Page 12 of Vows in Sin

S eraphina

The two things I am not allowing myself to obsess over are the two things that are taking up all my emotional energy.

Him.

And my non-existent career.

Two days have passed since the interview. Josie has not called, emailed or texted. I have had another call from mom. I let it go to voicemail. I did listen to the guilt-ridden message at least.

She wants to know why I didn’t call her back.

The only positive change in my declining mental health is that Dame has been surprisingly absent from my other obsessions. It seems he’s fallen off the cliff in the back of my mind. I’m prepared for a jump scare should he return to my thoughts.

I may not be strong enough to call Mom right now, but thinking of her makes me remember what she taught me.

‘No matter how broke you are or how bad things get, you can afford a cup of regular old black coffee at your favorite coffee shop. Throw on a brightly colored dress and a smile and head out the door. It’ll always improve your mood. You have a Mom guarantee on that!’

One of the few things she was right about.

Instead of spending another minute in my apartment, lost in depressing thoughts, I grab a crumpled five-dollar bill I found at the bottom of an old purse, put on a hot-pink dress, and prance down to my favorite café.

It’s a short walk from my apartment. I’m one block in and my mind is clearing. The sun warms my skin, and a light breeze ruffles the hem of my dress. The adorable red and white striped awning comes into view, the quirky font on the sign reading, A Little Mug of Heaven.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee hits me as a kind man holds the bright red front door open for me.

“Thank you so much!” I breeze into the shop, inhaling the smell that’s as familiar to me as my perfume.

The hiss of the steamer, the whir of the bean grinder, the friendly call of names as favorite drinks are delivered to happy customers.

I pop into the line as a pretty blonde barista holds up a white mug. She smiles at the group of people hovering by the counter. “Renan?”

It’s a big city. There could be many Renans. Hundreds. Thousands.

I watch in slow motion, my heart rising to my throat as that big, familiar hand reaches out for the mug. I know that hand. The back of those shoulders. The ass in those jeans.

Mom never mentioned the older man who makes your body hum and tummy flutter being a part of the coffee shop stop. My heart moves higher, beating hard in my eardrums, the rushing blood heating my face. God, I wish there was someone here to tell me what to do right now.

Gut says;

Turn. And. Run.

But I’m stuck like a baby deer in headlights, watching him turn towards the door. He sees me. Immediately. Time stops. The hipster music in the background fades. Everyone melts into the eclectically decorated walls.

It’s just us. Our eyes locked. Neither one of us breathing.

I’m in a daze as he approaches me. He greets me with the lightest brush of a kiss on my cheek. “Go sit down. I’ll get your order.”

“Coffee,” I say. “Black, please.”

He nods, going to order, but stops. He turns back to me. “I don’t think I know your name.”

We smile, a secret joke passing between us. After what we did…

“Seraphina,” I say.

“Pretty.” He leaves me, heading for the back of the line. I drift over to an open two-top by the window. And wait.

What are the chances of bumping into him? Is this fate playing her hand?

Moments later, he’s seated across from me, a steaming mug of coffee in front of each of us. Mine is black, his is with cream. I don’t have to ask to know there’s no sugar in there.

This man is not sweet.

He wraps a hand around his mug and taps a fingertip against the ceramic as he studies my face. Finally, he says, “The other night. You mentioned you made a mistake at work.”

Pitter patter. “You remembered?”

“Yeah.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Want to talk about it?” He looks genuinely concerned.

Okay, that is sweet. “Thanks, but it’s over.” I shrug. “I’m giving up on marketing.”

He cocks a curious brow. “What were you doing before this big mishap?”

A bright spark of joy for my old work life lights up my face. “I worked for myself, taking photos for different marketing campaigns throughout the city.”

“Can I see some of your photographs?” he asks.

For showing interest in my work, I’ll let the old-fashioned word photographs pass without teasing him. “Sure!” I pull out my phone. “What would you like to see?”

“One of your favorites.”

“Okay.” There are so many. I flip through the files, settling on one I think he’ll like.

It’s for a company that was trying to promote motorcycles as the solution to city traffic.

Men and women of all ages dressed from office smart to leather and chains, riding gorgeous bikes through the city. I hand him the phone. “How about this?”

He takes the phone, flipping slowly through photos. He’s entranced, his full focus on my work. “These are incredible.” His eyes raise to meet mine. A thrill runs through me at the emotion he portrays in those green irises. “Seriously. You’re a very talented photographer.”

