DECEPTION AND DESIRE

Chapter 24: You survived

VANESSA

I stare at Richard’s retreating figure, my breath caught in my throat. My lips part, but no words come out. What… just happened?

Heat still lingers on my skin from his touch, my pulse erratic, my body humming with anticipation—only for him to pull away. Just like that. Leaving me teetering on the edge, aching for more.

Why did he stop?

My mind races, trying to piece it together. There was something in his eyes—hesitation, conflict, something I can’t quite grasp. It wasn’t rejection, I know that much. But then why? Why would he ignite this fire in me, only to walk away?

Frustration coils in my chest. Something is going on with him. I just don’t know what. And it’s driving me crazy.

****

I wake up before the sun, my body still heavy with exhaustion, but my mind won’t let me rest. Sleep had been useless last night. Every time I closed my eyes, I heard his voice. I’m coming.

I shake off the thought and force myself out of bed. Today is Monday, and that means one thing—I need to go to work. Normalcy. Routine. Stability. That’s what I need to focus on.

I slip into the bathroom, splash cold water on my face, and take a deep breath. When I meet my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. Tired eyes, tense shoulders, lips pressed together in something that isn’t quite a frown but isn’t anything close to peace either.

I have to pull it together.

By the time I make it downstairs, the house is already alive. The twins are at the table, stuffing their faces with cereal, while Harper sips tea with that quiet observance of hers like she sees everything but chooses to say nothing.

And then there’s Richard.

Leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand, watching me like he’s waiting for something.

“Morning,” I say, keeping my voice even.

“Morning.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “You’re up early.”

I grab a mug from the cabinet. “So are you.”

He shrugs. “Didn’t sleep much.”

I hesitate. “Me neither.”

A beat of silence. Then, his eyes flicker to my outfit—jeans, a simple top, sneakers. “You heading somewhere?”

I nod, keeping my expression neutral. “Work.”

Something shifts in his gaze. “You’re going in today?”

“Yes.” I pour myself a coffee, trying to ignore the way his stare makes my skin prickle. “I can’t just put my life on hold, Richard.”

His jaw tenses. “You don’t think going to work can wait a few days?”

I exhale slowly, turning to face him. “I need this, Richard. I need to feel normal. If I stay here all day, I’ll go crazy thinking about—” I stop myself, shaking my head. “I just need to go.”

His expression darkens. “Fine. I’ll drive you.”

Panic flutters in my chest. No.

I force a smile. “That’s not necessary.”

“Vanessa.” His voice is firm. “I don’t like the idea of you going alone.”

I grip my mug a little tighter. “I’ll be fine.”

He sets his coffee down. “Humor me.”

I shake my head, keeping my voice light. “It’s just a quick walk. I’ll be fine.”

His eyes narrow slightly like he’s trying to read between the lines. And that’s exactly what I don’t need.

“Vanessa.” His tone is lower now, quieter. “Why don’t you want me to take you?”

My stomach clenches. I can’t let him find out. Not about the job, not about the lie. If he knew I wasn’t an event planner, that I had just taken the first job I could find—one that required no background checks, no questions—he’d ask why. And I can’t give him that answer.

I give him my most convincing smile. “Because I don’t want you hovering.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Hovering?”

“Yes.” I force a small laugh. “You’re already playing bodyguard at home. If you start driving me to work, I’ll never get rid of you.”

A muscle in his jaw ticks, but the tension in his shoulders eases just slightly. “I wouldn’t be that bad.”

I take a sip of my coffee. “You would.”

For a second, I think he’s going to insist. But then, he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “At least let me walk you.”

I shake my head again. “Nope.”

“Vanessa—”

“I promise I’ll be careful.” I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder. “I’ll text you when I get there, okay?”

He exhales through his nose, clearly unhappy. “Fine. But if you don’t text me within five minutes of getting there, I’m coming to find you.”

I roll my eyes, but inside, I feel the weight of my lie pressing down. “Deal.”

I turn toward the door, but before I step out, his voice stops me.

“Vanessa.”

I glance back.

His eyes are locked on mine, unreadable but intense. “Be careful.”

I nod, offering one last smile before stepping outside.

As soon as the door closes behind me, I let out a slow breath.

I got away with it.

For now.

---

That’s what I keep telling myself as I step into Brentley’s Market, a small but busy grocery store on the east side of town. The smell of freshly baked bread and brewed coffee lingers in the air, mixing with the faint scent of cleaning products. Shoppers move between aisles, their carts squeaking against the polished tile floors.

I adjust the strap of my bag and take a deep breath.

I can do this.

“Vanessa Dawson?”

I turn toward the voice and find a woman in her early fifties watching me with a kind but assessing gaze. She’s wearing a green store apron with the Brentley’s Market logo stitched across the chest. Her short, dark curls frame her face, and her glasses sit low on her nose.

“Yes,” I say, forcing a polite smile.

She nods approvingly. “I’m Linda, the store manager. Welcome to Brentley’s. You ready to get started?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She chuckles, motioning for me to follow her past the checkout counters. “That’s the right attitude. Let’s get you set up.”

We walk through the aisles, the shelves neatly stocked with everything from canned goods to fresh produce. A few employees are busy restocking, chatting casually as they work. The atmosphere is relaxed but efficient, with a steady rhythm of customers and workers moving in sync.

Linda stops near the employee lockers and hands me a green apron. “Here’s your uniform. You’ll be working the front today—register duty, bagging, and a little customer service. Think you can handle that?”

I nod, slipping the apron over my head. “Absolutely.”

“Good. Let’s get you trained.”

The next hour is a whirlwind. Linda walks me through the basics—how to scan items, bag groceries efficiently, and handle cash and card payments. It’s a lot, but I pick it up quickly. The register beeps in a steady rhythm as I practice scanning items, my fingers getting used to the buttons and screens.

Then, it’s time to deal with real customers.

The first few transactions are simple—smiling, scanning, and bagging. But by midday, the store is packed. The line at my register stretches longer than I’d like, and a customer in a hurry sighs loudly as I fumble with the barcode on a stubborn carton of eggs.

“Sorry about that,” I mumble, finally getting it to scan.

The woman just huffs, tapping her nails against the counter.

I keep my expression neutral, but inside, nerves creep up my spine.

“Relax,” a voice murmurs beside me.

I glance up to see a young man at the next register. He’s tall and lean, with dark curls peeking out from under his store cap. His name tag reads Ethan.

He smirks. “First day?”

I nod.

“You’re doing fine,” he says before turning back to his customer.

I exhale, refocusing.

The rest of the shift passes in a blur—ringing up items, answering questions, directing customers to different aisles. There’s a rhythm to it, a flow, and by the end of the day, I almost feel like I belong.

Almost.

As I untie my apron in the breakroom, Linda walks in. “You survived.”

I smile tiredly. “Barely.”

She chuckles. “You did good, Vanessa. The first days are always tough, but you handled it well. See you tomorrow?”

I nod. “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

As I step out into the cool evening air, I let out a slow breath.

Maybe this fresh start won’t be so bad after all.