Promises Promises

Chapter 9

An evening at Blissful Brews had never been so gloomy, and it had nothing to do with the weather.

For good measure, I looked outside, double checking the clear skies and a beautiful, shiny full moon hanging out in the dark abyss. The temp when I came inside was a cool seventy. In other words, perfect.

By all normal standards, it was a great evening. I just wasn't feeling it. I hadn't been feeling anything in days.

Not since I left Spencer's house.

"You're doing it again," Leann's voice tripped me up on my path of dire thoughts. "Thinking about you know who..."

"No, I'm not," I blurted out, trying to act normal and then utterly failing at it when I took a casual sip of my cinnamon latte and almost choked on it.

Leann rolled her eyes, grumbling something under her breath about my drink of choice, and I'll admit—it wasn't a great one. It only filled me with memories I was trying to forget.

My feet did an anxious tap against the hardwood floors, and my mind ran through those memories, filling up with images of Spence I didn't want anymore and sound clips of conversations I no longer wanted to remember.

I missed him and I hated him for that. I hated myself for it, too. And then I hated myself for hating myself. And then I missed him some more.

Fuck that shit. I couldn't live with the guy or without him, and life was generally not going well.

I was so distracted in my thoughts, it wasn't until I heard Leann clear her throat that I even remembered she was sitting with me. Her judgemental eyes were an extra annoying reminder.

"What?" I mumbled. "Stop looking at me like that."

"I'm not trying to look at you any sort of way," she said in a sing-song tone as she tipped back in her chair and looked at the ceiling. "I'm just wondering when you're going to stop torturing yourself."

As I continued to stare at my cinnamon latte, I saw Leann's head drift back down in the corner of my vision. Then her hand reached for the mug and she slid it back.

I watched it gain distance from me and my wounded heart. "Leave it there."

"No," she insisted, her snappy tone drawing my eyes to her face. She frowned at me. "It's been two weeks. We come here basically every other night and you've continued to order this confounded drink that just reminds you of Spencer. If you made your decision and you're happy with it, then it's time to move on." She turned to the main counter and hollered, "Griff! We need something without cinnamon."

"On it, sweetheart!" he hollered back.

I rolled my eyes. "That's not necessary."

"Yes, it is."

"Whatever."

Sinking back in my thrifted chair, wobbly because one leg was shorter than the rest, I proceeded to pout.

If I wanted to be upset about parting ways with my forever crush, wasn't that my right as a human? I didn't like being told it was time to move on, mostly because I wasn't happy with my decision. I felt betrayed and I wanted justice. I also wanted a warm embrace, an all-consuming kiss. To be held in strong arms that felt so fucking safe, until recently.

When the bell over the entrance rang, my eyes sprang to the door, if only for a distraction from my dismal thoughts. I watched as two men dressed in all black entered Blissful Brews, and the hair on the back of my neck rose with anxiety.

I didn't recognize them. And ever since Dante had planted that information in my ears about outside help for the Philly job, I'd been wary of strangers coming into Fairhaven.