Stay With Me (5 page)

“You shouldn’t believe everything reported in the papers. Most of it is crap.”

His tone was irritated. He was probably one of those men who didn’t like being labeled.

“Then you’re confirming you’re a serial killer?” I looked at him, feigning terror.

He grinned. “You’re funny, Zoe.”

“Thank you very much,” I answered, taking a half bow. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable?” I pointed to the small couch.

“I’m not here to stay,” he plainly admitted.

“Oh . . .” I didn’t succeed in hiding my disappointment. I’d exposed myself, turned my back on my principles to have him here, in my house, and he wasn’t going to stay?

But his voice interrupted my train of thought. “I came because I wanted to give you the chance to choose,” he slowly explained. “I’m not looking for a relationship—only sex with no strings. And you . . .” He stopped for a moment to look at me. I felt his eyes devour every inch of my skin. “Since seeing you in the restaurant, I’ve done nothing else but think of one hundred and one ways in which to have you.”

I made an effort to swallow. I felt a sudden thirst . . . a thirst for him.

This guy was right in front of me, telling me he wanted solely and exclusively to have sex, and my only response was praying his mouth would be able to put out the fire blazing in my body.

“Since this afternoon?” I asked in a thin voice.

“Since this afternoon what?”

“Since this afternoon you’ve been having . . . these thoughts about me?”

He smiled. “No, baby, it’s been three weeks. I’ve been coming to your restaurant for three weeks without taking my eyes off of you.”

“Oh!” I cried out, not expecting that.

He came closer to me and slowly caressed my cheek. “Think about what I told you. If you agree with my conditions, you’ll contact me. Understood?”

I nodded, but I wasn’t able to say anything, because his lips had melded with mine.

With one hand behind my back, he pulled me to him, and my body collided against his, hard and muscular.

His tongue moved into my mouth, and I closed my eyes, surrendering to the most sensational kiss I’d ever received.

He pulled away from me too soon. I could have remained there, kissing him for hours, days, weeks.

“I wanted to leave you with something to think about,” he breathed hot and sensually into my ear. Then he stepped back, his eyes holding mine until he left.

I stood still in that position for several minutes, with my legs shaking and my fingers resting on my lips, still dazed from that kiss. When I finally recovered, I took my phone and typed three simple letters.

Yes

5

I wasn’t surprised to find Mag waiting for me at the café, sitting comfortably on her usual stool. She seemed tired, as though she’d been up all night.

She certainly wasn’t alone in not having gotten a wink of sleep.

Too many thoughts had been swirling in my head. The image of Andrew caressing Ash’s hair contrasted with the one of him gently touching my body.

It also didn’t help that while I lay in bed thinking about him, he was in his fiancée’s arms, the woman he loved and the one who’d succeeded in getting everything I’d always wanted from him.

Mag didn’t see me come in, so I put a hand on her shoulder to get her attention.

“Good morning, Margaret.”

She jumped. “God, you scared me, kiddo!”

“Sorry,” I said as I went behind the counter. “Have you been here long?”

“No. I knew Lauren would be opening, but I was in the area, so . . .”

I nodded as I scanned the store. There were about ten people sitting around the tables: a group of mothers, two young kids, and a couple of older women. Everything was under control. I knew Lauren was a valuable employee, never giving me any problems. I knew I could count on her.

The only fault she had, if it could be called that, was her style. She dressed like a goth, and I was thankful the café uniform managed to sufficiently cover her. As for the rest, she was perfect.

I went over to Lauren, indicating to Mag I’d be back in five minutes.

“Hi.”

“Good morning, boss. Your face looks like crap,” she said in no uncertain terms as she glanced at me, then returned to cleaning the shop window.

“You’re too direct!”

“Listen, somebody needed to tell you. You might have at least tried to cover the bags under your eyes.”

“Did everything go well this morning?” I asked, changing the subject. I knew she was right about my face, unfortunately.

“Yes, of course.” She stopped for a second and ran the back of her hand across her forehead. “Lucas came by. He left his order over there.” She pointed to the kitchen. “He seemed disappointed when I told him you were at the bank.”

“Did you see what he needed?” I wanted to prevent Margaret’s theory from coming to light. I didn’t understand why she was convinced Lucas had some sort of crush on me. He was just a customer.

“No. He only said you have two days to call him if anything’s not clear.”

She stressed the word “call.”

I shot her a look. “Stop it! I’m going to have coffee with Mag and then go to the kitchen. You can go when Karen gets here.”

“OK, boss!”

