by T K Barber
She frowned and crouched down behind the light wood counter to tackle more sanding.
“You can set them right there by the stairwell, I’ll take them down in a bit.”
“Nah, I got it. You want them on the shelves on the left, right? By the double oven?”
She glanced up at him over the edge of the counter as he shifted the boxes up with his knee, staring at her with his brows raised.
His white t-shirt was sticking in places from sweat, covered in sawdust and paint. He wiped the side of his face on his upper arm and shook his dark brown hair out of his eyes.
He had a couple of pieces of tape stuck to one leg of his athletic shorts and were she in any frame of mind to think it, or any other girl, she might consider him hot.
But something was off with him. She could tell from the word ‘therapist.’
Besides, he was no Thomas. Not even close.
She smiled at that, despite the nearly suffocating heart wrench the thought caused, and he returned it with a wink, assuming it was for him, no doubt.
“I’m a quick learner.”
She fought a gag and chuckled instead. “I see that. Yeah, shelves on the left. Thanks.”
“Alright. Be right back,” he said, giving her a wide smile.
Her eyes followed his decent down the stairs, then she shook her head and worked at the rough wooden edge.
It’d been two months since she was rescued. And two months since Thomas . . . died.
She cleared her throat and furrowed her brow in concentration as she scrubbed harder.
She had just dropped down to twice a week on therapy and wasn’t on any hard medications. Just the one to help her sleep. To get through the nightmares.
It still hurt. Thinking of him caused vicious pain in places she never knew could hurt from heartache. But every day was a little better. Every day brought her closer to ‘closure.’
As if she could ever have that.
She rolled her shoulder and shook her arm as she bent down to sand again.
The only good point about her therapist having an obvious thing for her was the leeway that gave her. Like the shop. Ryker encouraged her to open the shop whole-heartedly, pushed for it really.
He had to be breaking a rule or two by helping her so much ‘off the clock’, but he seemed utterly unconcerned.
And despite the weirdness of his infatuation, he really had been a decent therapist. He was a pretty good listener, even if all his responses seemed a bit by the book.
That suited her just fine. She was only following the steps, going through the motions until they released her.
She wiped her brow with her forearm, glancing through the tall, matching windows on either side of the glass door as a line of passing cars caught her attention.
‘Tommy’s’ was going to be the place to be. Coffee and pastries by day; open mics, spiked drinks, and local musicians by night.
Just like he wanted.
The presently unassuming storefront was one in a long line of buildings flanking main street downtown, nestled between Primo OTB and HeartStrings Music, fittingly, an instrument store where they did lessons on the weekends.
It was a work in progress, sure, but when she was done with it, it would be amazing. And all this potential awesomeness hadn’t come cheap, but she did get a discount by offering up the future use of her elbows to the reno gods.
Her favorite part, though? The cute white and brown half-circle awning perched above the door with shiny black numbers: 529.
She wiped at an unexpected tear with her bicep and knelt back down to sand away the random adrenaline/anxiety bursts she’d come to know and hate.
Though, honestly, she didn’t want to forget or get past it. Not really. And she’d never tell her doctors that. Talk about the antithesis of ‘healthy recovery.’ But the pain made it real. Kept him close.
She gnawed at her bottom lip and blinked as the sound of a gull crept into her subconscious.
“Buonasera, Annalise!”
A wide smile hit her mouth, and she popped up to see Vincent strolling through the propped open front door in his always flawless suit with a beautifully wrapped bundle under his arm.
Thank God for the distraction.
“Hi, V! What’s up?” Annalise set the well-used sandpaper down on the counter and dusted her hands, before wiping them on her jeans.
“I come bearing something that distinctly resembles a gift but should in no way be considered such.” He gracefully sidestepped several pieces of floor molding and set the gilded present down on the counter.
Annalise laughed and thrust up her chin as she shook her head. “Nu-uh. Not buying it.”
