Page 2 of Keeping Mr. Sweet

CHAPTER TWO

ASH

“This rain is something, isn’t it?” The cab driver peers through the windscreen as he rubs gnarled fingers over the thinning hair on top of his head, forcing gray wisps to stand upright.

“It’s fitting.” I dig through my purse to hand him my credit card.

He ignores my comment, while he charges my card. The windshield wipers beat against the glass, wh-whomp, wh-whomp, pushing fat droplets into semi-circles. “Are you sure this is where you want me to drop you?”

“Yes.” I grip the handle of my carry-on until my knuckles pop and then slot my card back in my purse. A slash of white paint across the windows of the blue-gray sandstone building on the corner declares it to be Sweets N Soul.

Sam Sweets is finally doing what he always wanted. Living the dream. His dream. The corners of my mouth waiver upwards with pride, before falling as flat as I feel inside. I shouldn’t have come here. I shouldn’t bring trouble to his door when he’s finally got it all together, but it’s like my feet beat their own path, and I’m just following. It’s muscle memory from all the times we’ve done this before.

“This isn’t smart.” Not after I made him believe I was much happier without him.

“Sorry?”

I catch the cab driver’s gaze in the mirror. Bushy gray eyebrows frame almost opaque blue eyes. “Nothing. No. Never mind. What time is it?”

“Quarter past eleven,” he says without glancing at the clock on the dash.

Maybe the restaurant won’t still be open. I exhale, push out a thick breath as I pull the handle and shove open the door. He’s probably with his girlfriend. She has to be his girlfriend by now, doesn’t she? He was slobbering after her the last time I’d seen them both. And she’s a sweet girl. A great friend. We’re not quite as good friends as his sister and I, but Mandy had fit into our little group the moment we met. Almost as though she’d always been there. Although she and Sam don’t have that much in common. Can she really make him happy? My case catches on the doorframe, thumps to the ground and slaps water from the pavement. Great.

“Hope your evening gets better,” the driver says as I shut the door.

“Hope so too,” I mutter under my breath. There’s fat chance of that happening.

The cab peels away, its tires spinning in the water and spraying me. I yelp as I jump out of the way. Cold, so cold. My skin goose bumps and I immediately start to shiver. Squeezing my eyes shut, I wrinkle my nose, count to three. When I open them again, I watch taillights flash on at the other end of the block and turn off as the cab drifts left.

Right. Rock music pumps out of a building at the other end of the block. Outside, under the large umbrellas a small group of guys and girls shelter from the rain, most likely waiting for a ride home from Mayhem Avenue. I’ve been inside a few times. With Summer. With Mandy. If I go now I can still get a drink at the bar. I could warm up with a shot or two. Ugh, but there are people there—lots of them, probably—and after the last couple days having some stranger treat me as though we’re intimate before we’ve exchanged names is too much to bear.

I reach for my shoulder bag. I should just call another cab and go...where? I can’t go home, can’t go back and face the other ladies at the share apartment. I could go to Summer’s. She’d be home with her boyfriends. My whole body responds with a violent cringe to the idea of having to tell her how badly I’ve screwed up.

I go left, dragging my case behind me. The shoulder strap of my bag slides down my arm as I limp toward Sam’s restaurant on one broken heel. It’s quiet, almost dark except for a dim glow from somewhere inside. The brick is cold under my fingers, the windows glazed with raindrops. Water rushes along the gutter at the edge of the pavement as I peer into the dining room.

Bare tables with chairs stacked on top fill the space. Other than that, it’s empty, devoid of people, cutlery, and china. Shoving the sodden bangs that are dripping water in my eyes out of my face, I cup my hand to the pane. Four tinted cylindrical pendants hang above the bar, their light illuminating the rows of bottles behind it. To the side brighter light spills through the portholes and the cracks of the kitchen doors.

I jump when they swing open almost violently and Sam stalks into view. He yanks at the buttons on his chef’s coat, dragging it off and discarding it over a tall backed stool before he pulls a bottle from one of the shelves and snags a shot glass from behind the bar. He sets both down in front of him, his hands fisted on the surface beside them and bows his head. His shoulders rise and fall heavily.

He knows, doesn’t he? He has to be aware. My insides twist themselves up tighter than a steel spring, and I glance at the ground beside my feet to keep from heaving. He’s seen the video that prick made of me. I should have expected it. Deep down I did, but some naïve part of me hoped... but the whole world has seen me having sex with two men. The airline has seen it. My colleagues have seen it. My father...

An inch of deep amber liquid spills into the glass from the bottle Sam’s holding, and I lick my lips. I can almost taste the cognac he drinks. Sweet and smooth. It’s nothing we haven’t shared before. He lifts it to his lips, and I swallow the excess moisture in my mouth. He has a girlfriend now, and even if he didn’t I’m a fool for coming here. After the last time.

He sets the glass down. Pours another drink. I step back from the window. No, I should never have come here. A frown ripples across his forehead, like a shadow of a thought forming and he scrubs at his stubble darkened jaw. Blue eyes widen as they connect with mine, and his lips part on my name. “Ash?”

I’m glued to the spot, like so many times before. He digs a crest into his hair as we both stand motionless. It’s gotten darker without the Californian sun. It suits him more than I could have imagined.

“Ash,” he repeats, as though he doesn’t quite trust his own eyes. Then he’s moving, rushing to unlock the plate glass door between us. “Ash?”

“Sam.” My voice cracks, despite my best intentions. I didn’t come here to be taken care of. I came here to hide. Just for a few days. Until I work out how to deal with the shit show my life has suddenly become.

“What are you doing here?” Heedless of the rain he steps out into the street. Water droplets quickly cling to the tips of his hair and his eyebrows. They soak into his under shirt.

I shiver and hug one arm to my belly. How could I have been so stupid about Luca? How do I look Sam in the eye without seeing disappointment reflected back at me? Twisting away from him, I glance back at Mayhem.

“Don’t do that,” he says, his hand finding mine and squeezing until I turn back to him. “Don’t act like I don’t know you better than that.”

“This was a bad idea. I’m sorry. I didn’t think. I just...” His solid chest moves under my gaze, in, out, in. There’s a thumb sized bruise near his collarbone. Her thumb? “You’re probably busy. I should go and call a cab. Really. I don’t know why I keep—”

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