Page 37 of Never Alone
You just don't get it.
You ruined my life.
I hate you.
Natalie.
Those green eyes were Natalie's.
CHAPTER 7
Tessa
Of course it had been him.
Of all the people in Havensworth, the one person who pointed out that my eyes were different was the one man I didn't want noticing my eyes. Cole Weston. The universe had a sense of humor and was using it on me.
I don't see why you hate them.
I'd been hearing his voice for two days. The line came back to me at random. While I was walking to school, while I was waiting on the kettle, in the middle of a sentence I was saying to someone else. The way he'd said it. Lower than he'd meant to. Like he hadn't planned on saying it, and had said it anyway.
I'd felt the heat come up in my cheeks at the counter when he'd said it. I was feeling it come up now, alone in the kitchen, with no one to perform for. That was the part that was getting to me. I didn't need a witness for it. It was happening either way.
He hadn't given me his answer yet.
He'd told me he'd come find me when he had one. He'd come back to the bakery a few days later. But not for that. He'd come in, looked at me in a way I couldn't name, said the thing about my eyes, paid for a loaf he hadn't come for, and walked out. Hehadn't said yes. He hadn't said no. Whatever he'd come in for, it wasn't to give me an answer.
Every time the bell went, my head came up before I'd told it to. I'd been counting. Customer after customer all morning, all afternoon, the next morning, too. Every time, it wasn't him.
I knew what that meant.
I wanted him to come back.
Not for the case. Not for what Miranda had said about a stable male figure, not for the strategy, not for any of the things I could put into a sentence and defend. Forhim.
I didn't have room for this. I was running from a husband. I had a son to raise on my own. I was about to file a custody case I couldn't afford to lose. I'd built every part of my life in Havensworth around staying invisible, and wanting a man back into my bakery wasn't a thing the rest of it could hold.
I wanted him to come back anyway.
I'd been getting recognized more. The cashier at the grocery store had said, "Oh," under her breath when she'd seen my face on Monday, and then hadn't been able to look at me again. The woman at the gas station on Tuesday had stopped halfway through, “Aren't you the one in the—” The barista at the coffee shop had written my name on the cup the way she'd written a name she already knew.
None of them did anything. They looked.
I had it worse at the bakery because I couldn't move out from behind the counter. Customers kept coming in. They came alone. They came in pairs. They had their phones in their hands. They asked me the careful questions strangers asked when they wanted to confirm something they already thought they knew.
I bagged what they bought. I smiled. I went to the back when I could.
Miranda had called yesterday. We were almost there. The last thing we were waiting on was the rent records—proof we'dbeen at the Westbrook house since the spring. Mr. Whitaker, our previous landlord, was dealing with the fire. He was cooperating, but he was also handling insurance, displacement, and the rebuild. Miranda said she'd push him gently. Pushing harder wouldn't get the records faster.
I needed it to come soon.
I checked the clock. Two-forty.
I wiped my hands on my apron and went out front.
Benjie was at the register, leaning on his elbows, looking at his phone. The shop was empty.
"Hey, Benj. I'm heading out to get Noah."
