Full manuscript at https://www.dropbox.com/sh/qyr859viou4vrsv/AABaG5aLc_xk2KCRo7yAkmGna?dl=0

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He’s looking at me, a merciless sensation. Staring into the kitchen sink, I’m rendered speechless at his revelation. The color is pooling away from my face, oh-so rapidly.

How can he?

How could he?

No, impossible. He can’t know. He wasn’t ever supposed to.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I murmur, all I can say at this point.

Errant heat sears through my belly as he stands up to march aggressively toward me, his eyes never leaving mine. Reaching down for the dishcloth, I desperately try and ignore it all – my shaky hands, my shaky knees, my shaky heart.

“Look at me.”

He approaches me, his bare feet inches from mine. Lips pursed, my mind scrambles for ways to try and get past him…and nothing. Nothing’s coming to me, because I know I’m not going to be able to get away without saying something.

Instead I inhale sharply, careful not to look directly at him. That always gets me into trouble.

He reaches out to grab my hand but I pull away, desperate to put some distance between us.

My feet push me back a step and he steps forth, matching my movements. He’s got that resolute determination like a hunter has for their prey.

Oh god, how can I deny him when that searing stare is ripping shreds through me? When that palpable heat is generating between us, sending electrons to every fiber of my being?

The air is so brittle it could snap, and if it doesn’t, I possibly will. There is no sound, yet everything is moving, swirling rapidly.

So we stand in front of each other, feet deep in silence.

Each passing moment only leads to the next, my heartbeat amplifying in tandem. Neither of us knows what’s going to happen next, yet it’s so painfully clear at the same time.

And then, a loud gasp flies out me when he grabs my hand.

“I’ll be damned if I let you go again.”

Oh god.

CHAPTER 1

My dad used to say to me that you need to start the day with a smile. Not today.

“Fuck,” I mutter to myself with full despair staring into my pantry. Not only is the coffee gone, the sugar is too. Not to mention the fact that I need to make two trays of my macadamia nut brownies before I open my café in an hour. Most definitely not smiling today.

I’ll think of something, I always do.

Quickly tying up my stubbornly wavy hair in a messy ponytail, I take out the flour, macadamia nuts, and cocoa, not before some chocolate powder spills onto my apron. This is pretty sneaky baking from my own kitchen. In lieu of my own commercial kitchen to use, I rent the small one down at the nearby sandwich shop, Hot Off the Press, for a small fee. However desperate times call for desperate measures. And I mean desperate.

Knowing my recipe like the back of my hand, I measure the flour into the sifter and watch the beautiful powder glide down like snowflakes.

As I put the kettle on boil, my roommate, Meixiang or Mei as she likes to be called, strolls into the kitchen in an orange tank top and shorts. How does she look so freaking pretty first thing in the morning? With her glossy chestnut hair cascading down past her shoulders like spun silk, her sultry almond eyes and light brown skin, she is flawless.

“Mia, don’t you get tired of doing that every morning?” she teases me in her usual cheery tone. She’s well aware I make a tray of desserts first thing in the morning.

Pouring the boiled water over some honey to create my sugar substitute, I mix it in with the rest of the ingredients to watch the bowl of creamy white swirl into the most luscious ganache. I then decant the batter into two trays and chuck them into the hot oven, satisfied with my rushed efficiency.

“I’ve hardly seen you lately,” she starts off as she reaches in the fridge to grab an apple. She isn’t exaggerating – either we’re like ships passing in the night or she’s off being a jetsetter due to her job in pharmaceutical sales.

“What’cha been up to, girl?” she asks as she starts munching on her apple. At the same time, I make myself a bowl of cereal and start eating.

“Mmm…between my coffee machine breaking down and Rhonda being off with a sick kid, it’s just been a bit more…hectic,” I mumble between rushed chewing. “I really could do with not having another bill to pay.”

Rhonda and James are my only baristas, so I’ve only had one server working with me this entire week.

“Sounds rough,” she sympathizes.

“Shit happens, you know,” I shrug my shoulders.