I went back to Mag, grabbing a cup and the coffeepot, and poured myself as much as possible. Mag had a worried expression and fidgeted with the napkin she was holding.

“Mag, I’m OK,” I tried to reassure her.

“I don’t believe you.” She shook her head. “Not this time. You have to tell me the truth, kid; it can’t be good for you to hold it all inside.”

I gulped down a sip of coffee. “I was simply caught by surprise. But soon they’ll go back to New York and all of this will be a faraway memory.”

Margaret took her coffee cup between her hands and looked down as though she knew something and was afraid to reveal it.

“Mag? Do you need to tell me something?” I asked, feeling a bit nervous.

“Ashley’s decided to get married here in two months.” She stopped for a second and caught her breath. “They’re staying here in the city until then.”

“But Andrew . . . his work?” I murmured, trying to absorb the shock.

“It seems he has some business to take care of here and in Seattle and therefore isn’t going back to New York.”

The news hit me like a shower—an icy one. I grabbed on to the counter to hold myself up.

What was I going to do?

“Olivia . . .” I murmured.

“Olivia what?” she asked, concerned.

“How will I be able to hide the truth? I don’t . . .” I didn’t have enough breath, my head started to spin. The idea of needing to face the truth with him hit me like a ton of bricks.

“Kiddo, whatever happens, we’ll be by your side. You’re not alone.” She tried to calm me with her words, but my heart was pounding, and the only thing I managed to do was head to the kitchen. Mag followed me, closing the door behind her. “Kiddo, breathe!”

But I was already in the grips of panic. My hands were sweaty, my heart was beating madly, my body was trembling, my vision was blurred. These were all unmistakable symptoms of what was about to happen: a panic attack.

My legs turned to jelly.

“Don’t let the anxiety take over. Remember the words of Dr. Reynold: you’re stronger than it is. You can do anything. The panic won’t defeat you.” She spoke calmly, as she did every time I got sick. Her voice had a gauzelike quality when it reached my ears, as though she were far away. She took my hand between hers and caressed it.

“Breathe.” She inhaled deeply, hoping I followed her lead. “Breathe,” she continued. “Everything will be alright.” She continued this for several minutes, while I tried to slow my breathing and follow the pace Mag had set. Her hand massaged my back. “It’s all gone, kiddo.”

When I slowly closed my eyes, Margaret’s face was close to mine, and the image transmitted warmth and tranquility to me.

“How do you feel, Zoe?” she asked, continuing to massage me.

“Better,” I gasped.

“Sit down,” she said, bringing the chair closer to me. “I’m getting you a glass of water.”

I nodded and tried to regain control of my body, and more importantly, my emotions. Years had passed since I’d had my last panic attack, but I could only count the number of crises I’d had of this magnitude on one hand.

“Here.” She offered me a glass. “You have no idea how sorry I am.”

With shaking hands I brought the glass to my mouth and swallowed small sips of water. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath.

“You don’t need to be sorry, Mag. It’s not your fault.”

“No, but I hate seeing you sick. And then everything with Ash . . .” Mag made a fist. “I know she knows about you. You can see it in her face. God, how could she do something like this to you?”

I didn’t know what to say. I remained still and looked at the floor. Mag was right, and I had neither the strength nor the desire to understand what motivated Ashley.

“Do you need anything?” she asked.

“No, I’m going to start working now. It’s the only thing that will help calm my nerves. Help me not to think.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

“No. I’ll call you tonight when I close,” I said, smiling at her.

“Maybe you ought to call—”

“No!” I got up. “I’m not going back to Dr. Reynold.”

“Zoe, I know that—”

“Mag, I’m not going to budge on this. No shrinks,” I said.

I had no intention of re-entering the vicious cycle of therapy. I would get through this on my own. I’d even start doing meditation again—anything to avoid returning to that office.

“As you wish, but if things get worse . . .”

“They won’t. I won’t allow them to.”

“Flour, sugar, baking powder . . .” I stood on tiptoe and grabbed the vanilla beans from the top shelf. “And now a pinch of salt.” I had a habit of saying the ingredients out loud as I added them, perhaps to avoid forgetting something. In this case it was helpful in not thinking about Andrew.

I mixed them all together and, in a different bowl, mixed butter, eggs, yogurt, and a little lemon peel.

I combined the batter with the dry ingredients and as soon as it started to come together, I added the blueberries and stirred everything together slowly.

Just then, the new Coldplay song came on the radio.

I poured the batter into the appropriate molds and breathed in deeply, slowly closing my eyelids and listening to the words.

