When He Desires: A Dark Mafia Romance (Fallen God Book 1)
When He Desires: Chapter 7

My stomach is in knots. Holding my ground around Brett is something I’m still getting used to, so after our conversation, I need a minute to compose myself.

I go over to say hello to the dishwasher, Frank.

Frank’s been working at Frostbite since the eighties, when this place was still run by Brett’s dad, before Brett’s dad became the mayor. Frank’s usually listening to music, but today, the radio clipped to his belt is tuned to the local news station.

I prop my hip against the counter. “My mom used to put that station on every morning.”

He glances at me over his shoulder, his smile hidden beneath his thick white mustache. “They’re sayin’ there’s a storm comin’.”

“Really? The sky was clear when I got in ten minutes ago. Second week of November is too early for snow.”

He turns the water off and wipes his hands on a towel. “The weather’s been all over the place these past few winters.” He turns up the volume on the radio so that I can hear the hosts talking about what’s supposedly the biggest winter storm in years heading our way.

I frown. “It wouldn’t be the first time they were wrong.” They better be. A big storm isn’t something my old Honda can handle. I haven’t even put on the tire chains I bought last week. I thought I still had plenty of time before the snow hit.

Frank shrugs. “Hope you’re right. I’ve gotta help Howie fix his roof this weekend, and that ain’t gonna happen if we get ten inches of snow like they’re talkin’ about.” He scans me up and down. “We miss ya around here. You been hidin’ from us.”

A fist appears around my heart. With the exception of Brett and Melissa, the people working at Frostbite Tavern are good people. I used to stick around after we wrapped up with the day shift and have a meal with everyone, but since the incident, I just go straight home.

I’m embarrassed.

In Darkwater Hollow, everyone knows everyone’s business, so what happened between Brett and me is public knowledge. Some people look at me with pity. Others with a smugness that implies they knew Brett and I would never work.

Most times, it just feels like the word IDIOT is a flashing neon sign right above my head, and everyone can see it.

“I’ve been busy,” I say. It’s not exactly a lie. I’ve spent the last few months doing all kinds of projects around the house so it’ll be easier to sell it.

Frank gives me a sad smile. “Got any plans for Thanksgiving? That friend of yours going to come ’round?”

“Del? Not this year.”

“What about your brother?”

I snort. “As always, Maxton’s busy in LA.” So busy, he didn’t even come back for Mom’s funeral. Del’s company in San Francisco had a retreat that same week, but Del got permission to skip it so that she could be here for me. All I got from Maxton was an apology text.

“Ain’t good to be alone for the holidays, sweetheart.”

“Who knows, maybe I’ll go to California to see them.”

We both know I can’t afford the flight, but Frank doesn’t call me out on my lie. He just pats me on the shoulder and says, “If Kate and me were hosting, I’d have ya over at ours, but we’re goin’ to Leslie’s this year.”

The pastor’s wife. The same woman who once tried to get me and Maxton kicked out of our middle school because she didn’t like having “those grimy Wolfe kids” in the same classroom as her sons.

I force a smile because I don’t want Frank feeling guilty when he has no reason to. “Sounds like it’ll be a fun evening.”

I go back to setting up for the lunch hour, and by noon, most of the dining room is filled. The radio hosts were right. The temperature’s dropped below freezing, and flurries are coming down outside. Everyone wants to warm up with some coffee and tea.

I’m occupied with the new espresso machine Brett bought a few weeks ago, churning out lattes, while Brit and Carly, the two servers working today, do their best to carry them to the tables fast enough.

By two, just when I think we’re past the worst of it, another wave of patrons floods the dining room.

“Where is everyone coming from?” I ask Brit when she comes by to grab some orders.

“The electricity’s cut out on the north side of town. The snow’s way worse over there, so a lot of people drove up.”

Shit.

I glance out the window. Even here, it’s coming down thick, which means when my shift ends at four, I might be stuck here. I can’t leave early when we’re this busy, so I just gotta hope my car will be able to make it out. It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to my house.

I’m in the middle of making four lattes when Brett appears by my side.

“Listen, Mel’s going to come in a bit early.”

My stomach sinks, and I nearly drop the steamed milk I’m pouring. “You promised me I wouldn’t have to work with her.”

“I know, but it’s getting nuts in here. You need help.” He reaches up and flicks one of the paper orders clipped in front of me. “You’re way behind.”

I’d rather walk home in this weather than work with Melissa. I place the lattes on the counter for Brit and turn to face Brett. “Can’t you get behind the bar for a bit?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve got a lot of paperwork to catch up on. And I’ve got to make the rounds. Make people feel welcome.”

Anger bubbles through my chest. “I thought I made my boundaries clear.”

“You were the one who said you didn’t want me to fire her.”

I grit my teeth. No matter how angry I was—still am—with Melissa, I don’t need her losing her job on my conscience. I know what it’s like to worry about being able to pay your next water bill.

I wipe down the steamer wand with a rag. “You made me a promise. I guess I should have known that means nothing.”

Anger flashes in his eyes. “Don’t be difficult, B. There’s a freak storm coming, and a lot of people are here to warm up. Have some perspective, yeah? This is more important than your personal issues.”

My cheeks heat. My personal issues?

A sliver of doubt snakes through my chest. Is he right? Am I being selfish? After all, the world doesn’t revolve around me and my problems.

I suck in a breath. I’m a big girl. I can deal with Melissa for a few hours.

There’s no time to mull it over, because a moment later, Melissa appears behind Brett. I let out a disbelieving huff. She must have come in while Brett and I were talking, which means he really waited until the last moment to give me a heads-up.

Her dark hair is pulled back into a high ponytail, and she looks at me like she just killed my puppy. All guilt and nervousness.

“I’ll leave you girls to it.” Brett squeezes past her, his work here done.

But my work is far from over. I force my anger down and start on the next order.

Just stay focused.

Melissa clears her throat. “How can I help?”

“You can start another pot of coffee and check on the people at the bar,” I say in a monotone voice. This is the first time we’ve interacted since I walked in on them. I’ve done my absolute best to avoid her for the last four months.

She grabs a pack of coffee grounds from the shelf above and pours it into a white paper filter.

“Blake, I was hoping we could talk.”

“I’m busy.”

“You never answered my texts.”

“I blocked you.”

“Why would you do that?” She sounds genuinely puzzled.

Gee, I don’t know.

“I’m sorry, okay?” She puts the filter into the filter basket and slides it into the machine.

This day is quickly going from bad to hellish.

“Please, hear me out. I hate that our friendship is so fucked up now.”

Maybe she should have thought of that before she slept with my long-term boyfriend.

“Everyone makes mistakes, right?”

I can’t help it. I snap. “Can we not do this right now?”

She shakes her head. “I feel so bad about breaking you two up. I wasn’t thinking. It just happened, I swear. Brett really wants to get back together with you.”

Did he put her up to this? My pulse is racing. I can’t handle this.

Before I lose my shit in front of everyone, I finish the orders I’m working on and transfer them to the counter. I walk all the way to the other end of the bar, away from Melissa and her bullshit. It’s only about ten feet, but it’s enough to allow me to breathe easier.

I clutch the counter and count backward from ten.

I’m at six when the door to the bar opens, and Rowan Miller strides in.