Mei eyes me with severe concern. “Hun, if you ever need me to lower the rent…”

I huff at this repeated topic of conversation, giving her a forced and reassuring grin. Mei’s uncle owns the apartment so she already charges me peanuts to live here. She is way too good of a roommate. She is also my dearest friend.

“No, I’m totally fine. Relax.”

“Speak for yourself. You’re the one that needs to relax,” she argues back as she observes my loud yawning.

“I’m fine,” I mumble as I continue eating.

Incredulity flashes across her face, as she surveys mine. “You seem stressed.”

A bitter taste forms in my mouth, and I swallow immediately. It’s just another day, any other ordinary day.

“Bad sleep, that’s all,” my voice is quiet, withdrawn.

“When was the last time you did something for yourself?”

“I went shopping the other day,” I offer in jest.

“Going to the supermarket does not count.” She claps her hands together in a ‘pretty-please’ manner. “C’mon, let’s try that new place on Diversey Avenue Friday night. Their coffee cocktails are to die for.”

“Nuh-uh, you’re not dragging me to the Viagra Triangle again like last time,” I promptly remind her of the time she took me to a bar filled with older, affluent men, desperate to pounce on young women. 

“Fine, fine. If you won’t go with me to drinks, how about Tom?” She raises her eyebrows enthusiastically. “He asked for your number, again.”

Not interested. I spoke to her sleazy colleague for a total of thirty seconds when I came to drop off something last week. “No, I’m good.”

“No? He’s fun and, so you could use a bit of that D. When was the last time you got laid?”

I almost choke on my cereal. My love life…the truth of the matter is it’s non-existent. I make Mr. Bessonov, the rotund bald plumber living in 1B, look like a regular Casanova.

“Why go out for drinks when I can have a quiet glass of wine with you?” I retort, trying to deflect her last question.

“And what about the other thing? About getting laid?”

Damn her nosiness! I chew slowly, deliberately trying to procrastinate having to answer.

“It hasn’t been that long.”

A lie, a pretty blatant one at that. It’s been far too long. Two years and counting…

The skepticism is clear on her face. “You’ve been single ever since day dot. I’ve lost count of the guys you have turned down.”

A loud scoff flies out of me. “Puh-lease, I’m hardly beating them away with a stick.”

“You are ignoring the massive sea of fish out there,” she concludes assertively, and extends her arms widely to make her point. “Plenty of sexy fish swimming around, waiting to be caught.”

“Yeah well, I’ve always sucked at fishing,” I dismiss, polishing off my breakfast.

“You do, actually!” She shoots me another cheeky grin, clearly not done with the gossiping. “What kind of guy do you want?”

It’s not that I’m eschewing men completely, I’m just not interested. It also doesn’t help that I tend to dress in clothes that scream hipster central rather than sexy/nightclub ready.

“I don’t know. If he can come home after a long day and curl up on the couch, share a few cold ones with me, I’m sold.”

Mei strokes her chin, feigning concentration. 

“A guy that likes watching TV and drinking beer. Gee Mia, where are you gonna find a guy like that?”

We both laugh, and I shake my head at her.

“I remember that accountant you saw a movie with.”

“Don’t say it,” I raise a finger at her, knowing she will.

“The one with sweaty hands and a permanent hard-on.”

We laugh again.

“What about Brad, the cop? You said he was cute,” I add, already predicting her next response. 

“You know what else he was? Gay. He had more product in his hair than you, and he was practically bald. Bald, Mia!”

Clamping a hand over my mouth, I suppress a loud chuckle. “I’ll admit my dating history has been less than notable.”

“That’s it?” She’s deeply unimpressed.

I smirk at her. “What do you mean?”

“No love of your life type, no one that got away?”

Instantly my face drops, and I look downward, uncomfortable at answering her question. That’s why I hate today. It’s been two years since I met him.

Roman.

And I hate that I still think about him. Like clockwork.

“Nope, nothing like that,” the lie slips through quickly, my voice tight.

What’s the point of reminiscing? What’s the point of reminiscing how he has never worn jeans, how he read Plutarch and Molière, how he would—   

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s out there somewhere,” Mei says, snapping me out of my dark nostalgic thoughts.

