Page 2

He wasn’t exactly late. Not by normal standards.

By normal standards, it was still two minutes before two o’clock.

But by mine, he was late, which set my inner time freak off.

I liked to be at least ten minutes early and, when making plans, always took into account several possibilities of how my arrival could be delayed.

Yes, even on foot in the city. A broken heel, a car accident that attracted a group of onlookers I would have to fight my way through, a ruined blouse from a bird dropping…

You name the scenario, my mind has been through it.

I hated meetings for this exact reason. It was only a matter of seconds before my inner time freak would trigger my anxieties.

Meetings were the culmination of everything I couldn’t control.

Other people’s schedules. Other people’s attention spans.

Other people’s loose, sloppy interpretation of time, as if two o’clock were a vague suggestion and not a contractual obligation.

I didn’t know why it stressed me out so much; it was just a simple business meeting, not a set time for an open-heart surgery, but ever since…

nope, I wasn’t going to go there again. I didn’t even know why Pat entered my mind.

I had successfully pushed him from any real estate in my brain for…

I checked my phone again, one fifty-nine, so exactly seven hours.

Ever since I woke up this morning from that disturbing dream.

Ten years. Ten years had gone by since he dumped me. We were in high school, for crying out loud. It wasn’t like he left me standing at the altar. We were seventeen. It had been a stupid high school crush. Nothing more!

Right, Ella, which is exactly why you haven’t given another man the time of the day, my inner bitch chimed in, and I told her to take a walk.

In those ten years, I managed to build a life for myself.

A successful life. I owned two restaurants outright.

Salt I impatiently wiped at it and stood up, fanning the flames of anger that flared inside me.

He didn’t have any right to make me feel this way any longer.

None! We were both adults now. Adults with our own lives.

Well, at least I had one, and I assumed he did, too, standing there in an expensive business suit.

I mentally rambled until my fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and decided on flight.

Forget about the business meeting, he was late anyway.

I grabbed my stuff, set on making a beeline out of the bistro.

But before I was able to make a clean escape, he positioned himself right in front of me.

"Hi, Ella?"

It wasn't really a question of whether it was really me; it sounded more as if he was hoping I had miraculously sprouted a twin sister.

"Uhm, hey, Pat—rick." I gulped out, refusing to call him by the nickname I gave him so many years ago, hoping it would help my stupid heart distinguish between now and then. It didn't seem to work, though, because the traitorous organ was beating pretty heavily in my chest.

His eyes softened, and a flicker of pain crossed his features before he schooled them into a neutral expression. "It's been a long time," he said.

I nodded, not trusting my voice. Ten years, and yet standing here in front of him, it felt like no time had passed at all. The same magnetic pull was there; the same electric charge sizzled in the air between us. I shook my head, trying to clear the memories that threatened to overwhelm me.

"What are you doing here?" I managed to ask, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it made my chest ache. "I'm here for a business meeting. Carol set it up."

My eyes widened. Carol. Of course.

"Carol," I heard myself echo, and watched the same realization that was shooting through me reflect in his expression. She set this up. Set us up. I felt a sudden flash of betrayal, followed by a wave of confusion. Why would she do this? Why now, after all these years?

"Ella, I... I didn't know you'd be here. If I had..." He trailed off, and I felt a sudden surge of anger. If he had, then what? He would have avoided me? Pretended I didn't exist, like he had for the past decade? I straightened my spine, lifting my chin defiantly.

"Well, I'm here. And apparently, we have a meeting to attend." I thanked my inner strength for making me sound far more confident than I felt. I gestured towards the table where I had sat waiting a few short minutes ago.

Patrick hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something more, but then he nodded. "After you," he agreed in a tight voice.

I brushed past him, ignoring the way my skin tingled at the brief contact, and retook my seat. He waited until I was settled before he sat down across from me, his large frame making the bistro chair look impossibly small.

For a moment, we just stared at each other, a decade's worth of unspoken words hung heavily in the air between us.

I tried to reconcile the man in front of me with the boy I had loved so fiercely, so completely, all those years ago.

He was different now—broader, more imposing, with a gravitas that spoke of hard-earned life lessons.

But his eyes, those whiskey-colored eyes that had always seen straight into my soul, they were the same.

"So," I began, needing to break the suffocating silence, "Carol mentioned you were looking to open a restaurant in Cedar Hollow." Once again, I was thankful that at least my voice didn't suffer from sitting across from Patrick. It was, however, the only part of me that didn't tremble.

