by KD Robichaux
But this time, her cheeks flush an adorable pink, and she won’t meet my eyes. She goes to tuck her hair nervously behind her ear, seeming to forget it’s up in a perfectly slicked back ponytail that’s curled at the end like Betty’s in Riverdale, only hers is a sultry dark-brown instead of blonde.
She clears her throat. “I have nothing to report… until after business hours,” she says, and finally she peeks at me briefly before quickly grabbing up the plates and putting them on her tray then hurrying away.
There is no holding back the grin that splits my face, and I barely refrain from throwing my fist in the air and whooping like I just won the lottery.
And now I just have to wait until after we close to hear what she has to say before I put my plans for seduction into action.
All while fighting back the guilt of not being 100 percent honest with the woman of my dreams.
11
Cece
This afternoon, I left my lawyer’s office with her promise that everything was in place and that Mike would be served the divorce papers by Monday afternoon. The moment my signature was scrawled across the final line, it’s like the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders and I could breathe for the first time in months.
There was so much more relief than just finally taking a major step in the direction of my future. It was shedding all the frustrations and irking annoyances from the past decade of marriage that I swept under the rug to keep the peace in our house. It was all the grinning and bearing it when I was forced to think and act a certain way just because that’s what was expected of me as the wife of a Willimson. It was all the compromises I was forced to make that I was told was all a part of being in a relationship, when really it was all sacrifices on my part, never a happy medium.
I felt like a brand-new woman, and tonight, now that I’m legally separated and there’s no going back, I plan to celebrate with the man I 100 percent see myself moving forward with.
I’ve fought with myself back and forth about starting anything with Winston so soon, worried about the dreaded rebound after coming out of a long-term relationship. I’ve read countless articles on healing and moving on with your life after divorce. I’ve saved pins on a private board that range in everything from “The fastest way to get over a man is to get under a new one” to “There’s no need to rush. If something is meant to be, it will happen. In the right time, with the right person, for the best reason.”
But am I really rushing? I’ve been separated for over seven months now. And it feels like I haven’t been in a real relationship for much longer, especially not a loving one.
So I’ve decided to let everything flow naturally. Whatever happens, happens. I just hope that whatever does doesn’t make it awkward at work if things go south.
I’m drying the last ten glasses behind the bar when Winston emerges from the back. Everyone else left nearly half an hour ago, and the tension has been building inside me ever since, wondering when he’d come talk to me. I expected him to come barreling at me the minute the last waitress stepped foot outside, but as the minutes passed and he didn’t, it felt like an anxious coil started twisting inside my chest.
With him finally standing near me, grabbing a dishtowel and the last glass to dry, I’m ready to combust, the nervous energy inside me wanting to blurt everything out that I’ve been waiting all day to tell him.
“Everything’s been submitted. I filed for divorce, and Mike will be served Monday.” I look up at him, his eyes searching my face. I can’t read his expression.
“And how are you feeling about that?” Winston asks gently, putting the glass he dried next to the rest of them ready for business tomorrow. He leans against the bar, hanging the towel on the edge of the sink.
I consider his words. How am I feeling exactly?
“I feel… relieved.” I nod. “Yeah, relieved. A little sad, but not because of the man himself. Mostly because of how this is and still will affect my girls. For the rest of their lives, really. I never imagined my kids being from a broken home. I had made it my mission early on that I’d do everything I could on my part to make sure they didn’t have to grow up like I did, even if it meant sacrificing my own happiness. So it’s really freaking ironic they’re ending up living parallel lives with my own childhood.”
“Your dad cheated on your mom?” he asks quietly.
I grimace and look down at my hands, fidgeting with my apron. “Several times. And my mom stayed with him until he finally asked for a divorce.” I shake my head. “Oh, how history tends to repeat itself, right?” I laugh without humor, circling the bar to take a seat on one of the barstools.
“What do you mean?” he prompts, taking the glass he just washed and placing it on the bar between us. He fills it with top-shelf vodka, cranberry juice, and garnishes it with a lime, sliding it across to me, then making one for himself.
I take a tentative sip then close my eyes and moan. “I think I just found my new favorite,” I murmur, then open my eyes to find his filled with heat. I clear my throat. “Um… where was I? Oh, history repeating itself. So, my mom stayed with dad, even as he continued to cheat on her. I became Mom’s… best friend, really, instead of her daughter. She vented to me every time Dad messed up, and I heard things I definitely shouldn’t have been at that age. Things you tell your thirty-something-year-old girlfriends, not your fourteen-year-old daughter.”
I take another drink before continuing, astonished how easy it is to talk to him about things I’ve never spoken to anyone about besides my sister, who lived through it with me. “It wasn’t until years later we realized it was because she was financially dependent on him that she stayed. Mia and I always told her just to leave him, over and over again, and we didn’t understand it when she told us she couldn’t. Like I said, I was fourteen at the time, so old enough to have immature opinions about the situation. I thought she was weak, too in love with my dad and holding on to what wasn’t meant to be. When really, she was just scared of trying to make it on her own and failing.” I shake my head again. “I know all too well now what she was feeling when it comes to that. For months, I seriously thought about trying marriage counseling, whatever it would take to fix my marriage, and only because I was scared of not making ends meet on my own.”