“No? Very well.” His broad, warm smile was always so dazzling. “It’s a gift.”
Despite what business owner decorum might dictate, she squealed, drawing a laugh from Vincent.
She fucking loved presents.
“God, I almost don’t want to open it! It’s so pretty!” She gazed at it for one second, then ripped the paper off in a flurry of shreds and jerks, earning more chuckles. Once she finally got the box itself open, her breath stuck in her chest, and her jaw dropped open.
“Oh, wow. I can’t . . . V . . . ”
“Si, si. You can. I already burned the receipt.”
She snorted, swallowing as she scrubbed her hands on her thighs again, clearing the needles in her palms as well as every speck of residual dust. She cradled the plaque, smoothing her shaking fingers over the engraved letters.
“Dreams are only as good as those willing to chase them. Congratulations . . .” sadness thickened her voice, and she cleared her throat. “On catching this one.”
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth and winced. Vincent’s smile softened and he rounded the counter, pulling her into a friendly hug.
“Ah, caro, don’t cry. This is a good thing, si?”
She nodded against his chest and returned the hug with one arm. “Yeah. Thank you, so, so much. This. This really means a lot.” Composure momentarily regained, she smirked up at him. “Just add it to the balance.”
He clicked his tongue in irritation and released her with a shake of his head. “Cos’è questa assurdità? What is this nonsense? You’ll be lucky if I let the loan go to term.”
Annalise chuckled and clumsily made her way to the wall left of the door, nearly tripping over a balled-up cloth. “You better. I’ll sic Rico on you.”
Vincent’s throaty laugh filled the otherwise empty room and he scrubbed his jaw. “Mm. I can take him.”
Annalise chuckled again, found the perfect spot, and scanned the ground for the hammer.
Vincent appeared beside her. “Here?”
She glanced up at him, wielding the hammer and a nail he got from God only knew where, and her chest warmed. He was already almost like a father to her.
Hard to believe she’d only met him after he saw her pining away at the “For Lease” sign on this little shop. Took just a few sentences to find out he knew basically everyone in her family, and Scarlet’s, and that he was one of the most genuine, caring, amazing people she’d ever met.
Instant pals.
“Yep.” She smiled as he tapped the nail into place, then took a step to the side so she could hang up the plaque. Her hands still shook, but she managed to straighten it, and they both took a step back to admire it.
“Perfect.” She exhaled a stuttering breath, shook out her hands, and turned just in time to see Ryker cresting the top of the stairs.
“Alright, Anna-Montana. Want to go ge—”
Ryker’s brows launched up, eyes wide as his step faltered.
Vincent spun on his heel, shoulders rigid.
The room’s energy shifted, right along with his entire demeanor as he stepped in front of her and spoke back over his shoulder.
“What is he doing here?”
“Him? That’s Ryker. He’s my therapist.”
&n
bsp; Vincent twisted back to fix her with a stare so fierce it made her convulsively swallow. “Therapist. Really.”
He slowly rotated back at the same time Ryker cleared his throat and continued his path. Annalise stepped around Vincent, nearly tripping on the same rag again, and walked back over to the counter to grab her shoulder bag.
She glanced at Ryker as he approached. So stiff and angry looking. Huh.
When he noticed her gaze he smiled widely at Vincent and extended his hand. Anna tilted her head in thought. Why in the world was he acting like that?
“Hi there, Ryker Hunt. Nice to meet you.”
Okay, even weirder if they didn’t know each other. She shifted her glance to Vincent who looked decidedly not happy.
Okay . . . so . . . they did know each other, but Ryker was, what? Pretending? Or was Vincent just being protective?
Vincent narrowed his eyes and extended his own hand with a tight smile. “We’ve met before, Mr. Hunt. Right next door in fact.”
They gripped each other’s hands, the tendons in Ryker’s forearm flexing as Vincent’s smile widened. Ryker was the first to let go.
Annalise rolled her eyes. Ridiculous. “You guys done comparing sizes?”
