“Do you want to eat out on the deck?” she asks, taking the pizza box from me and setting it on the counter.
“Yeah.” I hold up a beer. “Want one?”
Her nose scrunches adorably, and she shakes her head. “I’m not a big fan of beer, but I have wine. I just need to open the bottle.”
She pulls a bottle of pink wine from the fridge, and I take it from her. “Where’s your opener?”
“I can open it.”
“I know.” I still take the corkscrew from her and open the bottle, then pour her a glass.
“Will Bane be okay out on the deck, or should we leave him inside?”
“He should be okay. Then again, I got home today to find he’d eaten half a cushion from my couch, so I don’t know what to expect from him right now.”
“He ate a cushion?” She looks to where he’s nosing the ground. “Is he okay?”
“It’s not the first time. This is just the first time in a while. He should be fine.”
“How old is he?” she asks, lifting up on her bare feet to grab plates off one of the open shelves.
“He turns two next week.” I lean back against the counter with my beer and take a moment to appreciate the way her hair looks down, the dip of her waist, and the way her ass looks in her jeans.
“Then he should be out of the puppy stage soon.” She grins at me over her shoulder. “My mom got one of those little yippy dogs when I was about sixteen, and he was annoying and destructive until he was about two and a half.”
“Good news for me.”
“Yeah.” She tips her head to the side. “Do you want to carry the pizza out?”
“Lead the way.” I pick up the pizza and follow her out to the deck, where there’s a small table and two adirondack chairs. I place the box on the table and take a seat while she does the same before handing me a plate. Once we both have a slice of pizza and Bane is settled near the top of the steps, I break the comfortable silence that’s settled between us, even though I don’t want to. “I went to talk to Max today.”
“I had a feeling that’s what you were doing when you left the shop this afternoon,” she says quietly, and I focus on her, hating what I’m about to say. “You warned me she was going to run the story.”
“I knew she’d run the story, but I thought she and I had an agreement that your name would be left out.”
“I’m not in witness protection, Calvin. It’s not a big deal she used my name. I mean, it was weird having people come into the shop asking for me and acting like I’m some kind of savior. But I think we both know that tomorrow I’ll be old news, and people will be moving on with their lives. I’m just happy Amy is okay.”
She’s wrong, so fucking wrong. “She knows who you are, Anna.”
My jaw twitches with frustration when she smiles, clearly not understanding what I mean. “I know.”
“No, baby. She knows who you are. She knows who your family is.” Her eyes close, but I continue. “She knows about your fiancé and that you canceled your wedding.” Her face loses color, and the anger I felt earlier comes back full force. “She’s planning on publishing your story, and there is not one fucking thing I can do about it.”
“I . . . I . . . I don’t even . . .” She shakes her head. “Why? Why would she do that?” she asks, and I take her plate before she drops it, because her hands are shaking, and set both our plates down. “She can’t do that . . . can she?”
“I’m sorry, Anna.”
She sits forward, pushing her fingers through her hair and making her red curls look even wilder. “Why would she want to write about that?”
“Your family is loaded. Your ex is, too, and you ran away from them to live here and work at a bakery.”
“I left because I wanted to be happy,” she says, like she’s talking to herself. “I wanted to be near the ocean. The few happy childhood memories I have involved the beach. It was as if the ocean had the power to bring out the best in my parents.” She turns to look at me, and I fight the urge to pull her into my lap to hold her, to comfort her. “Thinking about it now, it might have been the only time they were ever happy, the only time I was ever allowed to be me. That’s why I left Chicago; I realized I was going to end up just like them. I was going to marry a guy I wasn’t in love with and spend the rest of my life living a lie.” She looks away, and when she speaks again, the pain she’s feeling is audible. “Maybe you should go. Maybe you coming here was a bad idea.”