I clench my jaw tersely at her words. Oh yeah, I found him alright. We were in love, we made plans to be together forever.

And then, came that day…

Shaking my head, I jolt myself into reality. I’m sure he has long forgotten me since then. He’s off living his glitzy and glamorous life, something that was intended the first moment he entered the world at his grandfather’s private chateau in Vienne, France.

“Honestly, I’m perfectly satisfied,” I insist, excusing myself for the choice of words. My purple bunny vibrator, nicknamed B.O.B. (AKA Battery Operated Boyfriend) for kicks, works just fine for my needs. Who needs a man when I can get a guaranteed delivery without any of the drama?

Mei glances at me skeptically.

“I don’t know. It’s just…”

“What?”

She sighs, still looking at me. “It’s like work is a distraction for you.”

At that exact moment, my oven bell dings.

“That’s me!” I rush over, relieved that I’ve been precluded from answering. Who needs romance when you have these hot pockets of love anytime you want? I’m banning men, but I could never ban sugar.

“I’m making dinner tonight,” Mei continues as I take the brownies out of the tray to cool down on the rack. While that’s happening, I take out a small jar of homemade honeycomb, packing it in a shopping tote bag to take to the café. 

“You’re the best.” It’s been almost a week since I’ve had a decent home cooked meal. A change from a diet of dill pickles, chicken sandwiches, grape jelly, and apples has never been more welcome.

I cut a big slice for Mei and put the rest of the cut semi-cooled brownies into a plastic tub, before placing it in the tote bag. 

“See ya later!” Gathering my wallet, keys and tote bag, I wave at her.

“Tough times don’t last. Tough people do. Good luck!” she yells as the door closes. My advisor/wing woman/nutritionist; I wouldn’t want to live with anyone else. She has been an absolute rock for me the last two years, and really lifted me for all those times when I was slipping.

This is my life. I get up at the crack of dawn, throw on some jeans and a tee, scoff down my breakfast of quick oats, brush my teeth and wash my face. And then I’m rushing down two blocks to Hot Off The Press to bake, before rushing to open my café. It’s definitely no sweet fairy tale, but I wouldn’t swap it for anything else.

Stepping out from my door, I soak up the relative quiet of my tree-lined street before reaching the hustle and bustle that is Wicker Park on an early Wednesday morning. 

I’ve lived here long enough, but there is still so much to appreciate – the smell of freshly ground coffee, the birds chirping quietly, the frantic steps of income-to-burn individuals rushing to work, juxtaposed with the easy-going strolls of artists and students. There’s a subtle charm about this gentrified hotspot, from the graffiti murals and chic boutiques to the trendy restaurants.  

Luckily for me, I’m just a quick stroll – or jog in this case – to work. My aim is to have the café open by 7:00 am and close up shop around 4pm, and as I stare down at my watch, I’m bang on schedule.

As the clock strikes 6:57AM, I turn the corner and there it is. My pride and joy stands in front of me — all ten by eleven feet of space covered by an aluminum gate. Huddled among the massive city buildings of Chicago, my café is very much a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it type getup, composed primarily of one large glass display case. Rose and Thorn, printed in white italics, sits atop of the shop in a small but prominent banner.

I’ve had it for about ten months, and it still elicits feelings of joy and happiness every time I see it. Like most typical offices, it’s only open five days a week. As part of the lease agreement, the owners who live in the apartment upstairs stipulated that the shop has to be closed on weekends. Which is why it’s so cheap compared to other spaces in the area.

Upon reaching the shop, I bend down to unlock it, pulling the aluminum sliding door up to reveal it in its entirety.

It’s quite humid for a fall day and my t-shirt is already starting to feel moist from the mugginess. Antiperspirant deodorant, what a crock. 

First priority is making sure the glass display is fully stocked, and I slide the glass doors to arrange the cakes and pastries. These are plates of my fried doughnuts, coconut swirls and pumpkin scones, the earthy fragrance delightfully comforting. As I start stacking my freshly baked brownies, James arrives in his second-hand two-door car that is much too small for his tall frame.

