Page 60 of After All This Time

I feel it in ways I wish I didn't, and I know he's putting it together. He knows this isn't one-sided. But there's only so much I can keep hidden, and he's so damn perceptive.

What I don't understand iswhyorhowthis has happened. Did I do something to change us? Did he? Or was it inevitable, something neither of us could stop even if we wanted to?

I could ask him. I could sit him down, lay it all out, and figure out what's really going on between us. But that would make it real.It would give this thing permanence, and that scares the hell out of me.

The best thing I can do for him and us is bury it. Dig my heels in, keep my distance, and act like nothing's changed, even if it feels like everything has.

The glass in my hand is spotless and has been for the past five minutes, but I keep wiping anyway. Anything to keep my hands busy and my mind from wandering to places it shouldn't.

"You okay, Amelia? You've been quiet tonight."

"I'm okay. Maybe a little tired," I say, smiling at Rachel as I set the glass on the bar.

"You know you can go home early if you want. We're pretty quiet tonight," she offers, her tone kind and so full of mom energy that I'm tempted to hug the woman.

Before I can answer, a deep voice cuts in, "If Amelia's getting off early, then maybe she can come and have a drink with me."

Tate.

Rachel and I both turn, and there he is—denim-clad trouble, leaning against the bar with that permanent smirk etched across his face.

Rachel snorts, shaking her head and pointing a finger at him. "Love you, nephew, but a classy girl like her? Way out of your league."

"You don't want to rough it a little, Amelia?"

"Not tonight." I laugh, trying to keep it light as I crouch down to stack bottles in the fridge.

"How about tomorrow?"

"I'm working again."

"The day after?"

I glance at him now, raising an eyebrow. "Do you ever quit?"

"Not often," he shoots back, grinning like this is some game he's determined to win.

"Go," Rachel interjects, clearly over Tate's persistence. "He isn't going to leave you alone if you don't. After that, I want you to go home and rest."

I blink at her, wide-eyed, like she's just thrown me to the wolves. "Seriously?"

My head's a fucking mess, and the last thing I need is... him.

"One drink. Whatever you want. My treat." Rachel's version of a peace offering is also her way of saying,"Go handle your shit."

"Fine,"I say, standing and brushing off my hands as I stare him down. "One drink and then I'm going home."

I move around to the other side of the bar, stopping next to Tate. He's attractive—there's no denying that. But he's not Tobias. He doesn't tower over me the way Tobias does. He doesn't carry that warm, smoky scent that remains long after he's gone. Tate smells like every pretty boy cliché—fresh, clean, and entirely forgettable.

If I were in a different headspace, I could see it—I could maybe even let myself enjoy the flirtation. But right now? My head isn't in this, not even close.

"So, what'll it be?" he asks, wearing the kind of smile that says he's already picked out the spot where he'll hang my heart on his wall.

I'm pretty sure that spot's already taken.

"Vodka and lime, please, Rachel."

The second we sit, I feel female eyes burning into my skin from every direction—some curious, some openly hostile, like I've just walked into their territory. I almost want to stand up and announce to the whole bar,"Relax, ladies. Your boy is safe. By all means, have at him."

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