“How are you feeling about that now?” he asks, taking a sip from his glass.
I think about my answer, squeezing the wedge of lime into my drink and stirring it with the little black straw. “Hopeful.” I nod, a little smile pulling at the corners of my lips. “With my little side gig making wreaths, my account was only overdrafted twice. So I’m getting closer to making it a whole month without late fees.” I chuckle. “I’ve stopped letting my sister contribute to the bills. Just her little bit toward the mortgage she calls her rent. I just couldn’t take the guilt anymore. She has no idea I’m unable to cover everything quite yet, so please don’t mention it to her if she comes in.”
I see a flash of what I can only describe as anger flit across his face before he hides it, and he asks, “What did your mom and you girls do when your dad asked for a divorce?”
I prop one elbow up on the bar top and rest my head in my hand as I lean forward. “Well… we got a small two-bedroom apartment, and mom got a job as a secretary at a law firm. She met and started dating Chaz about a year later, and that’s when everything changed… for the better. She had Chaz to vent to, to be her rock, instead of me, and I became her daughter again. It took a while, but Chaz proved to us there was such a thing as a real man, one who treated their woman with respect and love and unbending faithfulness. He retaught us what it meant to trust someone.”
I laugh uncomfortably. “But even so… even with having that amazing father-figure in our lives, there was lasting damage from the years of listening to Mom rant and vent about everything my dad was doing. My sister says we have the dreaded daddy issues you always hear about, and I’m sad to say she’s not wrong. I ran off and tried to fill that hole in my life that
my dad left, even after Chaz healed a big part of it. I have abandonment issues, I’m sure. I tried to find a man who would love me and never leave me the way Dad did and ended up marrying one just like him.” I shake my head. “My sister did the opposite. She won’t let anyone get too close. She was in a relationship before she moved here to help me, but when they broke up, she wasn’t even sad about it. She was just pissed he did it over a text.” I chuckle.
He leans his elbows on the bar, putting us much closer together than before, and my breath catches he’s so achingly handsome. “Have you thought about taking the same route your mom did? Maybe getting a smaller place? I saw your house the night I took you home last week after the tequila. It’s no wonder you’re struggling to make the mortgage payments, even if the girls’ dad is paying child support.”
I let out a sigh. “Yeah. I know I should. I know that. But I don’t want to take away my babies’ home. Their lives were already turned upside down; I don’t want to move them out of the place they’ve grown up their whole life too.”
He nods. “I get that. What about you and Mia though? How did y’all feel when you moved out of your childhood home and into the apartment?”
I blink at him. I had never thought about that before. “Um… well… it was actually great. It was like an adventure. That was my mom’s doing, now that I think about it. Her demeanor, the way she acted while we moved. I clearly remember noting how happy she seemed, how chipper she was, when I was so used to seeing her down and depressed. It was a new beginning, leaving behind our home that was filled with bad memories. A fresh start. We didn’t have much money, but Mom made a big deal about letting Mia and me paint the walls whatever color we wanted in our room. We painted it just the three of us, with my mom singing about not needing a man, how we could do anything we put our minds to. Might seem silly, but my dad had always done all the handiwork around the house, so it was a major thing for my mom. You should’ve seen us trying to figure out how to open the paint can.” I giggle.
His face softens, and I have to fight my urge to let out a dreamy sigh. He’s so freaking handsome.
“Knowing that, what’s to say you couldn’t move into a more affordable place and turn the experience into a happy one, like your mom managed to do for you?” he asks.
I shrug. “I’ll think about it. I just have so much going on right now I don’t want to add apartment hunting and selling the house to the list. I’m mostly focusing on keeping calm. My anxiety over Mike getting served Monday has been wreaking havoc on me all evening. I have no idea how he’s going to react, seeing as I’m sure he didn’t think I’d be able to afford filing, especially so soon.”
“Well then, how about a little distraction, naekkeo? You didn’t take a dinner break earlier. You hungry?” he prompts.
I tilt my head. “Yes and no. I’m hungry but have a nervous stomach.”
He snaps his fingers then points to me as he stands up straight. “I have just the thing.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys. “You riding with me, or you want to follow?”
My brow furrows. “Follow you where?”
“My place.” He shrugs. “The kitchen here is all disinfected and ready for business tomorrow. Don’t want to dirty up any dishes. Plus, I have the ingredients I need at home.”
I audibly gulp and sit up straight on the stool. “Y-Your place?” A tornado of butterflies add to the nervousness already filling my stomach. “Um…” I hadn’t thought about this being a possibility. I knew I wanted to talk to Winston tonight and let him know I wanted what he offered the other night when he was pressed between my legs, kissing me like I’ve never been kissed before. But I hadn’t thought past that. I hadn’t imagined being anywhere else with him other than here at the restaurant.
“I just want to feed you, Cece,” he says softly, and the sincerity in his eyes somewhat calms me.
