Page 11 of Wild Mistake
I glance up, my arms full of plates from the kitchen and my mouth parted, ready to tell whoever it is to sit where they like.
But it’s him.
Aiden Wilder.
I forget how to speak.
I forget my manners.
I forget for one split second that I’m supposed to hate him, and I smile. A real, genuine, brazen smile.
When he lifts a hand in greeting, a shy grin curving his lips, I remember exactly how he broke my young, tender heart.
I turn my back and stomp away, practically tossing the plates of food onto my customers’ table.
“You okay, Sarah?” Regina Salas places a hand on my arm.
Nora, one of the women dining with her, meets my gaze with concern. “Honey, you’re white as snow.”
“Maybe you should take a seat?” Susan, her best friend, says. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
Regina glances around my body toward the door. “Ohhh,” she muses knowingly. “Sweetheart.”
I hate that everyone in this room knows my history. That I can’t pretend Aiden is a stranger. I smile tightly. “I’m fine. Really. Forgot to eat something before my shift, is all. Gotta watch that low blood pressure.”
“You know how that is, don’t you Regina?” Susan taps her friend’s shoulder. I could hug her.
“You mind your own business.” Regina levels Susan with a glare.
“Take my toast, sweetie,” Nora offers. “I don’t need the extra carbs anyway.”
“Oh, no.” My heart swells a little at their understanding and impulse to take care of me as if I were one of their own daughters or granddaughters. “I’m fine. I promise.” The lie almost feels convincing to my own ears.
“Nonsense.” She tears a piece off the bread and holds it out. “I won’t take no for an answer. Don’t make me call your mother.”
I want to laugh at her stubbornness, and cry at her kindness. Instead, I accept the small piece of toast and chew it, knowing their concerned stares won’t go away until I do. It gives me precious seconds to pull myself together before I have to face Aiden.
I offer up a silent prayer he decides to leave before I do. But even I know my request is in vain.
I turn, schooling my features, and lift my chin to meet his gaze.
He hasn’t moved. His deep brown eyes, intense with his stare, don’t offer a single clue to the thoughts inside his head.
Crossing the room, I take the opportunity to study him. Time has been good to him. He looks as if he’s in better shape now than ever. His muscles fill out his chest and arms from beneath his jacket. The flecks of gray in the scruff on his jaw somehow only makes him hotter.
“Aiden Wilder.” His name on my lips digs up a host of unexpected feelings. They swirl in my belly as I stop a few feet in front of him and place my hands on my hips.
What is he doing here?
When did he get back in town? Or more importantly, how soon until he leaves?
Why, after almost twenty years, do I even care?
Fuck. Why does he have to look so damn good?
4
TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO
