Waiting For Us (Beautiful Surrender #3)(4)
Author: Ava Claire

I put on a good show, though. I even swapped a few lighthearted texts with my best friend, Stacia Rodriguez. But there was something about Mika’s that was making me come undone. Sweat exploded at my temple, my heart punched my chest as I shuffled forward and the door shut behind me. The walls seemed to be closing in, trapping me. When a familiar voice rang out above the conversation and drum of the espresso machine, I knew why.

“Melissa! Over here!”

I drew a shaky breath and searched for the smile I’d been forcing on my lips all week before I faced her. She had prime real estate in front of the bay windows, easy access to several outlets. Her smile glittered as brightly as the sun that shone through the painted glass. Her makeup was lighter than she usually wore it, her natural beauty stunning me even though I’d seen her without a stroke of it on at all. I wasn’t the only one that noticed. Several of the men in line shifted in her direction even though their names were likely not Melissa. I maneuvered through the cafe and pulled my smile tighter. She leapt from her seat and threw her arms around my neck like it had been two years since we’d seen each other instead of two weeks. She released me, giving me a minute to catch my breath as she stood back and inspected me. I waited for her face to fall and the barrage of questions to hit me like the waves back in Pleasure Point.

“You look amazing!”

I rolled my eyes, lowering myself into the seat across from hers. “Did you add a little something extra to your coffee this morning?”

She reclaimed her seat, her eyes shining with excitement. “Coffee? None for me, thanks.” She pointed a manicured finger at her coffee cup. I arched my brow expectantly. She made a grander gesture, but I was clearly still missing something. When she finally picked up a string that was dangling on the side, I nearly fell out of my seat.

“You’re drinking tea?” I feigned horror, my eyes going wide. “Who are you, and what have you done with Stacia Rodriguez?!”

“Ha ha,” she said, sticking her tongue out at me. She rolled her shoulders back. Shoulders that weren’t clad in her usual blazer, and beneath, some monotone blouse. Her caramel colored skin was accentuated by a lilac colored sleeveless top. I craned my neck around and saw she wore a billowing, beach approved pleated skirt.

I rattled off the list. “No coffee, hardly any makeup—”

She wiggled her eyebrows. “No makeup actually.”

I made a face. Entire YouTube series existed to create the sun kissed look she had naturally. “I stand corrected: no coffee, no makeup, no blazer and slacks…what’s going on?”

She brought her cup to her lips, but I still saw the secret smile on her lips. “Can’t I just switch things up?” Before I could rebuff that and remind her that she was the queen of structure and routine, she added, “Let’s just say a lot of things can happen in two weeks.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” I muttered, and instantly regretted it when I looked up and saw the concern rush across her face.

“What? What happened? Is everything okay?”

I swiped the second cup on the table, dodging the question. “For me? You shouldn’t have.” I paused midair. “None of that tea nonsense right?”

“Hell no,” she shuddered. “I remember you going off when they tried to pass decaf off on you.”

I took a hearty gulp, relaxing since we were talking about anything except my vacation—though heat rushed my cheeks at the memory of my brief freak out a few months back. Apparently, she was never going to let me live it down. “I didn’t go off.”

“You hurled the cup in the trashcan and hissed that you never ordered decaf. You were moments away from leaping over the counter and beating the poor barista within an inch of her life,” Stacia joked.

I winced, remembering the day more vividly than I’d like. I’d gotten into it with my father after he set me up for failure, spearheading three major ad campaigns on top of a massive workload. He added the hair that broke the camel’s back when he told me he wanted me to take on two more clients that wanted a complete image overhaul. I’d snapped and he’d called me an ungrateful brat and I’d stormed over to Mika’s for some much caffeine. I couldn’t put my anger where it belonged, so the barista unfortunately stepped in the line of fire. I was so lost in the memory that I forgot I was avoiding one conversation and my silence was just reinforcing the fact that I wasn’t okay.

“So, you going to tell me what that little comment was about?” Casual clothing or not, her face was intent and serious as a heart attack. Her dark brown eyes were trained on me, scouting for the truth. No wonder her conviction rate was so high. It was impossible to be on the receiving end of her glare and hold on to your secrets.

“Not sure what you mean.” My hand shook as I took another sip. I squirmed beneath her gaze and ripped my eyes away, yanking them up to a TV on the wall. I nearly dropped my coffee when Delilah’s face popped on the screen.

There she was, dressed in some skin tight number that looked better suited for a club than a morning talk show. It was black and barely covered her lithe frame. Her fire engine red hair was wild and unkempt, like she’d just f**ked back stage and remembered she had an interview. Her jade green eyes were bloodshot, intensified by jet black eyeliner and mascara. The volume was lost, but from the deep breath she drew and the shocked looks that reverberated across the hosts faces, I had an idea of what she was saying.

The words emblazoned across the bottom of the screen confirmed it: ‘Actress pregnant by billionaire businessman’. I told myself to breathe, because I knew what was next, but I still gasped when Logan’s face shone down at me. The picture must have been recent because I’d done a fair amount of Googling despite everything in me screaming it would do me no good, and every picture I’d found he looked impeccable. Not a hair out of place, clean shaven, usually clad in some dark and tailored two piece suit. The Logan above me looked haggard, his hair somehow longer than I remembered. Stubble lined his jaw. His appearance wasn’t collected and sophisticated, and he was practically growling at the camera.

He looked miserable.

I felt like that should have brought me comfort. Some form of karma for the broken heart I refused to admit I had. But I didn’t feel a sense of justice or that he got his comeuppance. My heart leapt to my throat as I stared at the image like I wanted to pull him from the television and into the room. Like I wanted to pull him into my arms. I wanted to tell him I missed him and I knew the timing of me saying I loved him couldn’t have been worst if I planned it. I wanted to tell him that even though we only had a week together, it was the best week of my life…and that couldn’t be it. I couldn’t bear it if I never saw him again.