Falling for You

by Travis, Stacy

  Too striking.

  He moved the same way, stood the same way.

  There was no question it was him. Backing into a doorway, I felt like an unrepentant spy, but I couldn’t stop watching the two of them.

  From where I stood, I could tell he was laughing at something she said. She had a cute figure in her orange skirt and heeled booties, but I couldn’t really see her face. Did it matter?

  When she took a step closer and looked up at him, I felt a sharp pang in my chest followed by a surge of bile at the mere thought that it was Owen and that he might be on a date. And yet…I had no claim on him.

  She stood on her toes and pressed her lips to his. I squinted my eyes to bring them into clearer focus but the mist in the air made it hard to see his expression.

  Is he happy? Does he love her?

  Rationally, I knew he probably hadn’t met and fallen in love with someone in two weeks. Maybe it was just a first date.

  Regardless, he’d moved on.

  We were no longer in the friend zone or any zone. We were nothing.

  It hurt so much I found myself pressing a hand to my chest to counter the pain, but it wasn’t going away. I stood there like a lurker, watching someone else’s love story unfold and wishing it were mine.

  Owen didn’t seem to linger or deepen the kiss, but he didn’t stop her either. I was really hoping he’d pitch a fit or yell and walk away, but he didn’t.

  They moved a few paces down the block to where she popped the lock on her car and slid into the driver’s seat. Owen leaned in before closing her door. I couldn’t tell if he kissed her again, and I couldn’t see her face to determine her level of cute, but so what?

  He was with her and I was standing in a doorway, filled with regret.

  She drove off and he turned and walked in the opposite direction of where I stood. Eventually, he turned the corner, and I was left only with a searing emptiness in my gut and a hurt so much more intense than what I’d felt seeing pictures of Tom with another woman.

  After denying my feelings for Owen and defining him in the most unflattering terms, I’d pushed him to find someone who saw him as a great guy and a nice date, which he was. How come I couldn’t just do that? Why did I constantly try to label what we had?

  I was a drama queen, wallowing over my ex, complaining about my business, and never taking him at face value—as a date, as a relationship, as a person.

  No wonder he’d grown tired of waiting around.

  Chapter 32

  Owen

  I wasn’t going to lie. It felt nice to have someone desire me.

  I’d been feeling so beaten down by Isla’s brush-offs that when Julia turned her face up to mine, I’ll admit that I considered her for a split second.

  But only for a second.

  Julia had been dropping not-so-subtle hints all night long about how Raf wasn’t the kind of guy she was looking for and gazing at me from under her spidery lashes in a way she probably thought was cute.

  I ignored all her innuendos and stayed focused on the work. She tweaked the sketches to get closer what I envisioned, and when we’d finished our pizza and beer, I paid the check and herded us out the door.

  The moment her lips turned up toward mine, I froze—not because I was swept up in the moment, but because I immediately knew I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want her or anyone else.

  It wasn’t a matter of finding someone—anyone—to substitute for what I wasn’t getting from Isla. If I couldn’t be with Isla, I didn’t want Julia or anyone else.

  I didn’t care if that meant I’d spend a lifetime alone. The alternative was worse—trying to be with someone else and always comparing her to the woman I couldn’t have.

  But that didn’t mean Julia should go wanting. I tucked her into her car and leaned down to talk to her. “Raf’s a really good guy. And I guarantee you he likes all the sex. I’m just saying, maybe give him a chance.”

  She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. “I know he is. I was just kidding before. It’s fun to get a rise out of you. Sorry if it’s inappropriate, boss.”

  I laughed for probably the first time in over a week and it felt good. “Thanks for that.”

  “For what?”

  “Just . . . thanks. I’ll see you at work.”

  I watched her drive off and turned in the other direction toward my car.

  At home, I made some more tweaks to the designs she’d handed off. The sketches were first-rate, and my instincts about her skill had been right. She’d turned all the wayward thoughts about what might work within the scheme of my hotels and made them beautiful architectural visions.

  And I really hoped she’d take my advice about Raf. She’d be good for him.

  Meanwhile, I had to decide what I wanted to do with the full architectural renderings once they were finished. Maybe I’d just roll them up and store them in a tube. I couldn’t think about that right now.

  When I checked my phone, I saw a slew of missed texts from my sister. In a moment of conciliatory guilt after talking to Raf, I’d left her a message, saying maybe we could talk.

  The texts were effusive and joyful. They immediately reminded me of what Jen was like as a kid, when it was just the two of us. We were always happy together because we knew we had each other—it was a vow and a choice. Maybe that was why I took it badly when she didn’t come back.

  Jen: Hey! Happy to hear from you. Yes, I’d love to talk.

  Jen: I miss you.

  Jen: I know I’m annoying, but I’m excited to talk, so call me as soon as you can.

  Jen: And I know it’s premature since we haven’t talked yet, but I’d love to see you. Can we?

  Instead of debating my words or their implied meaning, I typed my response and sent it.

  Me: I’d like that. A lot.

  I thought about it for another minute. Then I sent one more text.

  Me: Love you, sis.

  I immediately felt better.