Vincent shot out a surprised laugh and made a show of wiping his hand off on his thigh.
Ryker glowered.
“Annalise,” Vincent mused. “I would tell you there is no comparison, but that would be wholly inappropriate to say in front of a young lady.”
She barked a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Totally correct on that. So, do you two know each other or not?”
Ryker grunted as he turned back to Annalise. “Apparently we do.”
Vincent smiled and approached her. “Annalise, I thought we could further discuss your accounting lessons over a meal before I drop you at home.”
She groaned and bent forward to rest her forehead on the counter. “Can’t you just do the books? I hate math so hard.”
“Non. Hai molto da imparare sugli affari. You have a lot to learn about business. And managing the books is the largest part.”
Nick could have taught her how, but she didn’t want to rely on him for anything else if she didn’t have to. He’d done enough his whole freaking life.
She popped up with a massive grin, and Vincent’s brows lifted. “I’ll pay you in scones!”
Vincent drew back a cheek and winced. She groaned again and slung her bag over her shoulder.
“Fine. But you know my scones kick ass. Don’t even pretend.”
Vincent grinned and nodded. “That they do.” He gestured to the door with his other arm behind his back, ever the gentleman.
Ryker sidestepped Vincent, catching her gaze.
“Don’t forget our appointment in the morning. Or your pill tonight. Nightmares, right?”
Annalise gave him a two-finger salute and smiled.
Vincent’s extended arm dropped an inch, then all the way as he tucked that hand behind his back, joining the other. “Caro, why don’t you go ahead?”
“Alright but hurry up. I want to show you the delivery buzzer thing I installed all by myself with no help from the internet at all.”
He smiled. “I’d like that. I’ll be right down.”
Annalise held her keys up in the air to get Ryker’s attention and pitched them across the room into his waiting palm. “Lock up, please? And can you bring them with tomorrow?”
Ryker grinned as he bounced the keys from hand to hand. “Sure thing. See you then.”
She adjusted the strap on her shoulder, looking at the two men in the middle of her shop and felt a stab of heartache.
Thomas should have been here. He should have—she forced a smile before the tears started again and beat a hasty retreat down the stairs.
Ryker
Annalise’s steps clunked down each stair and stopped once she reached the bottom. The rear door squeaked as it swung open, then again as it closed leaving the two of them alone. Ryker continued to toss the keys back and forth even as Vincent spun to pin him with a glare.
“It would be unwise of you to assume I have no power in this matter.”
Ryker shrugged and grinned. “I don’t doubt it at all. But you won’t do a damn thing. You know why?”
Vincent sneered and somehow gained two inches in height. “Enlighten me.”
So damn smug. This was going to feel good.
Ryker rounded Vincent and pushed up to sit on the countertop, sighing as he leveled his gaze.
“No matter what you think you know, do know, or don’t know—she’s my patient. I’m in direct control of her care.” He glanced down and snagged the used-up piece of sandpaper and scraped his nails along the surface as he stared at Vincent. “You telling anyone about me would certainly be detrimental to her recovery. She might relapse. That would mean . . . gosh . . . she’d have to go back to the center.” He clucked his cheek and shook his head.
The smarmy Italian’s nostrils flared as his chest rose, eyes wide.
That’s right. Ryker grinned. Suck on that.
“So.” Ryker tossed the sandpaper back down on the floor, brushed his hands off and braced on the counter. “Anything else I can help you with before you leave?”
Vincent’s lip curled into a sneer that leveled out into a scarily pleasant smile all too quickly. “Nothing whatsoever. I have everything I need.” Ryker’s smile faded as Vincent turned away from him and headed toward the stairs. “Buonasera, Mr. Hunt. Until next time.”
Ryker watched as he descended, blowing out a long, irritated breath when the door opened and closed.
He’d have to let Mr. Valentine know the Italian was in here poking around. Though, he probably already knew, somehow. God, he wished he’d been able to convince her to rent her shop anywhere else.
