Page 65 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
After they’ve gone, I begin the nightly ritual of shutting down the café—counting the register, wiping down tables, refilling condiment containers for tomorrow. Alex sweeps the floor, his movements efficient despite his lanky frame. The black cat, Salem, watches from his perch on the counter, tail swishing lazily.
Erik still hasn’t left.
“We’re closed,” I finally say, facing him directly for the first time all day.
He rises from his table and carries his empty mug to the counter. “I know,” he says simply. “Just wanted to make sure you got home safely.”
“I live upstairs,” I point out. “And I don’t need an escort.”
His eyes flick to Alex, then back to me. “Of course,” he says with a small nod. “Good night, then.”
He turns to leave, and I feel a ridiculous pang of...something. Not disappointment. Certainly not that.
“Why are you doing this?” I ask before I can stop myself. “Coming here every day, watching me. What’s the point?”
Erik pauses at the door, his expression softening somewhat. “You know why.”
“I don’t want you here,” I say harshly.
“I know,” he acknowledges. “But I’m not giving up on us, Fiona.”
“There is no ‘us,’” I insist. “There never was.”
His smile is sad, knowing. “We both know that’s not true.”
Before I can formulate a response, he’s gone, the bell above the door chiming softly in his wake.
“So, that’s him, huh?” Alex says, leaning on his broom. “The guy you’re always not talking about.”
I blink, surprised by his perceptiveness. “What do you mean?”
Alex shrugs. “You get this look sometimes. Like you’re remembering something that hurts. Then you shake it off and try even harder to be smiling, happy Fiona, café owner. That guy?” He gestures toward the door where Erik just left. “He gives you that same look.”
“It’s complicated,” I say after a moment.
“Usually is,” Alex agrees with a wisdom beyond his years. “You want me to get rid of him? I know people.”
The offer startles a laugh out of me. “No, you don’t.”
“I could,” he insists, but his grin undermines the threat. “Say the word, and poof! Tall, dark, and intense disappears.”
I shake my head, oddly touched by his protectiveness. “I can handle Erik.”
“If you say so.” Alex sounds dubious. “I’m gonna take the trash out.”
“Thanks,” I say, turning my attention to cleaning the espresso machine.
A few minutes later, I realize Alex hasn’t returned. The back door is still slightly ajar, a cool breeze drifting in from the alley. Wiping my hands on a towel, I head in that direction, a faint sense of unease creeping over me.
“Alex?” I say, pushing the door open wider.
The alley is dark, illuminated only by a single security light above the door. The dumpster stands several yards away, its lid open. But there is no sign of the boy.
I take a step outside, the cool night air raising goosebumps on my arms. “Alex!” I call out again, louder this time.
Motion at the far end of the alley catches my eye. A figure emerges from the shadows—tall, male, but definitely not Alex. He walks toward me with purposeful strides, his face obscured by the darkness.
“Can I help you?” I ask, instinctively taking a step back toward the doorway.