  When I scrolled through the rest of the missed calls, I found a message from my lawyer. I hadn’t called him, and he never phoned unless it was urgent. He billed in five-minute increments, so any call he made had better be important.

  When I listened to the message, I understood immediately why he’d reached out. He had information that definitely interested me, information Isla would want to know.

  But it wasn’t my job to be that guy for her anymore. She could figure it out on her own or talk to the lawyer herself or just lie in the bed she’d made.

  Or maybe I’d be the bigger man and pass the info along. I couldn’t decide.

  Maybe if I slept on it, everything would be clear.

  Work had gotten really busy now that the design phase had started on the Sonoma property. I needed to line up new contractors since my in-house team would still be finishing up work on the Bodega Bay location for the next six months. We’d be ready to break ground long before then and I had to find the right guys for the job.

  The demolition team had called to check in when they saw the old building on the property. I still hadn’t decided whether or not to let them knock it down. Rationally, I knew the building was a gem that would sell the hotel experience to guests, but emotionally, every time I thought of it, I pictured Isla dancing in the tasting room, and it gutted me.

  Two more weeks until Raf would give me my phone back. Then I’d erase every trace of her. Maybe then I’d have the closure I needed.

  Chapter 33

  Owen

  I didn’t go out to lunch very often, partly because I generally consumed so much bread on a given morning that I had no appetite until way later in the day. I also liked drinking a pressed juice at my desk and keeping my head down more than I liked spending an hour at a restaurant.

  But sometimes investors or in-demand designers wanted to eat out and I couldn’t say no.

  I’d just come from a meeting at a trendy watering hole that served me a single scallop on a mint leaf with some raspberry coulis and charged
me twenty-eight dollars for the privilege.

  My landscape architect had wanted the four-course tasting menu, but I didn’t have the patience for that. After I ate my scallop and assured her that all the plant configurations she’d specified for the new hotel could be worked into our budget, she was happy to let me go back to the office and finish the tasting without me.

  I just wasn’t in the mood. Hadn’t been for three weeks and two days.

  What I wanted was some real food, so I hopped in line at a food truck selling burgers and pie on the way back to my car. I noticed the Pie of the Day was apple and a nauseated pit settled in my stomach. If I could go just one day without something reminding me of Isla, it would be a cause for celebration.

  “Hey, Owen, right?” The woman in front of me in line was looking up at me. She was a good foot shorter than me, but I noticed she had on Vans, so she didn’t have a fighting chance at height.

  I didn’t recognize her right away, although something about her looked familiar. “Yeah, tell me your name again?”

  “Tatum. I’m the youngest one. Isla’s sister. We met at my brother’s house in the hills.”

  She was the quietest of all the sisters and we hadn’t gotten much of a chance to talk, but I remembered her as soon as she said her name. “Of course, right. I’m so sorry. It was just out of context. Do you . . . you work in Palo Alto?”

  “Yeah, at Boxspring. I’m on what will surely be the only lunch break I’ll get this month, so I’m celebrating with a burger.”

  It was almost impossible to be the sullen asshole I’d been for the past month around Tatum. She was quiet but exuded such bright energy that I found myself feeling slightly better in her presence. She reminded me a little bit of Isla.

  I offered her the best smile I could muster. “Well, I hope you get out more than once in the next month, but just in case . . .” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “Get the bacon and the cheese.”

  She laughed. “I plan to.” An awkward silence followed while we waited. I felt like I needed to ask the obvious.

  “So how’s your sister? How’s Isla?” I didn’t really want to talk about her but it was the right thing to do.

  Tatum leveled me with a look that seemed to say I was an idiot who ought to know exactly how she was. I guess I did. I wasn’t an idiot—I could connect the dots. “Right. I assume she’s good? Happy with Tom, or whatever?”

  Now Tatum’s eyes bugged out like I was an even bigger dolt. “Isla’s not with Tom. She hates him. And she’s not happy. She’s miserable.”

  I hadn’t been back to the bakery, so I had no idea what was happening with her expansion plans. Maybe she was still having trouble with Centinela.

  Or Tom. Or a different guy.

  I shrugged. Did I need details? I felt too worn down to care or to try and put another face to a guy with his arm around Isla.

  “Oh. I guess I read some rumors,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes. “You know who starts the rumors, don’t you? Tom. He wants her back so much that he’ll tell the gossip rags they’re together like that will make it true.”

  “Okay, whatever. So, she’s fine though?” I needed to know. Even if I couldn’t be with her, I still cared about her. I wanted her to be okay even if I wasn’t.

  Tatum looked like she was getting ready to throw a punch and I had no doubt she could inflict some damage. She was petite but feisty. “No. She’s a wreck. Just like you.”

  I didn’t like hearing she was unhappy, but it did give me some small bit of satisfaction that Tom didn’t get what he wanted. “So what are you gonna do about it?” Tatum asked.

  “What am I going to do? I’m going to do nothing. I can’t be her friend—been, there, done that, bought ten shirts. I wish I could be a bigger guy about it, but I’m not. I can’t be her friend. It’s too hard.”

