“It wasn’t a compliment.” She takes a few steps closer, her dark sunglasses glinting in the late morning sunlight. “We need to talk.”
Yeah, that’s not going to happen. Of everybody in Annar I need to talk to, Sophie Greenfield is not even on the list. I may be in the middle of the painful process of letting any future I have with Kellan go, but I’ll be damned if I ever play nice with this woman. I add the bag of fruit to my basket. “Look, Sophie—I don’t know what it is you want, but I’m on a pretty tight schedule here—”
“What I want is for you to go right back to the Transit Station and re-lose yourself.”
I blink at her from behind my own sunglasses, taken aback by the sheer vehemence radiating from her.
“Don’t think that just because you’ve been gone, I’ve forgotten what you’ve done.”
Is she for real? I glance around, wondering if I’m somehow dreaming, because surely she’s not still . . . I don’t know, angry or resentful for whatever happened between her and Kellan nearly a year ago. Can she? “Actually,” I tell her, “I haven’t thought about you at all and will continue to not do so.”
She flips her gorgeous red hair over her shoulders so it cascades down her lithe back. “I don’t know what it is about you that seems to turn Kellan into an idiot, but just know I’m not going to be putting up with it anymore. He and I have worked hard to rebuild our relationship.”
Anger and confusion root me to the spot I’m standing in.
“I can’t believe I was able to find everything on the list,” Will says, reappearing from wherever he took off to five minutes before. He shakes his basket. “And then some.” It’s then he notices Sophie; there’s no doubt he recognizes her from earlier in the week, since the Muse is such a siren it’d take amnesia to forget such a face. A glance is thrown between us ladies. “Right, then. We need to get moving; no time for crazies. I’ve got a sauce to whip up.”
Let me count all the ways I love Will, starting with this one.
Sophie draws in a sharp breath. I nearly laugh, because, outside of the twins, it’s rare for any man to not immediately fall to his knees in obsession. “Excuse me?”
But then, Will probably matches her in terms of physical attractiveness, so he’s used to ignoring irrational ogling with the best of them. “That’s funny. I’m quite sure I was clear in words and meaning.”
Her glasses are shoved to the top of her head; blue eyes blaze in return. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”
“Actually, I believe I know more than I’d ever like to.”
Interesting. Will isn’t lying when he says this, but as I wasn’t the one to spill the beans on our shared sordid past, does this mean he talked to Kellan about it? I know they’ve become friendly with one another lately; it’s almost humorous that Kellan would talk to Will about his dating problems.
By the looks of it, I’d say Sophie wants to tear Will’s head clean off and throw it as far as she can after this comment.
Which doesn’t faze Will in the least. “Are you ready?” he asks me.
I nod, but as we approach the cashier, I turn back to Sophie. “I know it doesn’t mean much, coming from me, but maybe it’s time to move on.”
She turns on her heels and leaves; even in anger, she appears as if she’s gliding.
“She’s a wee bit terrifying, isn’t she?” Will asks as we pay for our food.
Yes, but not necessarily for why he thinks. She’s terrifying because her anger today was tenfold to what it was after her breakup with Kellan, when it ought to have finally diminished into acceptance and regret.
And that understanding leaves me uneasy, to say the least.
Astrid’s expansive kitchen is a dream come true to Will. As Cameron and Astrid awkwardly, yet adorably catch up in the sitting room, drinking a wine that Callie sourly admitted came out of Astrid’s special, private reserve, I hang out with Will, helping him prep dinner.
“I thought you worked in a diner.”
Will looks up from his pot, frowning at Callie’s comment. “So?”
My friend looks gorgeous tonight, wearing a silky silver dress that matches her hair yet leaves her appearing out of place in the kitchen. “I guess I’m surprised that you’re not making . . . I don’t know. Diner food.”
What surely must be a sharp retort is cut off by Will’s cell phone going off. It’s Becca’s special ringtone; I watch the muscles of his shoulders tighten, almost like somebody slapped a whip against his back.
I think Callie sees this, too, because her eyes widen in confusion.
But then Will pulls out his phone and sends the call straight to voicemail. “Sorry to disappoint you, princess. Were you hoping for diner fare, then?”
Callie leans against the counter, sighing loudly through her nose. Will shoots me a pointed look from where he’s sautéing onions.