He waves at me as he hops out of the vehicle, which appears to have a fresh dent just below the door. Walking with a spring in his step toward the café, he is wearing a white t-shirt and jeans which show off his broad shoulders and lanky physique. His close cropped black hair isn’t long enough to be rebellious but might be considered hipster. James always has that gleam in his eye, like he knows he’s got it going on.

James walks in and squeezes near me to get to the coffee machine, his height towering over me.

“Morning, Mia. You are looking beautiful as always,” he smiles, giving my body an admiring glance with his big brown eyes.

There’s checking out the boss, and then there’s James. It’s 7:30 in the morning. I have bags under my eyes and a thin layer of sweat resting on my back. I look anything but beautiful.

“Mister, you are forty-two seconds late!” I tease, brushing off his flirtation. “No really, I appreciate you covering Rhonda’s shifts on such short notice. In fact…” I reach for my shopping tote bag and take out the jar of honeycomb, handing it to him. “Here.”

He looks thrilled, like a kid in a proverbial candy store.

“I love this stuff.” James places the jar on the counter, the warm grin still on his face. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“For helping out this last week, and not complaining, despite the fact that you had every right to. I know you’ve been under the pump already, so thank you…”

I’m temporarily silenced when James places his hands on my shoulders, completely unapologetic about breaking the personal barrier.

“You know I’m here for you, if you ever wanna talk…” His eyes suddenly go dark. “Or anything.”

Did he just say what I think he said?

“Ahem…thanks.” I wriggle away from his hold and veer toward the glass display. “Let’s get to work! You’ll make coffees the whole day and I’ll serve and handle the register.”

James has made it pretty clear he doesn’t just want a professional relationship with me. However, he needs to understand that I am his boss first and foremost.

Customers start lining up and they happen to be females. Always one to lap up their attention, this is James’s specialty and I’m going to let him take the reins while I serve desserts.

Lunch time comes around and it has quietened down considerably. We’re chilling together inside the café, enjoying fried chicken and avocado hoagies from Hot Off the Press.

“How is everything with you?” I ask, munching on the hoagie, relishing the taste of garlic mayo combined with crunchy chicken.

Besides working at the café, James is also a budding entrepreneur. His start-up is social media management for businesses, but it’s yet to take off the ground.

“Tiring,” he laughs softly as he eats a piece of the honeycomb. “Do you have anything stronger than a triple shot coffee?”

“I know how you feel.” I really mean that. James and I have really bonded over our struggles with our respective businesses. He knows the reality of living paycheck to paycheck, he knows that you need to live and breathe it, and not get much in return a lot of days. He gets it.

“All we need is to land one major client, and the others will follow. That is where the cheddar is.”

“Just hang in there,” I give him a firm nod. “You know you can work here as long as you like, if you need the extra money. I’ve got your back.”

He shoots me an appreciative glance. “First thing I’ll do when I rake in the money is buy you a nice dinner, show you a night out on the town. I’ll drive you in my brand-new sports beamer!”

The protracted way he looked at me was like he was gauging for an impressed reaction. I’m not. “Ok, I’m going to clean up the back. Can you handle the front on your own?”

“Sure. Don’t take too long. I need you to keep me company,” he winks at me.

Ignoring his increasingly playful comments, I push the flap door open and rush in. Those comments were so off-putting, I needed to get away from him.  Why is it always about having nice flashy things? Why is everything always about money? The last time someone told me the importance of acquisitiveness possessions is one I hate to recall.

Because it all goes back to that fateful day, where everything fell apart.

This place needs a good scrub, I remind myself. I take a look at the space in front of me, which is literally space – a small beige walled cubicle with just enough space to fit a refrigerator and sink. Grabbing the dishcloth from the sink, I start with the counters. As I watch my hands rub the hard surface in circular motions, beautiful bittersweet memories blitz their way into my conscience.

Like an old movie reel I could play it at will, we’re in my dorm kitchen. He’s twirling me in an impromptu dance while my rhubarb cake is baking in the oven. The smell of vanilla, the sunlight resting behind him, the lines on his face as he’s smiling at me—

“Hey,” The sound of James poking his head through the door snaps me out of my reveries.   “Someone wants to talk to you.”