I take the phone back with a blush. “Thanks.”

“You were successful on your own. Why would you ever go from being your own boss to working for someone else?”

“I lost my confidence recently,” I admit. “I dealt with a firm—well, the head of a firm—that was not so nice. Or honest.”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“They made a mistake. Blamed me for it. And I just ran from the room. It was humiliating.” I gulp my coffee, washing away the bitter memory of Magda.

There’s a quiet growl-like noise, followed by a stare of pure protection. I can’t deny the warmth that comes with him defending me. “What you need is to kick some corporate ass.”

I cock a brow with a grin. “Are you offering?”

“Obviously.” Is he flirting with me?

The man I thought I’d never see again?

I laugh it off and move on. “After that experience, I realized I needed backup.”

He eyes me like he knows me. Like he can see through me. “You’re a damn good artist, and you don’t need anyone else to shine.”

I try not to fool myself into thinking he’s something he’s not, that this conversation is more than it seems, and that the warm, safe feeling he’s giving me is genuine.

I deflect his praise, overwhelmed by his kind words. ““What about you? What do you do for work?”

Cue that sexy stern face he makes. “You know I can’t tell you.”

“I do have some ties to the Bachmans.”

He looks surprised. “Do you?”

“Of course I do.” I don’t drop Tabitha’s name. He probably doesn’t even know her. “It’s a big organization.”

He nods. “That it is.”

“And what part do you play in this wild web?” I lean in closer, using a sexy whisper. “Are you the spider mastermind?”

“Something like that.” He actually breaks a little, the stone facade crumbling with a heavy sigh. “I do have an issue at hand. One I can’t quite put the pieces together for.”

“Try me,” I flirt. “I’m good at puzzles.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He eyes me like I may be dangerous, a siren calling him towards the rocks to destroy his ship. “Only this is like several puzzle boxes have been dumped on the table at once. We’re lucky if we can put together enough pieces to get a glimpse of the bigger picture.”

“That does sound tricky.”

He strokes his beard. “I’m starting to think I’m getting too old for this. You know that saying, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks? This bloodhound is starting to think he’s losing his sense of smell.”

“I highly doubt that. You sniffed me out pretty good.”

Closing the space between us, he lowers his voice. “You smell fucking phenomenal. Every inch of you. I can’t get the scent out of my head.”

Heatwaves. Everywhere.

“Talk in code,” I offer. “I’m guessing this issue is over some bad guys. Blink twice if I’m right.”

He does no such thing.

“Come on! Play along.” I give a slight pout. “Pretty please?”

After staring at me with a look like he wants to devour me, he sinks back in his chair with a groan. He stares up at the ceiling, debating. Finally, those gorgeous green eyes meet mine, sending a little thrill through me as they do.

He blinks twice.

I’m squirming in my seat. I never knew eye contact could be so seductive.

“Okay, so let’s call the bad guys rats. And whatever they are trying to get can be the cheese. You fill in the blanks with whatever comes to mind.”

“I’m going to need more coffee for this.” He eyes my empty cup. “Need a refill?”

“No thanks.” The brew was strong, and I’m already buzzing off the energy between us. I eye the pastry case. Do I ask for one?

That would make this a date. And I was never supposed to see him again.

I watch his rear end in his worn-out jeans, destroying all my Armani suit fantasies. He’s rocking Wranglers and work boots, and he’s wearing them well.

I’d love to do a campaign for him. Sexy silvering fox selling steel-toed boots for ass kicking. He’s polite to the gorgeous blonde at the counter as he orders, but not overly so. I see him studying the pastry case. He confers with the woman. She looks at me and smiles as she speaks.

A few moments later, he’s back with a tray. He has a steaming hot mug of cream-colored coffee for himself, a pink drink, and a big, fluffy croissant, with lines of chocolate strewn through the flaky layers.

“She said most women your age go for this.” He takes the plate off the tray, presenting the croissant to me. He sets the smoothie beside the plate. “And I threw in the smoothie for nutrients. You looked hungry.”

He goes to return the tray. Then he’s back.

“Thank you.” I take a bite of the treat as he settles into his seat, and it’s just as good as it looks. “Delicious. This was incredibly thoughtful and is seriously hitting the spot.”

“Can’t let you be a starving artist,” he quips.

“Funny. But jokes won’t get you off the hook.” I lift my brows in demand. “Back to the cheese.”

He changes the subject, hooking me with, “I used to draw.”