  It was Tatum’s turn to order, but when the cashier asked what she wanted, Tatum held up a finger and spun around to face me. “I don’t think she’s in the market for a friend, and that was never what you two were. Just talk to her. I’m no relationship expert, and I only saw you together for half a minute, but that was enough.”

  “Enough for what?”

  “Enough to see you two are every relationship goal I didn’t even know I had. She loves you. She’s just really, really stubborn. And sometimes she forgets to eat.”

  For the first time in three weeks and two days, I smiled. “Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” I was still digesting what she’d said and trying to square it with everything I knew to be true about Isla.

  I wasn’t sure if I believed the love part.

  “Trust me on this. I may be the youngest, but I’m the smartest sister. She only loves you. She’s in love with you and she’s miserable without you. Just . . . stop wallowing and call her or something. Have a burger together. I’m sure it will all make sense from there.”

  The woman in the food truck was getting impatient, so Tatum whirled around to give her an order, but not before she threw her arms around me. “See you someday, future brother-in-law.”

  I laughed. That might have been a stretch.

  But hearing her words gave me hope. I knew how I felt, and if there was half a chance Isla felt the same way . . . maybe we could get a burger.

  Chapter 34

  Isla

  I’d woken up to my phone pinging with a text. I was used to getting the occasional question from one of my bakers when I wasn’t there in the mornings, so I braced to answer some inquiry about fixing a broken flour scale or some café snafu.

  But the text was from a number I didn’t recognize. Not one of my bakers. It was brief.

  Unknown number: Tom Stone is a shadow investor in Centinela Bread. Thought you should know.

  My heart started hammering in my chest and I worried for a second that I might be having a heart attack.

  Was this somebody’s idea of a sick joke?

  Why an anonymous text?

  Is there a chance it’s true?

  Something about the tone of it made me think it was from Owen, but it wasn’t his number and he wasn’t speaking to me. Besides, what difference did it make who sent it?

  I spent the rest of the morning on phone calls with the “ruthless” lawyer Owen had connected me with weeks earlier. He sent me screenshots of all the information he could find to show that Tom’s venture fund was the primary backer of Centinela Bread. And Tom had invested personally. I was in shock.

  He couldn’t have known they were gunning for me, right? If he did, it would almost make him complicit.

  Tom Stone was a cut-throat businessman, but I was still his girlfriend when this all started. At least I thought I was. Now I couldn’t even recall the exact timing of everything.

  “It’s someone who knows an awful lot about your business. Down to dollar amounts that you spend on flour and employee pensions.” Blake’s words echoed as I stood in the empty café that I’d almost lost thanks to my conniving ex.

  I knew Tom would meet me when I texted him. He’d figure I was planning to roll over and give him what he wanted.

  Waiting for Tom to show up, I took stock of the situation I’d been blind to for countless months. Of course Tom had been working an angle, and he’d done it so well and with such finesse that I’d never seen it coming.

  After all the years I’d spent dating men who were busy building their brands and their companies on the backs of smaller, less-savvy business owners who had no choice but to do their bidding when faced with Goliath, I’d have thought I’d recognize a player when I met one—when I crawled into his bed and told him details about where I was looking for potential new locations.

  But Tom had been better at playing the game than anyone I’d ever met. He’d fooled me, cheated on me, and still had me thinking twice about whether I should let him bail me out. He was the true master of the game.

  When he walked into the bakery, just as he had so many times before, with his confident comportment, his effortless, gorgeous
appearance, and his cocky smile, I saw a different man than the one I’d known.

  “There she is,” he said.

  It used to make me smile.

  Now I wanted to throw something at him and was only disappointed that the heaviest nearby item was a raisin scone.

  “I got a table for us at Mercer’s at seven. They have a two-month wait but I pulled some strings.” He always pulled strings, and everyone just fell in line to do his bidding. I couldn’t believe I ever found that attractive.

  “I’m not going to dinner with you.” I was seething.

  He shrugged. “Listen babe, I don’t know if your flour didn’t rise or what, but fine.” He held his hands up as though he didn’t want to argue with someone who was clearly premenstrual and crazy.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head. “I just need to know—when we first started dating, had you already decided you were going to use me to get information that would help Centinela Bread run me out of business? Or did that idea occur to you one night after I’d given you a blow job?”

  His face betrayed his surprise, but I wasn’t sure if that was because I’d found him out or because he’d always considered ‘blow job’ an inelegant term. Didn’t stop him from enjoying them.

  “Isla. No, you don’t have the correct information.”

  He put his hands out, pleading. His expression was hurt, as though I’d insulted his very ethical core and his sensitive feelings. He was convincing as the misunderstood gentleman.

  “Your company is the principal backing investor for Centinela Bread. They’ve been systematically going after every location I targeted for my expansion. You knew about every one of them. Are you honestly telling me it’s just a coincidence?”

  “Yes. It must be.” He was a thespian, I had to give him credit. Even when faced with irrefutable facts, he still kept up his act.

  I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Tom. There are no coincidences in your business. You’re the one who informed me of that. Again, back when we were in bed. Tell me, do you do all your manipulation on behalf of clients on your back?”