Page 145 of Falling for the Enemy

“Pretty stealth, Collins,” Greyson said, hooking a thickly muscled arm around her shoulders and shaking her like a big brother might shake a little sister.

Hiding how ridiculously emotional she was reacting to every little thing, she smiled. “I have my moments.”

He met her gaze, and she saw how genuinely grateful he was for her efforts. “Thank you for this. I know you put it all together.”

Her heart fluttered. “You guys deserve it.”

His stare roamed the room. “Where’s Soren?”

Words stuck in Jocelyn’s throat, and Logan coughed. “Business thing. Out of town. Couldn’t get back in time.”

Grey’s jaw noticeably tightened, and Wren’s attention darted to Jocelyn, quick and searching.

Jocelyn dropped her gaze to the floorboards before they made a bigger deal out of his absence than it needed to be. With a galvanizing breath, she plastered on a smile and lifted her head. “Come see your cake.”

She took Wren’s hand and led her through the tables to the back, drawing her toward Esther’s fondant masterpiece.

Wren was sufficiently distracted. “Aw! Look at the little lobstahs!”

“Esther did a great job, didn’t she?”

“It’s perfect. Everything is, Joce.” Wren took her hand, squeezing tightly. “I can’t thank you enough.” She smiled, but her brow wore the stress of concern. “Why isn’t Soren here?”

She shrugged. “Like Logan said…he had a business thing.”

Wren being Wren, she saw through the excuse and heard the pain in her voice. “I’m sorry.”

Jocelyn held her smile even when it refused to reach her eyes. “His loss.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Wren whispered. “Sometimes people just don’t think until it’s too late.”

True, but Jocelyn knew that wasn’t enough. Not this time. According to her heart, he had already lost.

Soren flew into the first parking spot he saw and ran up Main Street, still in his golf shoes. The sidewalks were littered with wet leaves from the storm, and he nearly busted his ass twice trying to make it to Vine & Barrel.

Several traffic jams had stretched his drive from what should have been four hours to five and a half. He burst through the doors at five-forty-nine, expecting to see a restaurant full of familiar faces sipping cocktails and coffee as they nibbled on dessert. What he found was Jocelyn, sitting alone at a ravaged table in the back, staring into a whiskey, as bus staff cleaned up around her.

Her head lifted slowly, her expression blank and her eyes flat.

Soren rushed to her. “Joce, I’m so sorry.” He panted for breath, closing the distance and falling to his knees in front of her. “I fucked up.”

He wrapped his arms around her, but she made no move to hug him back.

He looked up at her, finding no light or forgiveness in her eyes. “I called. I tried to get here.”

She looked at him like a stranger. “You left town.”

“I wasn’t supposed to be gone this long. The jet had an issue, and I had to rent⁠—”

“It doesn’t matter, Soren.” There was no inflection in her voice. “None of it matters now. You missed everything.”

“Don’t say that. It does matter. I tried⁠—”

“You failed.”

Her words sent a shock through his chest. “Joce, I did everything⁠—”

She looked away, lifting her chin and pressing her lips tight. Shit. Her expression tightened as if it was taking everything in her not to cry.