Page 20 of The Last Goodbye

She’d probably realized at last that it wasn’t going to happen, and she’d gone back to New York.

Why the fuck should I care where she’s gone?

I shouldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

I didn’t.

I shook it off and continued working, putting my attention where it needed to be.

On my kitchen.

The rest of the night went off without a hitch, even though we were slammed from the moment we opened to the moment we closed. We’d worked our asses off, and we were all exhausted. I’d sent the last of my staff home half an hour ago, but I needed to stay and finish stocking things for tomorrow.

It was well past midnight when I finally turned off the lights and locked up.

I pulled the back door open and paused as soon as I stepped outside, the cool air hitting my face. Someone was sitting on the top step, leaning against the brick wall, her eyes closed.

Briar Sinclair.

For a second, I just stood there and stared at her. I genuinely couldn’t figure out what she was doing outside my restaurant at this time of night, like she had nowhere else to be.

Her arms were loosely folded, eyes closed, as she sat completely still—and fast asleep. She’d clearly been waiting for me and then somewhere along the line had just…given up and drifted off right there on my doorstep.

A reluctant kind of admiration crept in before I could stop it—she was either persistent or stubborn, depending on how generously I wanted to look at her actions, and with her, it was starting to feel like both.

But the momentary admiration was quickly followed by irritation, because no matter how ballsy she seemed on the surface, she was still a woman who was sitting outside in the dark after midnight, alone, asleep, and completely vulnerable.

How could she not know that?

My jaw tightened slightly as I looked at her more closely, really seeing her properly for the first time without her talking or arguing or trying to tear my business out from under me.

And something in my chest shifted in a way I didn’t like. Beneath everything else, that protective instinct I didn’t have time for was there again, louder than it should’ve been, telling me she shouldn’t be out here like this.

Her blond hair fell over her shoulders, her lips pursed as her long black eyelashes rested on her cheeks.

She wore a light blue sundress. A thin spaghetti strap had slipped off her shoulder, landing on her upper arm. With her legs crossed, sandals on her feet, and her skin tan and golden, like she’d been kissed by the sun, she looked stunning.

I bent down and placed a hand on her forearm, not wanting to startle her.

Before I could process what was happening, her arm came up and slugged me in the face as a gasp escaped her lips, and I fell back on my ass.

“For fuck’s sake,” I hissed as my hands moved to cover my nose, which she’d managed to nail with just the one blind punch.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” She hovered over me. “Yikes. Are you bleeding?”

I pulled my hands away, and the light outside the back door was bright enough to expose the blood staining my hands.

Vulnerable, my ass.

I’d clearly underestimated her. She was fierce and scrappy, and a badass in her own right. The proof was in the blood on my hands, though I’d never admit that to her.

“Shit.” We both stood up. I unlocked the back door and stormed inside, with her right behind me.

I flipped on the lights, then made my way to the sink, grabbed a handful of paper towels, and turned on the water.

“Bass, I’m so sorry.” She stood beside me as I collected water in my hands and splashed it over my nose. “Wait, can I call you Bass?”