The sound of a throat clearing made Ryker whip his head around to the front door.
Oh fuck! What the hell was the Valentine kid doing here?
Ryker strained to hear any noise from downstairs as he applied his plastic smile. “Hey. We’re not open yet. Probably be another two or three weeks at this rate.”
Thomas took a large step over the threshold with his hands jammed in his pockets and an eyebrow raised. “We?”
Ryker swallowed as Thomas fixed him with a glare that might have melted the wallpaper off the wall, had there been any. But Ryker’s smile grew.
Perfect.
“Yeah. Me and my girlfriend, Annalise. She’s the owner.”
Thomas snorted. “Take all the offense ya want, but you ain’t her type. Being not me and all that.” He gestured with his head toward the door, and its massive scrawled ‘Tommy’s’ sign. “Where’s she at?”
Ryker cursed himself. This was part of the reason he preferred the company of nearly incapacitated test victi—subjects. He still needed to try, though, or else . . .
He launched his brows up and hopped off the counter, hand extended.
“Oh, you’re Tommy? Man, I’ve heard so much about you, nice to meet you.” He was completely unsurprised when Thomas didn’t take his hand and grinned wider as he jammed it in his pocket. “You’re the one that almost got her killed. Dude, what were you thinking?”
Thomas’s eyes widened and his smirk faltered. “Wha . . . I—” He firmed his expression again and took a step into Ryker’s space, but Ryker didn’t back up, smile still in place.
Found the nerve. Now to tap-dance all over it.
“Yeah. Hell, if you’d just left her in there you wouldn’t have been . . . oh, wait. You’re supposed to be dead! Hey, if you’re not, that means . . . oh, man. You’ve been lying to her.” He sucked in a breath through his teeth and blew out a slow whistle. “Good thing she’s got a decent, honest boyfriend now.”
Thomas’s brows pitched for a second before he snarled and shoved Ryker back by both shoulders. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about, but I’ll tell ya one thing, you ain’t her boyfri
end. And you’re lucky if I let you outta here with all your teeth.”
Ryker laughed and held his arms wide. “Go ahead. That would be a fun call. ‘Anna, bab—”
Thomas snatched a handful of Ryker’s collar and pulled him nose to nose. “No fucking body calls her Anna but me,” he snarled, menacingly low. “You understand that?”
Ryker shoved out of Thomas’s grip and straightened his t-shirt. “You hit me, rough me up. Then what? She’ll not only find out you were lying, but you’re violent. What kind of trauma will that put her through? Didn’t she deal with enough?”
That did it.
Thomas deflated, his sneer and severe glare melting into wide eyes and dropped jaw. He rested his hand on his side and swallowed, eyes trained on Ryker.
One beat. Two.
Finally, with a single blink, he turned on his heel and stormed through the front door without a backward glance.
Thomas
“That sorry . . . damn . . .” Thomas muttered to himself as he stalked down the cobblestone street. The thought of that . . . Joe even being on the same continent as Anna, let alone the same room, boiled his blood.
“How the fuck—God.”
He stomped the last two steps as he stopped at a crosswalk, and grunted as he glared at the tall buildings across the street.
He was no dummy. There was no way on Earth Anna would go for some tweaked out, skinny, brain stem like that guy. His brows pinched, and he crossed his arms.
Right?
I mean . . . it’s not like he expected her . . . she thought he was dead. No, she wouldn’t have moved on that fast. He scratched the back of his head and cleared his throat as he waited for the sign to change.
Right?
How was he going to see her without that guy being in the way, if they were there all the time together?
Jesus . . . what if she found out before he had a chance to explain?!
Thomas groaned and clutched at his side as his stomach turned. All he wanted in the whole world was to see her again. To hold her, kiss her. Tell her he loved her, too. He hadn’t given a single damn thought to the fact she might be . . . mad or upset he wasn’t dead like she thought.