She knew she looked pretty rough. Now that she’d scrubbed the pound of “natural” looking makeup off her face, her sleepless nights of the last week—oh, who was she kidding,months—were clearly visible in the dark shadows under her eyes.
The signs had been there. The red flags. All of which she’d ignored and passed off with one excuse after another until it was too late to end things gracefully. “Some.”
His gaze narrowed on her, his silent judgment that she looked awful clear on his face but in a worrisome, concerned expression and not a typical male-ick one.
“I made gluten-free waffles and bacon.”
Gluten free? Wasn’t that just for millennials and food influencers looking for views? “I’m not hungry.”
She didn’t miss the way his gaze narrowed even more. But it was true. While the bacon smelled delicious, now that she was out of bed, her stomach squeezed with warning.
“Sit down and eat, Quinley. You’re running on fumes, and I don’t need you passing out again or injuring yourself.”
“I didn’t pass out.”
“Quinley.”
The weight in his tone as he said her name left her feeling like a petulant child. She’d admit to acting like one, but after her sleepless night and all the stress, she wasn’t behaving like her usual self. But who would at this point?
Maybe that was a sign she was human after all? Not the cold-hearted witch she imagined Rhys and his family—her father—thought her to be? “I’m sorry. I’m not…”
Her words trailed off, and she didn’t finish her sentence because she couldn’t. The wave of exhaustion that rolled over her left her shaking and freaking teary yetagain, and feeling more than a bit frantic with unease because she knew today was decision day, and—she hadn’t made one.
She still didn’t know what to do. Where to go or how to handle the mess she’d created. And the calls? She had to make them, but walking herself to the front of a firing squad would be way easier.
“I know,” he said.
Elias set a plate on the island in front of her, and she reluctantly moved toward it. Two strips of bacon and two perfectly browned waffles stared back at her. Maple syrup and silverware appeared next.
To appease him, she picked up a piece of bacon and nibbled, managing to choke it down despite her queasiness at what the day was going to bring about. She didn’t sit, though. She paced.
“I talked to Cole this morning. Ana is very worried about you. He said if nothing else, I was to call him and put Ana on speaker so she could speak to you.”
Quinley’s knees nearly gave out at the statement and Ana’s sweetness. Her best friend was a mama bear through and through. Ana protected and watched out for those she loved, even if it meant she felt all the pain in the end.
Ana had gone through a rough patch with her teenage son, Ben, but thankfully with Cole’s help, Ben had opened up and revealed the reason behind his nasty behavior change. The kid had been through a lot, but Ana had stood by him through his awful behavior and surliness, the best mama a kid could have.
Quinley had struggled to keep her mouth shut whenever Ben acted out, and she knew there were times when she’d probably hurt Ana’s feelings with her comments.
And if yesterday proved anything, it was that she’d treated her best friend as bad if not worse than Ben had treated his mother. Maybe she hadn’t insulted Ana to her face or said the ugly things Ben had, but she’d hurt Ana. How was she ever going to make it up to her?
Quinley paced back to the bar and seated herself to keep her knees from buckling beneath her.
She didn’t deserve Ana’s worry and concern and friendship. Not after what she’d done. “I’ll…call after breakfast.”
She didn’t know how or what she’d say, but she’d do it. At least give Ana a chance to vent and rail and berate her. She deserved whatever Ana said to her. Rhys, too.
Elias seemed to relax a bit at her words and returned to the waffle maker.
Like everything else she’d noticed about him since her impromptu dive into the limo, Elias cooked with controlled efficiency. His movements were precise, his attention solid, as he poured more of the batter he’d apparently made from scratch, given ingredients she saw sitting nearby.
Was that fresh lemonade? Like fromreallemons? “You must really like to cook. You look like a pro.”
He didn’t comment, not that she’d really expected him to.
“I learned at an early age.”
Since this conversation was way better than the ongoing one in her head, she chose to focus on it. “From your mother? Or your aunt?”