Patrick nodded, seeming grateful to keep this all business.

"Yes, it's ready, too. Mostly. It's just waiting for the right owner," he said, keeping his eyes trained on me.

Ten years ago, I had gotten lost in those eyes.

I don't think I ever found myself again.

I had reinvented myself, become a successful businesswoman, but the girl who loved this man so long ago had never truly moved on.

As I stared at him now, it felt like I was still trapped in there, unable to come out.

I wanted to scream at him: Why? How could you do this to me? To us? That question had been driving me crazy for years. Why? Not getting an answer for it had doubled my OCD. But I had my pride, too, and I would not beg this man now, ten years later, for an answer. I would not!

This was a business deal, plain and simple.

To be honest, every chef in this city was clambering to get a spot in Cedar Hollow.

Not because of the money. No, this was strictly a matter of prestige.

Being able to brag that I had a restaurant in Cedar Hollow would triple my credibility in every food magazine that still tried to pretend that monsters didn’t eat foie gras.

It wasn’t about profit—although that too would triple from the other restaurants—it was about the bragging rights that came with it.

I had fought tooth and nail to get where I was, to prove that a human chef could cater to the supernatural palate just as well, if not better, than any shifter or vampire chef out there.

This was my chance to solidify my reputation once and for all.

I took a deep breath, pushing down the swirl of emotions threatening to overwhelm me, and focused on the task at hand. "Tell me more about your vision for the restaurant. What kind of cuisine are you looking for? What atmosphere do you want to create?"

Patrick leaned forward, his eyes sparking with excitement.

"I want it to be a place where the community can gather, where they can feel at home.

A mix of comfort food and elevated dishes using local, seasonal ingredients.

Lots of game, of course, but also vegetarian options.

And a bar with craft cocktails and local beers. "

I liked the sound of it. His vision fit with mine, but that didn’t mean I actually wanted to do it.

Cedar Hollow was beautiful, sure. Idyllic, even.

And as I said, it would put me on the map, career-wise.

But I wasn’t sure if it was me. Not anymore.

I’d worked hard to build my life inside a bustling city, full of lights and people, filled with noise and smog.

Not on pine-scented breezes, beautiful creeks, idyllic views, and neighbors who turned into bears on the weekends.

Still... the idea wouldn’t leave me alone. Like a scab that needed to be picked at.

Even if it was two-minutes-late Patrick Mc-fucking-Cloud—golden boy of shifter suburbia— who I had to deal with. I mentally shook myself. No. I couldn't let old feelings cloud my judgment. This was business, and I needed to treat it as such.

"It sounds like you have a clear vision," I said, still proud of my steady voice. "But I'll need more details. What's the square footage? The seating capacity? Have you thought about the kitchen layout and equipment needs?"

Patrick blinked, seemingly taken aback by my rapid-fire questions. "I, uh. It's ready, mostly. I kept it as a shell building. We could go over there together, if you'd like. Then you can decide what kind of equipment you need and furniture."

I hesitated. The thought of being alone with him, walking through a shell building, planning a future endeavor, felt dangerous. Too intimate. But this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I couldn't let my personal history with Patrick stand in the way of my professional goals.

"That would be helpful." I tried hard to sound businesslike.

The waitress arrived. "What can I get you?"

"I think we're good," I told her, more coldly than I usually would, but Patrick had me all befuddled. "Ready?" I turned to him. "I can clear my schedule for tomorrow afternoon, if that works for you."

Patrick nodded, and a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Tomorrow works great. I'll text you the address."

We finalized a few more details on the way out of the bistro.

Our conversation went more smoothly now that we had a clear purpose.

But underneath the professional veneer, I still felt the undercurrent of tension, the weight of all the things left unsaid.

Outside, just as we were about to go off in different directions, Patrick's hand brushed mine, sending a jolt of electricity up my arm.

I jerked back, startled by the intensity of the sensation.

He looked at me, his eyes filled with a mix of longing and regret.

"Ella, I..." He paused, seeming to search for the right words.

Whatever he was about to say, no matter how much the question Why ? still burned a hole in my stomach, I didn't want to hear it. "This is just business, Patrick. Business between two adults. Nothing else."

"Right," he nodded with a hint of sadness in his eyes, the same eyes in which I could still see my younger, teenage self.