Page 36 of When Forever Falls Apart

And still haven’t learned how to keep my mouth shut.

“The truth about my perfectly nice nipples?” I blurt out, irritation bubbling within me. “Am I supposed to be offended or flattered?”

“Flattered,” he replies, with a confident grin.

I press my lips together, forcing a grimace as I lock eyes with him, trying to unravel the twisted logic of this banter. His blue eyes shimmer with mischief, seemingly aware of how easy a target I am.

“I highly doubt there can be such a thing as bad nipples,” I retort.

A glimmer of challenge flickers across Elliot’s gaze. “You’d be surprised.”

With my hands freed, I place them on my hips, biting my lip to suppress laughter and curiosity. “And you would know, right? I mean, you’ve probably slept with thousands of women. Your nipple yardstick must be quite extensive.”

Elliot’s smile turns sly. “Thousands is a bit of a stretch.”

“Hundreds, then?”

“I’m not one to keep count,” he replies nonchalantly. “That would be ungentlemanly of me.”

“How many women have you slept with in the last month?” I pry, my curiosity turning into a full-blown interrogation. “Week? Or even in the last twenty-four hours?”

He leans over to turn on the faucet, cleverly sidestepping my questions. The scent of his aftershave lingers, but I do my best to control this need to lean in and sniff him like a deranged stalker.

“Don’t you have work to do?” he redirects, his gaze shifting to the bustling café. “Tables don’t clean themselves. And according to you, I’m your boss.”

An involuntary snort escapes me. “You’re such a guy. Deflecting the moment things get tough,” I say, unafraid of stating the truth. “And I don’t remember referring to you as my boss.”

Elliot finishes loading the top tray of the dishwasher, then closes it with a definitive snap and presses the start button. Wiping his hands on his apron, he mutters something aboutmaintaining a professional workplace relationship, and just like that, he is gone, leaving me standing bewildered in the kitchen. His sudden mood swings feel like emotional whiplash; it’s as if he carries some hidden burden that shifts his demeanor unpredictably.

“Asshole,” I mutter the moment he leaves.

There’s no time to stew in my bothered state as a tourist bus has arrived. It turns out to be more birdwatchers. Who wants to stare into binoculars and wait for some rare bird to appear?

They are hungry, ordering pastries and paninis. We’re close to running out of food, with only a few peanut butter–filled donuts and one plain croissant left. A couple approaches the counter, their eyes scanning our dwindling treats, and I flash them a welcoming smile, ready to serve them before everything disappears.

Another successful sell-out day.

As my feet scream from standing, I lean against the counter, bowing my head for a moment to relieve the ache. Slowly, I lift my head, only to find an unmistakable figure standing before me.

The familiar sight of gray hair tied into a tight bun, and pearls glinting at her neck, jolts unwanted memories from my past.

Myles’s mother.

“Georgina, it’s, um… nice to see you,” I stammer, barely able to get her name out as my heart races with a wild mixture of emotions.

Georgina narrows her eyes, her gaze piercing and unwavering, as if sharpening a dagger aimed directly at my heart.

“Madelina, the nerve you have to show your face in town again.” She lowers her voice, but the callous tone is crystal fucking clear.

“Wha… excuse me?” I barely manage to stutter the simple words. “I, uh—”

“It never occurred to you how much shame you’ve inflicted on my poor boy? Being here only drags it out further,” she hisses, her voice a venomous whisper that cuts through the café’s chatter. “When Iris Bertram told me you were back, I couldn’t believe your audacity.”

Iris Bertram strikes again.

“You don’t… you don’t understand,” I stumble.

“Oh, I understand perfectly well what happened. You were using my son until someone better came along. I’ve heard from reliable sources you weren’t exactly faithful to my son,” she bites.