was hoping he’d go and come back. For fuck’s sake. How am I supposed to get through the next hour with him here?
I ring his order through on the screen, my damn hand shaking the whole time.
“That’ll be two ninety-five,” I tell him without looking at him.
Using his Apple Pay on his watch—the fancy bastard—he pays for his coffee.
I print off both receipts, sliding one along the counter to Shannon and handing his to him, ensuring not to touch him.
“Wait over to the side, and your coffee will be ready soon,” I tell him before moving on to the next customer.
I can’t concentrate, knowing he’s standing there. I can feel him watching me. But I refuse to look at him.
I almost breathe a sigh of relief when his coffee’s ready and he goes and takes a seat, but he selects a table across from the counter, right in my eyeline.
The next hour is absolute torture. I can feel his eyes on me the whole time. Every time I chance a glance at him, he’s watching me.
I don’t even know why he’s here. He could be here to beg for my forgiveness and ask me to get back with him. Which I absolutely will not do.
Yeah, sure you won’t.
Or maybe he’s here because he feels guilty about how we ended and he wants to apologize and then go home. Although traveling four thousand miles to apologize does seem a little excessive when he could have just called.
I just wish I knew what he wanted. I’m driving myself nuts here. I could ask one of the girls to cover, so I could take my break early. But I don’t want to rush for him. I want to make him wait even if it means torturing myself in the process.
Finally. After what seems like an eternity, even though I’ve been busy this past hour, it’s time for my break.
I grab my bottle of water from under the counter, and on shaky legs, I walk over to him, my heart taking the back door exit. My mouth dries, and I can no longer feel my legs shaking. I’m assuming they’ve gone numb.
I slide into the chair across from him. Setting my bottle on the table, I curl my hands around it. “You have ten minutes,” I tell him. “But first, I have a question.”
His look is wary. “Okay.”
“How did you know where to find me?”
“I know people in high places.”
I love and hate the smile that touches his lips in equal measure. So, I give him an unimpressed look.
He shifts in his seat. “I asked one of my Secret Service guys to locate your aunt Jenny’s address. I went there, and she told me you were here.”
I’ll be having words with Aunt Jenny later. The traitor.
“Fine. Your ten minutes starts now.”
He sits forward in his chair, pushing his empty coffee cup to the side, bringing him closer to me. “I love you,” he says, flooring me.
Those words are like a bomb. Dropped in the middle of the table.
I feel them hit my chest, like a mixture of shrapnel and Cupid’s tiny fucking love arrows.
My heart inflates.
My brain cries out in confusion.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“I love you, Dillon. I’m in love with you. And I’m sorry that I fucked up. I know I’m probably getting all of this wrong, just blurting out that I love you like that, but it’s the truth.”
My insides are trembling with shock. “And, uh”—I lick my dry lips—“when did you, um, realize that you love me? Was it before or after you broke up with me?”
“After.”
“What, like a day? A week? A week and six days? What exactly made you realize? Because I’m a little confused that you’ve turned up here out of the blue after two weeks of no contact and you’re telling me that you love me when the last time I saw you, you were telling me that we would have an ending, that there would be no start of something for us. Pretty much, you told me that you had zero feelings for me at all.”
“I had feelings for you. I just didn’t understand them, and honestly, when I started to a little, they scared the shit out of me. Then, I read the end of your book. All I could see was you and me together like that, and I panicked.”
“If the thought of you and me together causes you to panic, then you shouldn’t be here, West, telling me that you love me.”