“What for?”

“Said he won’t leave until he does. Bit of a prick, to be honest.”

I groan inwardly. A ‘prick’ is not something I want to deal with right now – it can only mean something that is not good. “And a free coffee won’t make him happy?”

“Sorry, dude. And you know how charming I am.”

The customer is always right, the customer is always right…Oh who am I kidding. It’s the worst motto I have heard. Clutching my cloth, I turn around and push through the door.

When I look up, the cloth drops out of my hand with sudden impact. All due to the sight in front of me. Heart plummeting, butterflies in my stomach, completely foreign reactions.

He smirks like the beautiful bastard he is, as he examines me over the glass counter.

My periphery darkens, at the reality of who it is.

It’s him.

“You sure are a sight for sore eyes.” The words roll off his tongue in a husky timbre. His speech and accent immediately set him apart from everyone else. After all this time, it is abnormally comforting.

“It’s been so long…” is all I can muster, looking back at him. The man I vowed to never see again for the rest of my life.

“Wait, you two know each other?” James frowns and judging by his tone, he sounds suspicious.

He stares at me raptly, taking me in like he’s taking air. I had forgotten how intense his eyes were. Like wildfire, they burn relentlessly.

“You can say that. We go a long way back, don’t we?”

Roman Thorne. Half French. Half English. All Adonis. The man who transformed me from a girl into a woman. The love of my life. The one that got away. The reason for my self-inflicted loneliness. To say he ruined men for me is an understatement.

And he is here, standing right in front of me.

After two years. The man that I think of like clockwork.

Except now, time has stopped.

Chapter 2

Hands. Jittery.

Mouth. Numb.

Chair, I need one, as I seriously doubt my ability to stand upright at this moment. My chest feels tight and I am finding it hard to breathe — it feels like my heart is strangling me. My brain is struggling to compute all these thoughts and questions swimming in from all different directions.

What the hell is he doing? Here? In Chicago?

Why is he here, at my café?

How does he know about it?

Why, oh why, does he have to be so damnably sexy?

In tailored dark trousers and a black knit showing off that glorious ripe physique, he is as close to male perfection as it can get. From his slightly crooked nose, his even more crooked smirk, to his thick and luscious dark hair, I have to first let my brain deal with the fact that someone so handsome exists. And that he was mine, once upon a time.

I’m all too aware that I’m sweaty with messy hair, makeup-free. And he looks the way he does.

A shaky inhalation leaves me as I try and gather my thoughts. This must be a screwed-up coincidence, surely. And then a microscopic part of my subconscious gives me another one: he’s here to see you. That doesn’t make sense though. After the way we ended things, I knew it in my heart he would never want to see me again.

“What are you doing here?” I force the desperate words out, my voice docile.

“The company is expanding exponentially. We’re looking to magnify our presence in North America.”

I’m not surprised – Thorne Holdings is the biggest private liquor label in the UK, if not the world, so it was only a matter of time before they took the plunge.

“And I’ve taken the post to head up the offices here,” he adds quickly, those powerful eyes instilled with focus.

This is a surprise to me. For the last two years he’s been based in London, where he’s from. Where he moved back to after we broke up. So why does he want to be back here?

And then there’s the other pertinent, but unspoken, question – why is he here to see me?

“All part of the plan for world domination?”

The corners of those gloriously fleshy lips move up and I swallow hard at the sight of that deliberately crooked smile. That used to drive me nuts.

“Something like that.”

“What else could you possibly want?” My voice is breathy.

His eyes widen faintly.

“Oh, you have no idea.” His voice mirrors mine, husky.

Thump thump thump goes my heart at the way he looked at me just now. How he looks so intense and brooding without even trying?

“It’s good to see you, Mia.”

I clench my jaw, unnerved at the sound of him saying my name. The way it glides off his tongue, it’s like poetry.

