Juniper Hill (The Edens #2)(68)

“It’s been an adventure. But it’s nice to be home. Be close to family.”

“That’s great.” Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Why’d you really come?”

She dropped her gaze, unable to look at me as she spoke. “I think about you. About us. About what we might have been if I hadn’t messed it all up.”

“Why did you? Why did you keep the truth from me for so long?” It was the question I hadn’t asked before I’d left San Francisco. There’d been too much raw pain and I hadn’t wanted her excuses. Her explanations.

Gianna’s eyes were glassy when she finally faced me. “I was afraid you’d leave.”

“I wouldn’t have. Not if you had told me from the start.”

“Then maybe because I didn’t want to give up the fantasy. I wanted to pretend and the longer I pretended, the harder it was to admit the truth.”

“So you came here to . . . what?”

“To apologize.” She gave me a sad smile. “I am sorry. So, so sorry.”

“You told me before I left.”

“It still rings true.” She lifted a shoulder. “And I just thought maybe we could talk. Eat dinner together. Drink our favorite red wine. Catch up. When your name came up, I volunteered for this assignment. I thought it might be . . . It doesn’t matter what I thought.”

No, it didn’t. There would be no second chances. I didn’t want one.

“I’ll plug in the extension cord.” I swiped up the end and dragged it to the nearest wall, fitting it in the outlet. When I returned to the staged area, Gianna had her camera in hand and clicked the button, the shutter snapping as she tested the light.

After a few adjustments, she had me sit at the table, relaxed and casual in the chair. Then she had me stand and balance a fork on my index finger. She took a few shots where I stared at the camera. Some where I looked to the wall.

“I think that’s enough for in here,” she said. “Let’s head to the kitchen next.”

“Want some help moving equipment?” I asked.

“No, that’s okay. I’ve got it.”

“Then I’ll be right back.” I walked past her and out the doors to the lobby, searching the space for Memphis. But except for Mateo, it was empty.

“She ran to Lyla’s for a coffee.” Mateo pointed to the large windows that overlooked the street.

When I’d asked this morning, Memphis had told me to wear my normal jeans and a black thermal. One step outside, I wished I had grabbed a coat. The cold was like a blast sinking to my core.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to walk far. Ten steps in the direction of Eden Coffee and Memphis came down the sidewalk. Drake was bundled in his parka, the red puffy coat nearly the same shade as the tip of his nose.

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Where’s your coat?”

“Inside.” I took her elbow and we retreated to the hotel. But instead of returning to Knuckles, I pulled her straight for the fireplace to warm up.

“Are you done?” She looked past my shoulder, probably for Gianna.

“Not yet. We’ve got some shots to do in the kitchen.”

“Oh.” She sighed. “So that’s . . . her.”

“It is.”

“She’s beautiful.”

I nodded. “She isn’t you.”

“Knox.” Her shoulders fell. “If you need time to talk, I can just go home. Stay in the loft tonight.”

“Memphis.” I hooked my finger beneath her chin, making sure she was locked on me as I repeated my sentence. “She isn’t you.”

She fell into me, her forehead crashing into my sternum. “I didn’t know if maybe you still wanted—”

“You.” I kissed her hair. “Only you.”

Memphis was honest about her doubts. With Drake. With me. She told me how much she missed her confidence, but it was there. It had always been there. A woman without a backbone of steel wouldn’t have moved across the country. She wouldn’t have hit the reset button on her life.

One of these days, she’d realize it too.

Until then, I’d cover the gap.

Drake whimpered and squirmed. He wasn’t a fan of the puffy coat.

“And you, boss. I want you too.” I slid the zipper down on the parka and set him free. Then I put my hand on the small of Memphis’s back and steered her to Knuckles.

Gianna was taking her test shots when we walked into the kitchen. Her eyes traveled to me, then Drake, then our interlocked hands before she finally looked at Memphis. “Hi, I’m Gianna.”

“Memphis.” Spoken with a look as cold as the current temperature. My girl was not a fan and she wasn’t going to fake it.

I fought a smile.

Gianna squirmed.

“We’ll go hang in the office,” Memphis said.

“No, stay.” I rounded the prep table, standing in front of the lights that Gianna had staged. “Ready?”

“Yes. Shift to your left a bit.” Gianna took twice as many shots in the kitchen as she had in the dining room. She didn’t try to make small talk or drum up a conversation. The only words she said were orders for me to change positions.

Twenty minutes in, she checked the view screen on the camera. “I’m not crazy about these. The kitchen is too . . .”