“No, of course not. I know he’s a bit… rough around the edges, but when he’s with me, he’s wonderful. He treats me well, and he’s kind.”
She stares at me as though she’s trying to figure me out, and it immediately has me feeling defensive. “He’s a good man,” I tell her, keeping my voice cheerful.
Ryan is different. He keeps people at a distance and uses his wealth as a shield. But underneath that? Underneath the extravagance and the occasional obnoxiousness, he’s a genuinely good person. He helps at the soup kitchen I volunteer at every once in a while, and just last week we spent a day collecting plastic on the beach. It was a perfect day —hewas perfect that day. I just wish others could see it too. I wish they could see the version I see, and not the one he insists on showing the world.
My shoulders slump in relief when four girls walk in, chatting and laughing about their latest book boyfriend. I smile as I grab cups for them, writing their names before they even reach the counter. Nicole, Sara, Gladys and Megan always order the exact same thing. They sit and chat for hours, each of them trying to lay claim on the main character of whatever book they just read. Just seeing them brings a smile to my face. The friendship they share warms my heart, but it’s their kindness that always brings a smile to my face.
“You have to read this, Alanna,” Nicole says, holding up a paperback that looks pristine. I’ve never dared accept one of her books because it’s obvious she handles them reverently. I wouldn’t even be surprised if they’re all signed.
I’m too clumsy. I’d spill coffee on her book and she’d hate me forever. I smile at her as I decline her offer. Nicole’s smile drops just a fraction, but it’s back in place as soon as I hand her her coffee. I have no doubt these girls have made it their personal mission to get me to read one of their books, and by the determined look in their eyes, I know I’m destined to cave someday.
The green-eyed stranger rises from his seat, and my heart involuntarily skips a beat. I can feel his eyes on me, and a shiver runs down my spine. He makes me nervous, and it’s rare for anyone to have that effect on me.
His eyes never leave me as he walks up to me. By the time he reaches the counter, my heart is racing, and it unsettles me. Something about him leaves me feeling thrown.
“Alanna,” he says, his voice deep as he draws out my name, his eyes on my name tag. He smiles at me, and I tense. Most people are so absorbed in their thoughts and their own day as they order a coffee that they don’t even look me in the eye. His intensity is unsettling.
“Could I ask you to make me a long black, please? To go, please.”
I smile involuntarily. There’s something so sexy about politeness, especially coming from a man like that — someone whose cufflinks could likely pay for a month’s worth of groceries.
“Of course.” I grin at him as I grab a cup, and for a second, our eyes lock. “What’s your name?” I ask, my voice soft. He usually has his coffee here and prefers ceramic cups, so I’ve never had a chance to ask his name before.
He hesitates for a split second before speaking. “Simon.”
I drag my gaze away, moving to hide behind the massive coffee machine as I write his name on the paper cup.
I’m flustered. I rarely get flustered. Even Ryan complains that he never succeeds in making me blush, yet here I am… feeling out of it because of a stranger. This is weird, and I feel guilty instantly.
I take a deep breath as I pour his coffee into his cup, my eyes drifting up to the large clock opposite me. Thank God, this shift is done now. I’ve got so many class notes to get through, and then there’s tonight’s dinner. It’s the first time I’m formally meeting Ryan’s family, and truthfully, he seems more nervous about it than I am. I can’t help but wonder if Ryan’s family thinks I’m a gold-digger too.
It’s all I can think about as I hand Simon his cup. He takes it from me, his gaze inquisitive, but my thoughts are elsewhere. I hope I’ll make a good impression tonight, but there’s this niggling sense of unease I can’t push aside. I’ve always trusted my intuition, and I can’t help but feel like tonight is going to be a disaster.
I bite down on my lip as I take off my apron and walk into the staff room to grab my bag. By the time I walk out of the coffee shop, I’m overthinking everything. It took me an entire week and close to two weeks’ worth of my salary to select an outfit, yet now all of a sudden I wonder if I might end up looking like I’m trying too hard. I’m worried they might not like me, and that they won’t be able to see past my messed up past. They won’t want their son to date someone who doesn’t even know who she truly is, will they?
I’m so lost in thought that it takes me a moment to heed the warnings my intuition is sending me. I blink as I realize that I’m not alone in the narrow alley that leads to the bus stop, and a chill runs down my spine.
I pause and inhale shakily as I turn decisively. In my experience, most weirdos will let you be if they think you’ll put up a fight or confront them. My eyes find the man behind me, his dark green eyes squarely on mine.
“Simon,” I murmur, before straightening my shoulders. Savannah’s words ring through my mind again.You’re so obviously all he can see.A chill runs down my spine as I stare him down. He pauses and raises his brow.
“Are youfollowingme?”
ChapterTwenty-Seven
Silas
Alanna glares at me, and the dim lights in the alleyway just make her look even more beautiful.
I take a moment to drink her in and smile, enjoying the way her bravado wavers as her eyes widen ever so slightly.
“Me? Followingyou?” I ask, feigning ignorance.
I wonder what she sees when she looks at me. Does she see beyond the expensive clothes? Does she seeme, or does she see the persona of Silas Sinclair, CEO of Sinclair Security? I’ve spent two weeks coming here every single day, waiting for a sign to prove that a small part of her remembers me, but she’s given me nothing. I’m just a stranger to her, and it kills me.
Just looking at her has my heart clenching tightly, every fiber of my being begging me to take her into my arms. I so desperately want to tell her about us, but I can’t.
I can’t risk distorting her memories. If the doctor is right, and her amnesia is truly caused by her subconscious desire to forget her painful past, then I cannot force her to remember. I can’t make her go through the pain of losing her father, of homelessness. Not again. Not because of my own selfish desires.