Bobbing his head down slightly, his gaze descends upon the selection of cakes and desserts on my glass display and studies them all. Involuntarily, I find my gaze descending upon his face to study him. Holy shit. He looks different than I remember – he looks better. Even though time has changed him, he is even more handsome than when I last laid my eyes on him. His hair is noticeably darker – any hints of him being blond are gone, and his once easy-breezy. The prominent bags under his eyes exacerbate the effects of stress and time etched in his countenance, but it gives him more character and maturity.

Those eyes however, are still the same. They have the same fire and energy that burned right into my soul and captured it without me even knowing it. And those lips, those fleshy, carnal lips that he knew how to use. And he used them so well, on my lips, my skin, my naked body…crap I need to stop these thoughts, now.

“You look great. I mean, this looks great…” he quickly recovers, nervousness tracing his face. That can’t be – Roman is the most confident and self-assured person I have ever met.

From the corner of my eye, James is visibly eavesdropping as he serves a customer, keeping one eye directed at our conversation.

Crossing my arms, I cock up my head up to look at Roman.

“Well? You wanted to speak to the manager. I’m all ears.” My tone is brusque.

“I wanted to start by sampling some of your produce—”

“If you want a coffee, James does a really good one. The best actually.”

I have to put my game face on, not that I ever had one. Roman’s face drops and eyes James, who in turn eyes him back. Clenching his jaw, he leans forward in an attempt to block James from hearing our conversation. I inhale sharply at that scent, one of a kind. The intermingling of charcoal flame with the outlandish aroma of cinnamon and pepper, like spicy black tea. After all this time, it’s still so sharp and crisp, and hauntingly familiar.

“When do you finish for the day? I will wait until then.”

Whoa. I’m barely able to grasp the fact that my ex is standing in front of me, but now he actually wants alone time with me? Hell no!

“No. This is not a good time,” I declare loudly to annoy him. Roman hates rejection, and I’m doing it on purpose to rouse him.

Roman narrows his eyes, his jaw tightening at my rebuff. He’s intimidating when he scowls like that, far more so than I remember. He shoots a dry look at James before walking up right to the counter and leaning in.

“I understand you do not want to be disturbed at this present time. At the first spare moment you get, can you please contact me?”

He pulls out a business card and puts it on the counter in front of me.

“Make it imperative to contact me as soon as possible. Give me a bell,” he commands high-handedly, his voice deceptively soft.

“Excuse me?”

“Call me.”

Why is he making it sound like some sort of emergency? “What for?”

“I need to see you.”

“Why?”

“I just do.”

“I don’t think it’s such a good idea.”

“That’s an opinion.”

“Yeah, mine. And I’m the one you want to see so I think it’s rather valid, don’t you think?” I push back, riled up already.

Barely a few minutes, and we’re bickering like we used to. James glances over at us, making it clear he’s been eavesdropping the whole time. I cross my arms and turn away, and Roman does the same.

“I’ve requested to meet you, and in return I expect you to fulfill that request,” he retaliates without a flinch, sounding like he’s just handed me an urgent deadline.

A quiet scoff flies out of me, shocked at his boldness. What the hell is his problem? Does he think he can come stomping into my life and demand things from me like this? He was always bossy, but not unbearable.

“This has thrown you off, and I sympathize. You’re just nervous to see me,” he concludes firmly, his tone way too smug for my liking.

I blink rapidly, dumbfounded. Is this the same Roman that I used to know? I may have wanted him to leave because…it’s him, but now I just want him to take a hike.

Clearing my throat, I glance down at the black matte card.

“Umm yeah, I’ve got your card and I know what I’m going to do with it.”

Burn it. Rip it to shreds.

“So, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go back to work,” I snap, so done with this.

He fails to recognize the hostility in my tone, and relief forms on his face. “Good. I look forward to it, Mia. Until then,” he replies with his oh-so-secret smile and heads out of the café and down the street. And just like that, he’s gone. It takes me a moment to realize that a blizzard has just ripped through my body and soul. Hell has frozen over.

As soon as he’s out of sight, I let out the deep breath that has been curling into a tight ball. My knees are wobbling, and I grip the counter to keep upright. That was all too engulfing, like an explosion of senses in my long dormant body.

What. Just. Happened.

Seriously, did that just happen?

