Page 68 of Smoke and Fire
Okay, I couldn't deny that was true. Bastian had given me breadcrumbs that led me to believe he was interested in me, but until I knew for sure, all was supposition.ThenI'd swim in thoughts of Bastian, romance, and adorable interactions.
Not a moment before.
Time. We just needed time. On the flip side, I wantedlesstime. I just wanted to see him again, already! A car pulled up outside, parking in the far slots. In my pocket, my phone vibrated with a text at the same time.
Lizbeth straightened with another yawn. “We should go,” she murmured, and I noticed the pull on her energy then. She didlook tired. JJ studied her in concern as he veered her toward the doors. I couldn’t stop watching them together. His long, graceful form against her adorable baby belly.
They captured my attention so long I barely noticed the customer that slunk into the coffee shop after they left. All I saw was a pair of brown, muscled arms that gave way to a familiar tank top, and a head of dark black hair. My heart plummeted all the way into my stomach as I straightened up.
“Jakob?” I whispered.
He grinned.
I swore.
JAKOB STANDINGin the Frolicking Moose was a dichotomy my brain couldn’t process.
For several long moments, I stared at him, lost in memories. Some of them were good memories. Laughing on the beach. Long dinners with my family. Dancing under the stars on our back porch. Some of them were not-so-good memories. Spans of silence that lasted for days. Clenched teeth. Frustration. Angled expressions, hard as nails.
For that brief spell of time when he stood before me again, wordless himself, all I could do was think.
He broke my trance with a voice I remembered all the way to my bones.
“It’s good to see you, Dahlia.”
His words trembled a little bit. He’d tucked his hands into his pockets, but I wondered if they shook like mine. It had only taken a few seconds of us staring at each other to produce a physical reaction in my body.
Six months.
I hadn't seen him or heard his voice in six months.
Our breakup had been amicable. Or, at least, not angry. Not desperate. Not woven with deceit and treachery and unfaithfulness. The relationship had been slowly dying. A general letting go. Drifting apart. The most agonizing death of love: disinterest.
When we broke up, I dissolved all ties to our former life together. My job, my apartment, my life outside LA. I packed, sold, pawned, and got rid of everything until all I had was cash-in-hand and the urge to leave.
Which led me right to my RV.
For months, I'd wondered if I'd made a mistake. Could love be resurrected? After five years together, did we not care enough to work hard and save each other? If so . . . why not? Why couldn't five years of our combined lives be enough of a base for us tofightfor each other?
Those questions plagued me again.
He stepped forward once. The counter stood between us, but I shifted back out of instinct. That made me feel more confused. Jakob posed no danger to me, yet I didn't want him near.
Why?
He stopped, clearly troubled.
I licked my lips and asked, “What are you doing here?”
Disbelief, even defensiveness, colored my tone. Jakob rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. He studied me, but didn't make eye contact. Like he wanted to drink me in, but couldn't face me.
“I came to talk to you," he said.
“All the way from LA?”
He hesitated. Did I imagine that he seemed to silently ask himself the same doubt-filled questions? Why did I feel like a wary cat?
“Yes, from LA." He nodded with a half shrug. "You’ve . . . you haven’t been around very much and I wanted to see you. Six months is a long time. Your parents said you've been driving the RV around this whole time.”