Eight days had gone by since Ashley’s disastrous dinner, and luckily, I hadn’t heard any more news from her or Andrew. They’d probably gotten sucked in by her enormous ego—or her immense stupidity.

Whatever kept them out of my life, I’d happily accept. I wasn’t ready to face them again, especially because I hadn’t yet decided how—or if—to open the “Olivia” conversation.

I knew I couldn’t keep her hidden from Andrew forever. Sooner or later he’d be bound to see her, and he’d likely figure it out.

If only they didn’t resemble each other so much.

For days I’d tortured myself, trying to figure out what to do. It wasn’t Andrew’s reaction that worried me. I’d been wrong to keep it from him, but he’d been clear, and I’d only acted in the best interest of my child.

At the time, I’d considered telling him about the pregnancy, but the thought that he could ask me to get rid of my blueberry had kept me from doing so.

The thought that terrorized me most was Olivia’s reaction to Andrew wanting to meet her. It seemed unlikely, but a possibility not to underestimate.

Whenever my little girl asked about her daddy, I explained that he was away to make sure the two of us could continue to have our beautiful little house and the café with the sweets she loved so much.

I hadn’t made up any astronaut or angels-in-the-sky stories. She had a father, and when she was older, I had planned to tell her the truth and explain why I’d made certain decisions.

Instead, time had worked against me, putting my back against the wall.

It was too soon.

During the time we had been seeing each other, I’d gotten to know Andrew’s character, and I knew he always had to have everything under control. Imagine his reaction to discovering he had a three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. He would surely lose it, take it out on me, and then . . .

It was a personal guillotine blade hanging over my head.

Actually, I had no idea what he might do. I had conjured up lots of scary hypotheses in my mind. But without facing him, there was no way to know how it would go. Only by talking to him would I be able to dispel the thousands of doubts and fears I had.

“Zoe?”

I emerged from my thoughts, raising my head from the counter and cleaning my hands on my apron.

“What’s up, Karen?”

“Some people over there are asking for you.”

“Who are they?” I asked, putting the blueberry muffins in the oven.

“I don’t know. They’re not regular customers.”

“Tell them I’ll be right there.”

I programmed the oven timer and put the utensils in order, then headed toward the front.

“Where are they?”

Karen pointed to a couple seated at a table next to the window. I gave a start when I saw who it was: Ashley and Andrew.

What the hell were they doing here?

“I’ll go over to them,” I said, trying to hide my frustration. “If I’m still busy when the timer goes off for the muffins, you take over.”

“Certainly, boss.” She smiled and went to a customer at the counter.

I headed over to Ashley and Andrew and quickly checked the time. It was a few minutes after three, and Olivia would be coming home at four. I didn’t want them to meet this way.

I needed more time.

“Hi, Zoe!” Ashley chirped. “We’re not bothering you, are we?”

I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something inappropriate as I sat down.

“Ashley, Andrew. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

He didn’t say anything, but nodded. Somehow, he’d become even more handsome than he had been four years ago. He was sitting on the little sofa with his legs crossed and an arm placed behind Ash’s shoulders. He was wearing light-colored jeans and a blue shirt, with the first two buttons opened, which gave a peek of his skin—the same skin I’d kissed and tasted every inch of.

I shifted and focused on Ash, pretending he wasn’t there.

“What brings you by?” I asked.

She placed her hand on Andrew’s leg, and whipped out her best smile as she pronounced words I had never wanted to hear: “I’m here to ask you if you’d like to be my maid of honor!”

My glance darted between them, and I looked at Andrew, shocked. He stared at me with eyes as cold as ice.

“I . . .” I didn’t know what to say.

“Say yes! You’re practically a sister to me,” she insisted. I was everything to her but a sister. Ashley had always hated me, and now she was asking me to stand next to her on the most important day of her life. It was absurd. But I understood it was some sort of tactic in the game she was playing. Since when had she gotten so mean? And how could he not realize what kind of woman he had by his side?

Perhaps I had been the one to idealize Andrew. In truth, he’d always acted coldly toward me. Things only changed when he was inside of me . . .

“I’m very busy, Ash,” I tried to justify myself.

“I promise not to take up too much of your time. And I’d like Olivia to be my flower girl.”

The blood froze in my veins. She didn’t even know Olivia—she’d been too absorbed with her own life to come meet my little girl, and now she wanted her to carry the wedding rings?

I was about to strangle her when Andrew’s voice caught my attention.

“Who’s Olivia?” he asked, pronouncing her name for the first time.

I was about to answer, but Ash was quicker than me. “She’s Zoe’s three-year-old daughter,” she explained simply.