Did Roman Thorne – love of my life, stop-you-dead-in-your-tracks, the one that got away – decide to come out of the woodwork to see me? Ask me to see him again?

Blinking quickly, I pick up the card, unsurprised at what I see. His title is clearly printed in white text.

Roman Thorne

Executive Vice-President

Thorne Incorporated Holdings

He’s got a few more titles he can add on top of that. Former Alumni of Eton College. An MBA from Cambridge Judge Business School. An LLM from Chicago Law School. And he’s only twenty-nine.

The black card is elegant, sophisticated and understated – just like him. Dropping the card on the counter, I rush back to the kitchen, avoiding James’s scrutiny. I need a moment to myself. Pushing the flap door open, I step into solitude to take a long drawn out exhalation, closing my eyes in relief. Slowly, I can feel my heart rate dropping back to normal.

Clean, I need to clean something. Grabbing a wiping cloth, I start with the counters. I scrub furiously as confused thoughts form in my mind.

What could he possibly want after all this time?

There are no belongings I have of his with me.

I don’t have any top-secret information about him, nothing scandalous at least.

I bet he wants to brag about how awesome his life is now. 

And then one distinct thought jumps into my mind. He’s changed.

After my fanatical cleaning efforts, the back is all scrubbed clean and sweat has formed on my forehead. Abruptly, the door opens and James’s head pops through.

“Hey, I’m going to close up shop. Do you need any help back here?”

Shaking my head weakly, I keep my eyes on the counter. “No, just go home. I’ll update your paycheck for the extra work.”

“Oh, okay.” James lingers there while I keep cleaning. “So…what was that all about before?”

“What?”

“That guy, he thinks he’s something else, doesn’t he? Is he an old friend of yours?”

There’s only one way to answer his questions. “Something like that.”

“He…” he trails, unwilling to finish. “Just the way he was looking at you, I don’t know. Never mind.”

I blush. He noticed something?

“I tried to deal with him myself cos he wanted to complain—”

“Don’t sweat it. Thanks again for today,” I cut him off, desperate to get off the subject. “Seriously, go home.”

“Alrighty. See-ya,” he smiles back, wearily.

He closes the door and I hear him slide over the counter, finally granting me the solitude I’ve been seeking. My solace is short-lived as those piercing words jump into my mind.

Call me.

No, I can’t. I made a promise to never contact him again. And I intend to keep it.

♦

As I turn the knob and open the door to my apartment, the first thing I smell is pan fried chicken and rice steaming. The television is on, some reality show about rich women fighting with each other. This is lovely. I’m ready for this meal, and I look forward to the extra-large glass of red wine afterward and catching up with my dear friend.

Mei is in the kitchen, chopping vegetables. “How was work? Chaotic?”     

You have no idea.

“…was fine. You?”

She carries on cooking, yelling over the loud frying. “Meetings, meetings, meetings. Followed by phone calls, more meetings, five-minute lunch break. All I want for tonight is to let my brain turn to mush.”

“This smells amazing,” I walk toward her and lean in to feast my eyes on the wok. It’s full of sliced chicken and red bell peppers. My stomach releases a vicious growl, cluing me in to how much I need this normalcy after my run-in today.

To help her along, I scoop hot rice into two red bowls. As she turns the stove off, I place the bowls of rice on the square black coffee table in front of the soft beige couch. Mei brings the stir-fry in a large metal bowl, garnished with coriander and sesame seeds, and joins me as we watch television. It’s delicious, she’s made a satay sauce that is to die for.

“Did James profess his love for you today?” she starts off as we eat.

Did I mention my roommate is always needy for juicy gossip.

“The answer isn’t going to change from last week.”

“Girl, we both know why that is. Am I right?”

My eyes fall into the back of my head. Even though she hasn’t even met him, Mei has urged me to hook up with him. I think she’s asked about 789 times.

“I don’t know why you don’t want to go out with him,” she mumbles through her eating.

Make that 790.

“I’d be more than happy to rehash the same reasons—”

“It’s not like you’re interested in anyone else.”

My heart blips at her comment. “Actually, would you believe—?”

