Page 85 of Full Circle

My eyes widened in surprise. As if I had a choice in my circumstances and being a solo mother wasn’t forced upon me. Jeremy never said anything to me about my relationship status before, and I wasn’t sure how to respond now. The leer he sported made me apprehensive to even acknowledge him.

He grinned at me, letting his eyes fall to my cleavage. While my V-neck was stretched and showed more of my figure than I would have liked, I never felt as dirty as I did right then with Jeremy.

“See ya later, Mama,” he said before sweeping out the door.

God, I needed a shower and an antibiotic after that encounter.

“Oh, and Celeste?” Desiree poked her head back through the front door, ensuring everyone in the restaurant heard her. “Someone will be stopping by later to get some things from you. I have a new investor since you’ve failed to make any profit here.”

Scratch that—I needed a hot shower, an antibiotic, and a bottle of whiskey.

CHAPTER 39

MAKING AN ENTRANCE

WESLEY

I washed everything on my body three times over before I could get out of the shower, and I still wasn’t entirely convinced I was clean enough. Smelling good, looking apologetic, and turning on the charm to a hundred were the three key factors I could control about this meeting. Going to The Comfy Cushion made me want to throw up—as in my bubble guts were actually audible from how hard my stomach churned—but it had to be done. The only way to conquer your fear was to face it.

Most of the clothes I owned were given to me by all the fashion houses who courted me for contracts, but I always asked Mrs. Aguilar, who was now my housekeeper, to include what I called undetectables—regular jeans, simple shirts, and hoodies. Clothing that wouldn’t catch a paparazzi’s eye. Not that I needed to worry about that in River’s Run. Normally, however, when I arrived in larger cities, my celebrity status meant there was at least one slimeball with a Canon following me.

Celeste was going to get the real me, though. A simple white t-shirt and plain jeans, with a beat up pair of black Chuck’s. She always preferred my natural hair, so I resisted the urge to put in the massive amounts of styling cream I normally used and just let my length on top do its thing. While my reflection looked entirely too pale, it was the me that I remembered and liked. I hoped that would be enough for her.

Since Phillip and the driver left with the Range Rover, all I had to drive was Aunt Shirley’s old Buick. Which was actually now my old Buick, technically. It took me more than twenty minutes to find the keys, and I prayed the damn thing would even start. The engine took a few tries to start up, but it finally turned over and I backed out of the driveway at a pace that matched my frantic heartbeat.

The outside of The Comfy Cushion was a bit more run down than I remembered. Paint peeled from the sign overhead and all of the windows needed a good scrub. The bricks on the exterior would have benefited from harsh power washing. There weren’t nearly as many cars parked out front as there had been the last time I came in, especially for it being a Sunday afternoon. Less of an audience, though, which would make it easier.

What if she wasn’t even there? Maybe she left for college and never looked back. Maybe I was getting myself worked up over nothing because The Comfy Cushion had been passed on to new owners. Nana must be really getting on in years, so maybe Celeste took her to a quiet, little seaside town to spend her days in tranquil bliss.

Doug’s old, rusty pickup truck was in its usual spot out front. None of my imaginings could be true if that was the case.

Peeking through a corner of the window, I tried one of the breathing techniques my old MMA coach taught me to help me get a handle on my nerves. It didn’t work for shit then, and it didn’t do a damn thing now. There was only one table with an older couple. I could just make out the vague outline of Jesse back in the kitchen. No Marla or Celeste.

A woman came from around the counter with her long blonde ponytail swinging. I didn’t recognize her from the back, but it was only natural for there to be new workers after ten years.

Okay, it was now or never.

Pushing open the door to The Comfy Cushion made two things happen simultaneously. Recognition of the blonde bombshell behind the counter as my one night stand from Savannah and shock that she and Celeste Hendricks, the love of my life, were one and the same.

Everything after that was a total shitshow. Celeste didn’t initially look up as she greeted me from behind the counter, encouraging me to sit anywhere I’d like. She grabbed a coffee pot from the warmer and came around the counter. It was then that she finally made eye contact with me…and dropped the pot of coffee on the floor. Glass sprayed everywhere, along with hot coffee all over her shoes, shins, and the bottom of her jean capris.

“Shit!” she screamed, rushing to the back of the kitchen.

Fuck, I guess we were going off the script in my head already.

“Celeste!” I hollered. I didn’t think twice before following her behind the counter and into the kitchen. She was already in the back prep area, running cold water onto a cloth and slipping out of her canvas sneakers.

“Please tell me you’re not hurt!” I cried. I snatched another rag from the shelf and fumbled with it under the water in the sink, crouching down to lay it across her leg.

She jumped backward, kicking at me with her other foot. “Don’t you dare touch me, Wesley Madden!” Celeste yelled.

After a full minute of trying and failing to roll up the bottoms of her tight capris, she growled in frustration and sped out of the room. I stayed right on her heels. If I let her out of my sight, she would probably bolt for the hills.

Inside her dad’s old office, Celeste was already stripping out of the capris. I had a momentary glimpse of the curve of her ass and luscious hips in a pair of black panties before she shrieked at me.

“GET OUT! GET OUT!”

Dogs would howl at that pitch. I turned back, slamming the office door behind me, but kept my hand on the doorknob. This was the only way in or out, so she’d have to face me one way or another.

---