Clearing that thought from my mind, I turn the corner and reach Cowgirl Coffee. Just as I get to the front door, Monica steps out.
“Oh, perfect timing.”
I let out a confused hum. “Are you heading out already?”
“Yep. Lock up for me?”
I nod, confused why she’s leaving through the front door. “Yeah. Sure?”
She pats Felix on the head before she starts down the street walking backwards so she can call out. “Oh, and don’t hate me!”
“For what?” I call back, but she just waves with a wry grin before turning back.
Is she skipping away?
Whatever.
I shake my head and walk in, letting Felix off his leash once we’re inside. Instead of running to his bed like he normally does, he bolts into the seating area. I nearly jump when I see Sutton sitting on the big oversized chair by the fireplace. Of course my damn dog wastes no time leaping over the coffee table and right into Sutton’s waiting arms.
Well, I guess I know why she saiddon’t hate me.
I head toward the counter and sit down at one of the stools at the serving area. Propping my elbows up on the counter, I rest my chin on my fists and look across the shopto where Sutton is. Felix is still rolling around in his lap getting belly rubs.
Whoever said dogs pick up on their owner’s feelings toward a person never met Felix because my dog has loved that man since the night he tackled him in the entryway of my old apartment. Ever since then, if Felix even gets a whiff of him, it’s all belly rubs and head scritches. If I wasn’t so irritated with Sutton, I would find the whole thing attractive.
My dog doesn’t like men. It’s not that he hates them. He’s just aloof and quiet, disinterested in their company. He doesn’t warm up to most people. He’s just like me, preferring limited social interaction. There’s one notable exception to Felix’s ambivalence toward people and right now, he’s sitting in my place of employment reminding me of that.
Sutton finally looks up from his shenanigans with Felix and his eyes find me. I quickly shift my gaze away, almost embarrassed that he caught me watching them.
My eyes fall back to the counter and I grab the pile of free stickers sitting by the card scanner and start neatly restacking them. I don’t even have to look up from my nervous habit to know that he’s walking over to me. From the dull thud of his boots on the old wooden floors to the jingle of Felix’s collar, who I am sure is following right beside him. Seriously, whose side is my dog on right now?
“What? Are you here to offer me a free spa day and dinner at Gloria’s? Really, what else does the always happy Sutton Sterling have to offer now?”
He chuckles under his breath, but shakes his head no. Instead, he just walks up to the other stool beside me.
I turn and look right at him. The mix of anger and the other emotion that I feel when I see him clash inside me and I don’t know which one to follow right now.
Why would he ever think to offer me that? I’m not going to debase myself and relive every painful memory of watchingmy Grandma’s home be turned into some uptight spot for tourists.
“I already told you no. So can you just please let me wallow in my own self pity today?” Alright. Anger it is, I guess. “Why would you think I’d want that? Also why are you?—”
“I’m sorry.” His normally confident, deep voice is laced with an icy, remorseful tone I’ve never heard from him. It cuts right through my anger, catching me off guard.
“You’re what?” I ask, rearing back and shaking my head in confusion. “Sorry for what?”
“I never knew.” The expression on his face is so serious it’s almost unnerving.
“Knew about what? You’re freaking me out. Stop acting weird,” I say, trying to lighten the mood but his expression doesn’t change.
“Gloria’s.” He swallows and I watch his Adam’s apple bob. “The house. I never knew it was your grandma’s. I didn’t know it was connected to your family at all.”
It feels like all of the air is sucked out of the room while I try to process his words.
I look at him, taking in every feature of his striking face, searching for any hint of a joke or a game. There isn’t though. There’s just him, looking at me like he never has before—completely unsure of himself, completely at a loss for words, just like me.
“How?” I breathe out, trying to find the air to form more words. “What do you mean you didn’t know? How could you not?”
I don’t understand how the man could build a whole damn restaurant and renovate not one, but two, apartments and not know who the prior owner was.