“It’s complicated.”
“That tells me nothing,” she’s hot on my heels as I toss my shoulders back and push through the double doors.
I gather the few bags I need to set up shop before making my way inside. Upon entering, it’s nothing like I expected. Though Meggie’s sits in a ratty-looking building in an outdated shopping center, the interior, including the paint and the furnishings, are new and somehow, distinctly Cecelia. Inside, it’s a complete one-eighty in feel from the pothole-filled parking lot and chipped and faded paint of the building. It’s cozy. The wall colors are a mix of burnt sienna and azure. Black and white photographs hang throughout with price plaques floating next to them; no doubt, Cecelia’s attempt to help support local artists. Large bookshelves line the far walls, and oversized chairs are situated to create a reading nook. There’s an internet bar and stools along the floor-to-ceiling rows of windows. Cozy booths and tables sit throughout the middle of the café designating the dining area.
Dominic would have loved it here.
It’s the same thought I had when I entered her house yesterday. Guilt blinds me briefly as I try to switch gears when I spot her in the center of the bar pouring coffee, just as her eyes lift to mine.
It’s an arrow straight through the burn, and the hole isn’t small.
Fuck, I’ve missed her.
Breaking our stare-off, she paces the counter refilling drinks before stopping just in front of the man I take a chair next to. Retrieving my new laptop from the box, she sets down a cup of coffee in front of me and a menu while I power it up.
“Thought you were on vacation,” she mumbles before setting a check on the counter in front of the suit next to me.
“This is my vacation laptop,” I assure her and open the menu, reading the selections.
“Right,” she says dryly before walking off. Zeroed in on her, I sense I’m not alone in doing so and stiffen when I glance at the suit before following his line of sight. The plastic on the menu squeaks around my fingers as white fire thrums through me. He’s got my attention. Decent looking, close to my age, and he’s not here for the fucking coffee.
Mr. Fucking. Handsome.
I’ve never killed a man in cold blood or out of jealousy. Something tells me today should not be the day I get to check it off my list.
“She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” I ask, plugging my laptop into one of the ready outlets beneath the counter.
“Am I that obvious? I’ve been here every day this week.”
“That so?”
He nods before lifting his cup in salute. “Greg.”
“Tobias.”
“That a French accent? You sure are a long way from home.”
Cecelia glances our way, eyes our exchange before her attention drifts back to me, lingers, and darts away.
“Actually, I’m right where I need to be. Just moved here.” I turn to him in the hoodie and jeans I picked up from the discount superstore. I’m dressed like a fucking teenaged boy due to slim options. Casanova is in a suit.
“There’s something about her,” his smile deepens, “I feel like a creeper coming back like this, but she’s…” I can hear the curiosity in his voice. Each word spoken might as well be lighter fluid he’s dousing me with. “I’m going for it.” Cecelia uses that moment to approach us and genuinely smiles at the motherfucker, before turning to me.
“Are you hungry?”
“Starving,” I manage through clenched teeth. “Breakfast was shit.”
Day one, Tobias. Day one. No dead bodies on day one.