Page 62 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
But it’s the man in the blue, button-down shirt who really tests my restraint. He arrives about thirty minutes after I do, and Fiona’s demeanor changes subtly when she sees him. She’s very attentive all of a sudden.
“Morning, Thomas,” she says, already reaching for a cup as he approaches the register. “The usual?”
“You know me too well,” he replies, his smile warm and familiar. He leans his elbows on the counter. “Though I was thinking of trying something new today.”
There’s a suggestive undertone to his words that makes my wolf bristle. Fiona either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore it.
“Feeling adventurous?” she asks, holding the cup in an inquisitive manner. “The cardamom latte is our special today.”
“Sure, but I was thinking more along the lines of dinner,” he says. “That new Italian place on Fifth Street. Maybe tonight?”
My hands clench involuntarily around the mug I’m holding. The man—Thomas—is handsome in a conventional way, with kind eyes and an easy confidence that speaks of a life untroubled by the horrors Fiona and I have seen. He has probably never had to make an impossible choice, never had to put duty before desire, never had to sacrifice his own happiness for a greater good.
And here he is, casually asking out my mate as if he has any right to her time, her attention, her heart.
I don’t realize I’m growling softly until the customer at the next table gives me an alarmed look.
Fiona hands Thomas his coffee, her expression carefully neutral. “I’m afraid I can’t tonight,” she says. “But thanks for the invitation.”
Relief floods through me, but it’s short-lived.
“Another time, then,” Thomas says, undeterred. “You can’t keep turning me down forever, Fiona. Eventually, you’ll have to say yes.”
His persistence grates on me, but Fiona merely smiles—that polite, distant smile I’m coming to recognize as her public face.
“We’ll see,” she says noncommittally, already turning to the next customer.
When the morning rush finally slows, Margo approaches my table, her expression decidedly unfriendly.
“She wants you to go,” she says without preamble.
I set down my now-empty mug. “I’m a paying customer,” I reply mildly. “And as far as I can tell, this is a public establishment.”
Margo’s eyes narrow. “Listen, tall, dark, and broody. Fiona doesn’t want you here. You can’t sit here all day with just one cup of coffee, so scram.”
“Then, I’ll get another one.” I give her a sharp smile. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Before Margo can respond, Fiona herself appears beside the table, wiping her hands on her apron. “Margo, I need you to handle the register,” she says, not looking at me. “And Alex is having trouble with the espresso machine again.”
“On it, boss,” Margo says, shooting me one last warning glare before sauntering away.
Fiona turns to leave, but I speak before she does. “Can we talk?”
She pauses, her back to me. “There’s nothing to talk about.”
“Five minutes,” I press. “That’s all I’m asking for.”
After a long sigh, she slides into the chair across from me. “Fine. Five minutes. Then you leave and don’t come back.”
The weariness in her voice cuts deeper than her anger. “Are you okay?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
She lifts an eyebrow. “Seriously? That’s how you’re going to use your five minutes?”
“You look tired,” I say.
“Running a business is tiring,” she replies blandly. “What do you want, Erik?”
Direct, as always. It’s one of the things I’ve always admired about her. “To apologize properly,” I say. “And to ask for a chance to get to know the person you’ve become.”
