head in my direction. He mutters something under his breath, but he's too quiet for me to hear what he says. Probably for the best considering his comment wasn’t for me. It was for his suited companion who pivots on his heels and stalks away from us at the speed of a rocket. His movement is so fast, I don’t get a chance to apologize for the interruption, much less introduce myself.
“What are you doing here, Harlow?” Cormack steps close enough to me, I can stop shielding my eyes.
I shrug, acting coy. My laidback approach lasts all of two seconds. “I figured you’d like to get this over with before the weekend, freeing us both to do whatever or whomever we like.”
It's a low blow, but even a blindman can see Cormack struggles with jealousy, so I use it to my advantage. His evasion the past six days hurt me. I’m merely returning the pain.
Cormack tightens his jaw, stopping the growl I hear rumbling in his chest. “Get what over exactly?”
“Our break up. That was what your ‘have a nice life’ text was about, wasn’t it?” He didn’t actually say that, but that was the gist of his reply. “So come on, out with it. I’ve got shit to do. Places to be.” Calorie-laced ice-cream to devour while I struggle not to cry.
I take a step back, physically stunned by Cormack’s vicious snarl when he says, “Men to accuse of assaulting you while you’re passed out?”
“It was a joke! How many times do I have to say that—?”
“Shit like that isn’t funny.” He lowers his voice when his roar gains us the attention of numerous pairs of eyes.
After scrubbing his hand along the stubble his chin doesn’t usually have, he mumbles, “I'm not having this conversation here.”
“Why? Afraid someone will see us talking? Would you prefer we take this down the alleyway so the snobs in this town don’t discover you’ve been slumming it with the less fortunate?”
I see his anger winding up from his stomach to his throat. “Don’t start that shit with me. I don’t give a fuck who sees us together.”
His rare use of profanity should shock me, but all it does is excite me, which in turn, pisses me off even more. “If you don’t care, then do it! Say what you were too cowardly to convey in a text. Break up with me.”
“No!” He strengthens his short reply with a brisk shake of his head. “I’m not breaking up with you. So if that’s why you came here, spin on your heels and go home, because you’re shit out of luck.”
A mixture of shock and euphoria weaves through my veins at the same time. I did come here for confirmation on the end of our relationship. I never expected to discover he's holding the same shred of hope I’ve been clutching the past week.
“Talk to me, Cormack. Tell me what is going on.”
His expression hardens with distress, but not all of it is due to my demand. Even angry, he's fighting the urge to touch me. He wants to brush my cheek, to catch my tears before they fall, but something is holding him back.
“I don’t need to know your secrets. I don’t even care what they are, but you need to be upfront with me. You’re not the only one new to this. I’m flying blind as well, but if you don’t start talking to me, we’ll crash not long after takeoff.”
His chest rises and falls in rhythm with mine. His eyes are as pained as mine, his heart as achy. From the absolute terror radiating out of him, I’m anticipating he’ll say something more significant than, “Did you drive here?”
With chaos clutching my throat, I nod. Faster than I can snap my fingers, he pushes off his feet and stalks away from me. I watch him leave, equally stunned and devastated. My words may have been hard for him to hear, but that doesn’t mean he can abandon our conversation. I want answers. I deserve answers.
My turmoil eases when he leans into the passenger seat of his town car instead of climbing inside as I expect. After a quiet word with Augustus, he returns to my side. My bewilderment grows when his Bentley pulls into the stream of traffic, leaving him stranded on the sidewalk with me. This is a risky move for him to make. I’m not insane, but I’ve been known to tiptoe across the line occasionally. Even more so when I’m subjected to feelings I’ve never handled before.
Cormack turns his eyes in the direction I came mere minutes ago. “Where’s your car?”
With words still eluding me, I point to my little blue sedan.
“Okay, let’s go.”
Even with his hand on my back to guide my steps, it takes a mammoth effort for my legs to move, and even then, I more stumble than walk.
“Why didn’t we take your car?”
There is nothing wrong with my car. It's only four years old, and it's in perfect condition, but it isn’t a Bentley.
After cranking open my driver’s side door and aiding me inside, Cormack replies, “Because when you hear what I’ve got to say, you’ll be grateful you have your own means of getting home.”
His cryptic reply fills me with panic, and let’s not forget his tone.