Total pages in book: 41
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 37645 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 188(@200wpm)___ 151(@250wpm)___ 125(@300wpm)
The conversation in the restaurant drops to a simmer, every set of eyes tracking me like I’m a live grenade rolling across the tile. I stop at the end of Stellan’s table and stare down at him.
“You’re not supposed to be here. Casey has a restraining order,” I say, voice cold as ice.
He looks up, and the smile he gives me is razor thin, more a baring of teeth than anything human. “It’s a free country, Naomi. I’m here for the lunch special.”
“You should’ve Door Dashed it. You can’t be within one hundred yards of my sister.” I hold my ground. “She doesn’t want anything to do with you.”
He visibly flinches. “I don’t care. She’s mine.”
“Not anymore.” I lean in, bracing my hands on the edge of the Formica. “You ever come near Casey again, you’ll wish the Sheriff was your only problem.”
That gets a reaction. His eyes flick up, sharp and glassy. “You think I’m scared of you?”
“I think you should be,” I say, making sure my voice carries to the next booth. “You’re one bad choice away from spending some time in a jail cell.”
He snorts, but the confidence is all fake. His hands are shaking. He looks tired, strung out, the dark hollows under his eyes even worse than before.
“You Bardots are all the same,” he says. “Bitches at heart.”
This little shit is starting to piss me off. “Don’t project your bullshit on my family. It isn’t our fault your mom left your dad for the pool boy,” I shoot back.
A hush has fallen over the diner. Even the grill cook in the back is pretending to wipe down the pass, just to have a better angle on the show.
The manager comes out from the back and approaches the booth. “Is there a problem here?” he asks, eyeing Stellan in turn.
“Yes,” I say. “Casey has a restraining order against him. He shouldn’t be here.”
Stellan smirks. “Told you, man. I’m a paying customer.”
The manager stares him down. “You’re also causing my best waitress distress. Your lunch is on me but I don’t ever want to see your face in my restaurant again. Now leave or I’m calling the sheriff myself.”
Stellan rises, pushing the table with enough force to slosh coffee over the rim. “Fine,” he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “I’ll go.” But as he brushes past me, he leans in and drops his voice to a hiss. “Family should stick together. Shame if something happened to yours.”
I want to hit him. I want to claw his eyes out, right here in the middle of the restaurant. But I do neither. I just smile, cold and bright, and say, “Try me, Stellan.”
He storms out, boots thumping across the linoleum. The bell above the door rings twice as he leaves.
The entire restaurant exhales as one, and conversation slowly resumes, but the side-eyes and whispered asides linger.
I go back to Casey, who’s slowly pounding her fist on the countertop.
“It’s okay,” I say, sliding onto the stool next to her. “He’s gone.”
She doesn’t answer for a while. “I can’t believe the jerk came to my work. I should’ve kicked his ass myself.”
Sheriff Armstrong bursts in and assesses the situation, finding it under control. He then takes Casey aside to obtain a statement. Numerous customers also step forward to provide statements that corroborate Casey’s account. Before departing, the sheriff assures everyone that he will issue a warrant for Stellan’s arrest.
After dropping Casey at my mom's place, I'm on my way to our house when Wyatt calls me.
"Are you okay?" he demands as soon as I pick up.
"I'm fine," I assure him. "Just really angry."
"Where the hell are you?" I can sense the worry in his voice.
"I'm nearly home." I don’t notice my speed until I pull into our driveway.
I turn off the headlights and sit there, gripping the steering wheel so tightly I'm surprised it doesn't break. My jaw hurts from clenching, and my ribs feel like they’re being squeezed by a tight wire. I try to calm my breathing, but the adrenaline still courses through me.
It’s only when I see the porch light flip on that I get out, legs jelly and brain running on fumes. Wyatt opens the door before I’m halfway up the walk, and just seeing him almost makes me lose it. My knees buckle, and I collapse straight into his arms. No preamble, no bravado, just pure, raw need. He wraps me up and holds on tight, like he already knows I’m falling apart.
He doesn’t say a word. Just tucks my head under his chin and waits for me to breathe again. His heartbeat thuds slow and even under my cheek, like it’s daring the world to keep spinning out of control.
He steers me into the living room and sits us both down, me in his lap, his arms caging me in from every direction. I start crying before I even want to, fat, stupid tears that burn my cheeks.