I nod. “Okay. I’ll ride with you.” If I drive, I’ll do nothing but talk myself into a panic and probably end up convincing myself not to do what I want—spend time with Winston. Plus, with my girls staying the night at their dad’s, there’s no reason for me to go straight home. I can stay out as long as I want and not have to worry about leaving my kids with Mia with no help if she needs it.
“Excellent. Let’s go,” he says, giving me a devilish grin that makes that tornado of butterflies touch down right in the center of my core. I barely retain my whimper.
I stand, pulling off my apron and hurrying to the other side of the bar to put it in the cabinet and grab my purse. “My car should be okay here, right?”
“Where’d you park?” he asks.
“In the back,” I reply.
He nods. “Yep, it’ll be fine. And there are cameras if it isn’t.”
I follow him through the door to the kitchen and offices then out the back door, which he turns around and locks with his keys. He unlocks his truck with his remote, and I can’t help but smile when he opens the passenger door for me. “Thank you.” I blush, reaching for the seatbelt as he closes the door with a wink.
When he’s in the driver seat and starts the car, I jump as the radio starts blasting, my hand going to my chest to keep my heart from escaping as he flinches and turns the music way down.
“Jesus H., boss. You deaf?” I breathe through a chuckle.
“First, we’ve clocked out, so I’m not your boss right now.” He lifts a brow at me, and I nod in agreement. “Second, I can’t help but blast that song. It’s my favorite.”
“Really? What is it? It sounds familiar.” I tilt my head to listen more closely.
He turns it up a little bit, and I hear it’s in a different language. “It’s called ‘Idol’ by BTS,” he replies.
I turn wide eyes to him. “You… you listen to BTS?” I pull my lips between my teeth, and my nostrils flare in my attempt to keep from laughing at him. Which would be super rude. “My daughter Lola loves them. She’s nine.”
He eyes me as he puts the truck in reverse and starts backing out of his spot. “Then Lola has amazing taste in music.”
I let out a little laugh then. “If you say so.”
He pulls out on the main road. “Have you ever taken the time to listen to the songs with her?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’ve listened here and there when she wants to show me, but they’re singing in Korean. I have no idea why she loves them so much when she can’t tell what the heck they’re saying.”
“Ah, you’re one of those,” he says with a nod, and I lift a brow.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.
He smirks. “Let me ask you this. Did you like the song ‘Despacito’ when it was all over the radio? Did you find yourself singing the English parts and mumbling along with the Spanish parts?”
I shrug. “Well, of course I did. You can’t help but dance a little in your seat when it comes on. It’s super catchy.”
“Do you know what the hell that song is about?” He lifts both brows and glances at me before turning his eyes back to the road.
I purse my lips. “Well… no,” I admit.
“Do you let your girls listen to and sing that song?” He bites his lip, looking like he’s holding back a laugh.
“When it comes on the radio, yeah,” I answer, feeling uneasy.
“Despacito means slowly,” he says, and I shrug.
“Okay, Justin Bieber says that enough in the English part. So what?”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “What do you think he’s wanting to do slowly, naekkeo?”
I shrug again. “I don’t know. Dance, I assume.”
He grabs his phone and scrolls, pushes something on the screen then turns the music up a little. The first notes of the song in question start to play.
After Justin Bieber sings the English opening, and then Luis Fonsi sings the first Spanish part followed by the chorus, Winston pauses it. “Basically, he just said, ‘I want to breathe on your neck slowly. Let me tell you things in you
r ear so that you remember when you’re not with me. Slowly. I want to strip you with kisses slowly. Sign the walls of your labyrinth and make your whole body a manuscript.’”
My face flushes, but he just turns the song back on. When another minute passes, he pauses it again. “Right there, he said, ‘I want you to show me your favorite places. Let me surpass your danger zones—” He glances at me with a quirked eyebrow and smirks. “—to make you scream and forget your name.”
I swallow thickly. “Oh” is all I say.
“Now, listen to this,” he tells me, and he uses his phone to put on the song that was playing when we got in the car. I have to admit it’s got a good beat, and their voices are beautiful, even if I don’t understand them. He pauses it.
“What did they just say?” I ask curiously.
“He basically said they can call him whatever they want, but he’s proud of himself. He doesn’t care. He says ‘I have always been me… I know what I am. I know what I want. I’m never going to change. I’m never going to trade.’ And then later in English, they sing ‘You can’t stop me lovin’ myself.’” He pushes play, and a few moments later, I hear the English part, and I realize my head is bobbing to the beat.
“So,” he prompts, “which would you rather Lola listen to? A song about fucking until you forget your name, or one about being proud of yourself and loving who you are?”
My face flushes once more. “But that’s just one song. Who knows what the rest of their music is saying?”
“Their ARMY does. Anyone with internet access does. The second they release a song, usually in the middle of the night in the US, since they’re on the other side of the world, their fans, also known as ARMY—which stands for Adorable Representative MC for Youth—start translating it and making music videos. In the videos, which hit millions of views within hours, there’s usually three lines of subtitles. The Korean, the phonetic way to say the Korean words, and then the English translation,” he explains.
