A second later the lock clicks and the door opens. “Hey,” she says, giving me a puzzled look as she wipes her hands on an apron covered in flour. “What’s up? Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, running a hand through my hair and glancing over my shoulder, second-guessing my decision to come here and spill my guts to Tempest. Deciding to get the fuck over myself, I say, “I was just wondering if we could talk?”
“Sure.” Backing up, she gives me space to walk through and then she closes the door behind her, locking it back. “Have a seat,” she says, motioning to a stool on the other side of the workstation that’s covered in ingredients and bowls of batter.
Clearing my throat, I suddenly feel nervous. This was a bad idea. Tempest doesn’t want to hear about my drama and she’s obviously busy. “You know,” I say, hesitating at the table. “I should probably go. This isn’t that im—”
“Sit,” she demands, turning to give me a death glare over her shoulder as she pulls a fresh batch of muffins out of one of the large ovens. “I know what you were getting ready to say and it is important. Cage and I were just talking last night and we decided if you didn’t open up to one of us soon, we were going to stage an intervention, so it’s good you’re coming willingly.”
She makes it sound like there would’ve been an apprehension or something. Like, this is the mob. I chuckle to myself. “Fine.”
“Muffin?” she asks, holding a hot one out to me.
I raise my eyebrows in question.
“Sweet Dreams,” she says. “Straight out of the oven, they’re to die for.”
As I inhale the muffin, Tempest begins her inquisition. “So, what’s her name?”
I choke on a bite but manage to wheeze out, “Who?”
“The girl… woman… girlfriend… whoever made you go off the grid and escape to Green Valley.”
Have I mentioned how intuitive Tempest Cassidy is? She’s a lot like my mother, or any mother, I would guess. That saying about them having eyes in the back of their heads must be true, because they always know things they shouldn’t. And it’s obvious Tempest has already figured out part of what brought me here.
“Chloe,” I say, happy I have a delicious muffin in my mouth to cover the bitterness of her name on my tongue. It used to be one of my favorite names to say, always followed by a smile… or a moan, or a…
No.
Not going there.
Tempest continues working away in the kitchen. “Girlfriend?”
“Yeah,” I bite out, still thinking I’m not ready to go there, but knowing I need to just rip the Band-Aid off and get it out in the open. “You could say that.”
“I’m guessing it ended badly?” she asks, turning from the tray where she’s been lining muffins up perfectly, getting them ready for the display case out front.
Taking a deep breath, I exhale… trying to let the bullshit go, but feeling parts of it still trapped in my chest. As much as I hate talking about my feelings, this might be the only way to make things better. Eventually, I’m going to have to go back to Dallas and live my life. I can’t hide out in Green Valley forever.
“Did you end things with her or did she end things with you?” Tempest asks when I don’t respond to her initial question.
I grunt, because fuck if I don’t want to talk about it.
“Was it mutual?” Her eyes rise up to meet mine and there’s nothing there but easy listening… like that oldies station my dad used to play in the gym all the time when we were kids—not too hard, not too soft, just open and honest.
Running a hand through my hair, I stand from my barstool and pace the kitchen. “That’s the hard part,” I admit, hating that we’re diving right into the thick of it. “It’s complicated and messy… I’m not sure if I even want to talk about it.”
“But you’re here.” Tempest goes back to her muffins and a casual, conversational tone.
She’s right. I am. And I wasn’t forced. I walked here on my own accord, so deep down I want to talk this out. “I was going to propose,” I start, figuring that’s as good a place as any.
“And she turned you down?”
God bless the look of astonishment on her face. I could kiss her for it, if she wasn’t my brother’s girl and if I didn’t already love her like a sister.
“Turns out, she’s married,” I mutter, fighting off the rush of hurt and embarrassment from that admission. To say my heart and ego took a beating that day, and for many days to follow, would be the understatement of the century. “Or was… I don’t really know. I mean, if I was her husband and found out she’d had an affair for over a year that ended with another guy proposing to her, I’d have sent her packing, but that’s me.”
My words and tone are gruff, but they’re just a cover for the sheer betrayal I feel every time I think about Chloe and how she lied to me. For over a year, I thought she was mine, and I was ready to give her more than my heart. I was planning on giving her my last name… and forever.
“The worst part is she didn’t even have the guts to tell me initially. She let me go all out… a weekend together in the mountains, roses, wine, the whole nine yards. When she cried as I slipped the ring on her finger, I thought it was because she was so overcome with love for me, mirroring the way I felt for her… but that was a lie too.”
When Tempest is quiet, I turn toward her to make sure she hasn’t left the kitchen and I’m not standing here giving myself an account of my worst failure. But she’s listening, and all that’s on her face is a look of understanding.
“I know what betrayal of that caliber feels like and I know what it does to your psyche,” she begins, wiping her hands on a towel and then walking over to a coffee pot and pouring two cups. “It’s where I was when I met your brother. I was broken and questioning every life choice I’d ever made… wondering how I was ever going to trust myself again, let alone other people.”
As she slides the cup over to me, I nod and swallow. That’s exactly how I feel.
“The first thing I’m going to tell you is,” she says, taking a tentative sip of the steaming hot liquid that’s honestly better than any Starbucks in the city. Again, I have no clue what’s happening to me, so I’m just going to roll with it. “It’s not your fault.”
Letting out a rueful laugh, I run a hand down my face and then back up through my hair. “I don’t know about that.”
“Love is blind, Val,” she says sternly. “Ever hear of rose-colored glasses?”
I smirk and take a drink of my coffee, enjoying the burn and the warmth as it travels down.
“It’s meant for people like us… we see people the way we want to see them, letting their flaws fall by the wayside and only focusing on the things we love about them.” She pauses, giving me a small smile. “It’s not a bad quality to have… it means we love without limits. But it also means we might not see things in black and white.”
“Like a husband and a life I had no fucking clue about?”
Her smile turns sad. “Yeah, like that.”