Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75457 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
My grandmother would have loved this.
“Just coffee for me,” I tell the brown-haired woman as she places the menu on the table in front of me.
“I’ll have my usual.” Monique flashes the woman a bright smile. “Jameson will have the same.”
“I’m not hungry,” I say. “Just coffee.”
The woman picks the menu up. “You’re Jameson?”
I nod. “That’s right.”
Her left hand darts toward me. “I’m Annalise Brookings.”
I take her hand because I will never leave anyone hanging when they are putting themselves out there, except for my brother. “It’s nice to meet you.”
When our hands part, she glances at Monique before she levels her gaze back on me. “Denia told me a lot about you.”
That straightens my back in the chair. “You knew my grandmother?”
Annalise glances around the small bistro. “She’s one of the reasons I opened Lise. She encouraged me to do it. We met at a café one morning. We’d see each other there regularly, so we struck up a friendship of sorts. When I told her I was considering opening a place like this, she told me to take the leap because life is short. The rest is history.”
I’d say that surprises me, but it would be a bold-faced lie. Denia was supportive in many ways with almost everyone she met. She expected more of her family than most people, which is why it stung so badly when I let her down.
I swallow hard. “That’s good to know.”
Annalise studies my face. “She loved you and Holden a lot.”
Nodding, I drop my gaze to the table.
“I’ll be back with your coffee shortly,” she says. “Breakfast won’t take long to whip up.”
When she leaves, Monique clears her throat. “You miss her, don’t you?”
“Grandmother?” I ask as my gaze drifts to her face.
“Yes,” she answers softly.
“A lot,” I admit.
“She was proud of you, Jameson.”
I glance at the ceiling. “That wasn’t always the case.”
“You’re wrong,” she snaps. “You have no idea how proud of you she was.”
I stay quiet while Annalise places a ceramic mug filled with coffee in front of me. I politely decline when she asks if I want cream or sugar.
As soon as she’s out of earshot again, I look at Monique. “I let her down. I failed her.”
It’s the first time I’ve openly admitted that to anyone. I can’t say that a load has been taken off my shoulders. All it feels like is that I’ve cracked something open that should have stayed closed forever.
Monique reaches for my hand. She covers it with hers. “She didn’t see it that way, Jameson. I promise you she didn’t.”
It’s easy to put words in the mouth of someone who has passed on.
Sensing my skepticism, Monique squeezes my hand. “One thing your grandmother always did was keep a close watch on the people she loved. I don’t believe she ever viewed you leaving New York as running away. I think she saw it as a step you needed to take.”
A step I felt forced to take when I didn’t deliver what she wanted for me.
Not wanting to continue down this path that will never lead to the forgiveness I seek from my grandmother, I take a sip of the strong coffee. “Why did you want me to meet you here?”
Monique settles back in her chair. She’s dressed to the nines even though it’s barely the crack of dawn. “I’m here to deliver a message from your grandmother.”
That piques my interest, so I lean both forearms on the table and give her my undivided attention. “What message?”
“This is a direct quote from Denia.” She smiles. “If you have a problem with it, you can take it up with her when you see her again.”
I laugh. “That’s a cop out. I hope I won’t see her again for a hell of a long time.”
Monique gazes up. “God willing, none of us will.”
Impatience nips at me. “What’s the message?”
“Don’t let Sinclair slip away again,” she whispers. “She’s your one and only, Jameson. Make it right. Make her happy.”
I dig my palms into my eye sockets. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
A laugh escapes Monique. “She believed you two were meant for each other.”
I glance at the broad smile on her face. “She was delusional.”
That sends her head back in laughter. “I’m just the messenger. Do what you want with the message.”
“I choose to disregard it.” I shake my head. “Sinclair is my temporary roommate. That’s it.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
I will. I have to. Sinclair wants nothing to do with me, and besides, she has plans with some guy on Saturday night.
I missed my chance to shoot a real shot at her. I lost her when I let greed rule me. That’s a mistake I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jameson
“What did Monique want?”
That question awaits me as soon as I walk into my office to find my brother sitting behind my desk.