Chapter 382
Madison
After breakfast, I got Ethan ready for preschool. The usual routine: teeth brushed, backpack checked, shoes on the right feet. Simple, predictable, normal.
“I’ll take him,” Hazel announced, grabbing her keys. “I need to grab some things from the store anyway.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Besides, this way you can have some actual quiet time before work.” She ruffled Ethan’s hair. “Come on, Captain Volcano. Let’s get you to school.”
“Bye, Mommy!” Ethan waved enthusiastically as Hazel herded him toward the door.
“Have a good day, baby. Be good for Miss Daisy.”
“I’m always good!”
The house fell quiet after they left, that strange, hollow silence that happens when a four–year–old suddenly disappears. I savored it for exactly thirty seconds before restlessness kicked in.
Coffee. I needed more coffee.
I poured myself another cup and settled at the kitchen table, scrolling through my phone.
I finished the coffee, responded to all urgent emails, and reorganized my spice cabinet.
I grabbed my purse and keys. The fridge was looking sparse anyway, a perfect excuse to clear my head with a grocery run.
The walk to the grocery store was one of my favorite parts of living in Connecticut. No subway crowds, no honking taxis, just tree–lined streets and neighbors who actually said hello.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t notice the purr of an expensive engine until it was right beside me.
The Aston Martin glided to a stop, the window rolling down to reveal Alexander’s perfectly sculpted face.
“Need a ride?” he asked, like we were old friends running into each other at the supermarket.
I kept walking. “No, thank you.”
The car crept along beside me, matching my pace. “Madison.”
“I have a car, Mr. Knight. And no need for free rides from strangers.”
“Strangers?” His voice carried a hint of amusement. “That’s a bit harsh.”
“Is it?” I stopped walking, forcing myself to look at him. Mistake. Those eyes still had the power to make my stomach flip. “You’re not exactly a friend.”
“Fair enough.” He leaned across the passenger seat. “But you shouldn’t walk alone.”
“I’ve been walking alone for years. I think I can manage.”
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I resumed my pace, determined to ignore him. The Aston Martin continued its slow crawl beside me, drawing curious looks from passing neighbors.
“You’re making a scene,” I said without looking at him.
“Then get in the car.”
“Pass.”
“Madison.”
“Go back to New York, Mr. Knight.”
The car finally stopped. I heard the door open and close, footsteps approaching. Alexander fell into step beside me, hands in his pockets like we were taking a casual stroll.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
“Walking with you. Since you refused the ride.”
“I don’t want you walking with me either.”
“Noted.” He didn’t slow down.
I walked faster. He matched my pace effortlessly, his long legs making it look easy.
“This is ridiculous,” I muttered.
“Agreed. You could just accept the ride.”
“I could also call the police and report you for stalking.”
“Dramatic.” He glanced at me sideways. “Where are we going?”
“We aren’t going anywhere. I’m going to the grocery store.”
“Perfect. I need groceries too.”
I stopped dead. “You need groceries?”
“Not exactly groceries. Fruits and healthy snacks.”
“Right.” I resumed walking. “Well, don’t follow me.”
His footsteps continued behind me, perfectly matching my pace. I walked faster. He kept up easily, hands still in his pockets, looking infuriatingly relaxed.
“I said don’t follow me.‘
11
“I’m not following you. I’m walking in the same direction. Coincidentally.”
“There’s nothing coincidental about you being in Connecticut.”
“You’re very suspicious, Ms. Harper.”
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The formality stung. Five years ago, it had been Madison in private, whispered against my skin. Now it was Ms. Harper, like I was a stranger he’d just met on the street.
Good. That’s exactly what we were. Strangers.
I pushed through the grocery store entrance, grabbing a basket. Alexander followed, his expensive suit drawing stares from the other shoppers. He looked like he’d wandered off a fashion shoot and into suburban Connecticut by mistake.
“You’re causing a scene,” I said without looking at him, heading straight for the produce section.
“I’m standing here.”
“In a four–thousand–dollar suit. At a grocery store. People are staring.”
“Let them.” He picked up an apple, examining it like he’d never seen fruit before. “This looks good.”
“It’s an apple. They all look the same.”
“Not true. This one has better color.”
I ignored him, selecting tomatoes with more attention than necessary. He moved closer, studying avocados now.
“Are these ripe?” he asked, holding one up.
“How should I know?”
“You’re the one buying groceries.”
“You’re the one pretending to need healthy snacks.” I moved to the carrots, putting distance between us. “Why are you really here, Mr. Knight?”
He followed, naturally. “I told you. I was in the area.”
“Stop following me around like some stalker.”
“I’m not stalking. I’m shopping. For healthy snacks. You heard me earlier.”
I whirled to face him. “Why are you here? Really. No more lies about being in the area or needing groceries. Why did you drive all the way from Manhattan to show up at my café?”
Alexander set down the apple he’d been examining. “I have business in Connecticut. A development project near Hartford.”
“And that business just happens to be near my café? What are the odds?”
“The project is legitimate.”
“I’m sure it is.” I moved to the lettuce, picking through heads without really seeing them. “But you could have sent anyone. You have dozens of people who handle acquisitions.”
“I prefer to handle important projects personally.”
“Since when?” I turned to face him, lettuce forgotten. “You haven’t done field assessments for small projects in
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years. That’s what you pay people for.”
His eyes darkened. “Maybe I wanted a change of scenery.”
“Or maybe you’re full of shit.”
An elderly woman pushing a cart gave us a sharp look. I lowered my voice.
“Go back to New York. I don’t know what you’re looking for here, but you won’t find it.”
“I’m looking for answers.”
“Well, I don’t have any for you. We’re done. We were done five years ago.”
“Were we?”
P
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