“Oh my gosh. Girl, what are you doing? You psycho bitch!” Mei is exasperated when a loud shrieking comes from the television. Two women are having a massive cat-fight. They are in their mid-forties and have great bodies, sleek blonde hair and designer clothes. Busty Blonde #1 is slapping the crap out of this Busty Blonde #2.

Mei groans as she continues to direct her attention at the television. “Kylie totally deserves it, whacko biotch! She’s just spoiled and rich, who married richer. Her husband doesn’t give a hoot about her, and she is always flirting with her pool boy. I bet they’re both having affairs…what a shit way to live huh?”

Mei’s comment jolts me to the reality, reminding of the reason. The reason why I can’t, and refuse to contact Roman.

Tamara. Just thinking the name makes me see red. I have purposely made an effort to not look for a photo of her, because it would make the reality of him getting married so much more — real. I bet she’s blonde – he used to only date them. I bet they look perfect together, that they are blissfully happy together. And more specifically, I bet she’s the opposite of me. Correction, I know she is. An heiress and socialite, her father is a business magnate who has interests in almost everything, one of the wealthiest men in all of Europe.

My father is a semi-retired teacher who wears glasses to look distinguished, and has worn the same lumpy green cardigan as long as I can remember.

I did the right thing, it ended because it was supposed to. We’re just too different.

Before I know it, it’s getting late and I say goodnight to Mei and head to my bedroom to prepare for bed.

Closing the door, I unzip my jeans when the business card slips out of a pocket and falls to the ground. Roman. Errant heat sears my belly.

No, just no. He has no right coming back into my life. It’s fab the way it is and I don’t need him complicating it.

I don’t need to think about the time he randomly took me in his arms and danced with me in my dorm kitchen, after I did the dishes. Some brazen R&B song was on, but I felt like the prettiest belle at the ball.

I don’t need to reminisce about that one Sunday evening where we were both dreading our mid-term exams. We stayed up until 3AM talking about nothing, and my iPod played the same song on repeat.

I don’t need to be reminded of that time he took me to this vintage bookstore on West Montrose Avenue, and bought me a vintage edition of The Velveteen Rabbit, which still sits on my bookshelf.

And I really don’t need to remember the first time he kissed me, how it sent me floating. All the touches, the laughs, the sounds…

Gah! Stop it.

I hate how these beautiful and painful memories are bombarding me in equal measure. Letting out a sad sigh, I drop the card on the bedside table and slump into bed.

Closing my eyes, all I see are those wildfire eyes. Those wildfire eyes that would make my toes curl when he would lie over me when we were in bed together…oh god.

I’m going to see those eyes every time I close mine.

Fuck, I’m screwed already.

• Update #7 - Issues With The Paperback - Important! March 25, 2018

  Hi Guys,

  So I was ecstatic when one of my readers told me she received her paperback, until she sent me this picture:

  

  And this ...

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• Update #6 - Update - There's Good And Bad News! March 5, 2018

  Hi There, 

  Sorry if it's been a while since my last update. Now the campaign has wrapped up, I've pretty much gone ...

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• Update #5 - We Did It!!! Jan. 22, 2018

  I'm thrilled (and a little shell shocked to be honest) that I get to write this email.

  Heart of Thorne has hit the big ...

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• Update #4 - Only 118 Pre-Orders Needed! Can You Help Out? Jan. 13, 2018

  You guys are amazing, have I told you that?

  I'm thrilled with how this campaign has come along, it's currently sitting at 882 ...

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• Update #3 - New Bonus Added - Name Your Own Character! Jan. 3, 2018

  Hey there, happy new year :)

  I hope you've had a good time with your loved ones, and wishing you an awesome 2018.

  I'm ...

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• Update #2 - Heart of Thorne has hit the 500 pre-order mark! Dec. 18, 2017

  Wow, I cannot thank you enough for the support so far because...as the headline says, Heart of Thorne has hit the 500 mark!  ...

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• Update #1 - Heart of Thorne Is Live!! Dec. 16, 2017

  Tech issues yesterday, didn't get to make it and send an update here. Sorry!

  The title says it all - Heart of Thorne has arrived ...

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