5

Jennifer Clayton

The sun was setting, casting fiery shades of red, orange, and yellow across the sky as I leaned down, resting my elbows on the cool granite counter. My mind was running a mile a minute. Bella was headed for trouble, and not the kind of trouble that would go unnoticed. No, this was big—dangerous, even—and Damon would be dragged down with her if anyone ever found out what was going on between them.

I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. But as usual, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that nothing good would come of it. They were playing with fire, and sooner or later, someone was going to get burned.

A throat cleared behind me, interrupting my spiral.

I straightened up and turned toward the sound, my heart racing when I saw him standing in the doorway. Vincent . His dark eyes were fixed on me, his face set in that familiar frown that made my stomach tighten. He rested his hands against the doorframe, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood as if he were deep in thought.

He was wearing a shirt now, thank God. But, damn it… that shirt was nothing more than a tease.

I mentally slapped myself. What was wrong with me?

He looked at me like I was a little girl caught doing something she shouldn’t, and I hated how much it affected me. His presence alone made my pulse spike, and I didn’t even know why.

“Hi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, suddenly feeling like I couldn’t breathe properly. My hands pressed to my sides, but my palms were clammy, betraying my anxiety. I tried to lift my chin, putting on my best attempt at confidence, but it didn’t come off the way I intended.

“Did you have a good day with Bella?” His voice, low and smooth, sent a shiver down my spine.

“Yeah,” I said, my voice thick as I tried to calm my racing heart. He gave me a small smile, and for a brief second, I thought I saw something more—something I couldn’t quite place. It was so fleeting that I convinced myself I had imagined it. He didn’t look at me that way—he was just being polite, I told myself.

I shifted uncomfortably, realizing that I was still wearing my bikini. The bright pink fabric with white polka dots felt like it was suffocating me now, clinging to my body in all the wrong ways. The top barely covered my breasts, and the bottom… well, I might as well have been wearing nothing at all.

Did he notice? Did he like the way I looked?

I quickly pulled the towel tighter around my shoulders, trying to hide the parts of me I wasn’t sure I wanted him to see. The towel barely covered my ass, but I didn’t care—I just wanted to feel less exposed.

“I’m glad,” Vincent said, his voice breaking my thoughts. He turned back to the stove and began stirring the sauce, his focus shifting to the task in front of him. The rhythmic sound of the wooden spoon in the pot was oddly calming, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of nerves inside me.

He tasted the sauce, gave a grunt of approval, and added a pinch of salt. The soft, delicious smell of tomatoes, garlic, and basil filled the air, making my stomach growl in response.

“How was your day?” I asked, trying to make small talk, hoping it would distract me from the tension still hanging in the air.

He sighed, the sound quiet and somewhat resigned. “It was a good day.”

I wasn’t sure I believed him. His voice sounded strained, almost like he was holding something back. I tilted my head slightly, a question bubbling up. “That doesn’t sound like a good day,” I said, pushing gently, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Vincent turned to face me, and for a second, our eyes locked. There was something in the way he looked at me, something intense, and I felt myself lose my train of thought as I found myself drowning in his gaze. The silence stretched out for a few moments, and I quickly looked away, embarrassed at how flustered I was.

“The restaurant,” he finally said, and I nodded in understanding.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, not sure what else to say.

“It’s okay,” he replied, his voice softening. “I’m just glad to be home.”

His words held more weight than he let on. It was clear he didn’t want to talk about whatever had happened at the restaurant. And I wasn’t about to push him, especially not when the air between us was already charged.

He gave me a real smile then, one that was genuine, and it made something flutter in my chest.

“The sauce smells amazing,” I said, trying to change the subject.

He nodded, but there was a strange pause before he spoke again.

“I overheard you talking about Dane earlier.”

Shit.

The words hit me like a slap in the face. My face instantly flushed, and I struggled to find something to say. Anything.

“Oh, that,” I said weakly, hoping my voice didn’t give away the nerves shooting through me.

Vincent ’s gaze never wavered from me, his expression unreadable. “It sounded like you were having quite the conversation.”

My stomach dropped. I had no idea how to explain that mess. I didn’t even want to think about it, let alone talk about it with Vincent .

I opened my mouth to speak but found I had no words. How could I explain to him that I’d let some guy who didn’t deserve it have a piece of me? How could I explain that, despite everything, I still hadn’t completely let go of that stupid boy and his betrayal?

“Well…” I started, trying to find the right words, but they all seemed to fail me.

Vincent just stared at me, waiting for me to say something more, but I wasn’t sure I could. Not without feeling like an idiot.