Page 83 of Killer Confections
My hand falls from the photo, a torrent of thoughts and emotions grander than I’ve ever felt swarming me like a frenzy. It’s almost too much until I turn and my eyes widen at the next picture resting on the left bedside table in a pretty golden frame.
It’s me. Right after college graduation…
On my balcony in Athens.
It’s obvious I had no idea my photo was being taken. It’s a side shot. My elbows rest on the railing as I stare out at the street, lost in thought. It looks like whoever took it (not naming anyone), was just a few rooms down from me.
My shiver causes my hands to rub up and down my arms as the goosebumps prickle my flesh.
He was there the whole time…
I have no idea what’s going on, but Atlas has a lot of fucking explaining to do.
I set my jaw, brushing my daze away as I pull my shoulders back and walk with purpose out of the bedroom. I step right into an open layout that makes my jaw drop, but I quickly pick it up.
The spacious kitchen full of wide countertops, two large ovens, a metal farmhouse sink that’s so deep you have to lean over it to see the bottom, and a fabulous wide linear chandelier doesn’t give me pause.
Even though my brain screams in delight at it.
The living room with its massive L-couch, beautiful red and yellow rug, and entertainment center that looks aged to perfection doesn’t even get me to stop in my tracks as I stomp toward the back of the cottage style home. There’s a hallway that leads straight to a garage and I follow the sounds of blaring metal music and tools clanking against metal. Just as I get to the door, I spot a picture hanging above a coat rack and do a double take at the headshot from my college graduation. I’m smiling at the camera, diploma in one hand, and my blue robes draped over me. My hat is a little crooked as I give thecamera a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
That was a bittersweet day for me…
I thought about Atlas just before the ceremony and wasn’t present during speeches or receiving my diploma. I was just…there.
I wasn’t in the mood to take pictures, but mom had already booked the photographer for after my ceremony. I plastered on a fake smile and did it regardless of how I was feeling.
The bridge of my nose stings and I feel the tears springing to my eyes as I quickly cover my mouth.
He was there this whole time and never said anything?
When I was so completely heartbroken over him and he couldn’t have the decency to speak to me?
My sadness quickly shifts to anger and I don’t even bother wiping my tear-stained cheeks as I stomp into the four-car garage. I ignore the beautiful, sleek cars as I spot Atlas next to his motorcycle, a wrench in his hand as he leans over the bike. He’s in a black muscle shirt, his thick, corded, and tattooed arms bared shamelessly as he glistens with sweat. His hair falls over into his eyes that shift to me when he hears me in the doorway.
He nearly drops his tool, standing upright as he stares at me with an unsure expression. “How are you feeling—”
“Whatthe fuckis going on, Atlas?” I growl through clenched teeth.
His shoulders droop as he tosses the wrench aside and sighs heavily. “A lot, Short Stack. Too much to discuss right here.”
My arms wrap around my biceps as I hold myself. I’m not sure if I’m trying to comfort myself or hold myself back from harming this man. “So what?” I ask, incredulously. “You want to sit down and chat over fucking tea about what happened in my bakery?”
He rubs a hand across the back of his neck, laughing nervously. “Well, I don’t think I have any tea—”
“Oh, my god!” I moan in distress, running my hands through my hair. “My fuckingkitchen! There was so much blood!”
He walks quickly over to me, reaching for my hands before I shoot him a pointed look and he takes a cautious step back. He stays close, but he doesn’t invade my personal space like he looks like he’s itching to do. “It’s taken care of. It was handled long before Janette’s morning shift.”
My lips thin, and my eyes widen a fraction. “Thank heavens for that,” I snark.
He hangs his head. “I have a lot of explaining to do. Just sit at the kitchen table and I’ll tell you everything, baby.”
I ignore the way my stomach flutters at the endearment and cross my arms. “How can I trust that you’ll tell me the truth?”
“Because I would rather die than hurt you anymore than I already have,” he answers with no hesitation and I suck in a breath.
Now isn’t the time to be kicking my feet and giggling!
