After my text conversation with Melanie last night, I’ve decided two very important things. One—I need to end things with Brooke now, before things go any further. And two—I need Melanie to do the same with Nate. Both things that I’m sure will be easier said than done, especially given that Melanie has been in a relationship with this guy for two years.

I push the thought away. It’s messed up how just thinking about him touching her, kissing her, makes me want to fucking kill him. Even though I know it’s my fault that she’s with him to begin with. I wasn’t sure six years ago; didn’t know how to deal with everything, so I walked away and let another man swoop in and take what’s mine.

Hell, she’s always been mine. It just took me a while to figure it all out.

When we were teenagers, I didn’t think I deserved her or that she felt the same. And then I spent six years trying to replace her, but no girl ever lived up. I’ve finally accepted that I can’t live without her; I won’t live without her ever again.

I try like hell to push aside my personal life, though it’s damn near impossible right now, and concentrate on the presentation I have later this afternoon with Textron, a large account looking to build in Japan. They are known for their ground-breaking technology and want a building that reflects that.

I’ve always been more of a clean lines, contemporary man myself, and what this company is asking for is beyond anything I’ve ever done before. I love the challenge, though, and I love the small reprieve from obsessing over Mel.

I’ve almost got my scaled down model proposal finished when a small knock sounds against my office door. Before I can even respond, Brooke is pushing her way inside, her slender body draped in a long, tan trench coat.

“What are you doing here?” I turn back to add some finishing pieces to my model, listening to her heeled feet click against the marble floor before I feel her slink up behind me.

She wraps her arms around me from behind and drops her hand to my stomach, slowly moving it downward.

She gets all the way to my belt before I catch her hand in mine and spin around to face her. Her blonde hair is pulled away from her face, her lips painted fire engine red, and she has a look in her eyes that tells me exactly what she’s up to.

We’ve played this game before, she and I, only this time I’m not biting.

“What are you doing here?” I ask again, taking her by the shoulders and pushing back slightly so that I can step around her.

“I thought maybe you’d have time to take a little break.” She follows me to my desk, sitting on the edge and crossing her long legs as I lean over and jot something on the blueprints that are scattered across the top of the desk.

“Can’t today, Brooke. I’ve got a huge proposal at three. I have to get this done.” I don’t even look up at her as I speak.

I know I’m being a dick, but Brooke is not one to take no for an answer easily, and right now no is exactly what I’m going to say to her so-called ‘break.’ I don’t want to mislead her by playing into her game.

“You never have time for me anymore,” she whines, finally pulling my gaze to hers. “Ever since you came back you’ve been so preoccupied that you barely have time to even look at me, let alone talk to me.” She stands, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“I know.” I blow out a breath. “I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my plate.”

As much as I would just like to give it to her straight, I can’t have her making a scene in my place of employment when I tell her I can’t be with her because I can’t stop thinking about someone else.

Even though our relationship is basically just sex, and we haven’t really been seeing each other that long, Brooke is a drama queen through and through. While a rational person is more likely to take the news and leave, maybe with a bit of a wounded ego but otherwise unscathed, Brooke is not that person.

Honestly, that’s one of the things I found sexy about her. But right now knowing what I need to do, this quality about her is anything but sexy.

“So much so that you can’t make time for this?” Her voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up just as she slides the front of her trench coat open and bites on her bottom lip.

Fuck me if my mind doesn’t instantly go to Melanie, the way she kneads her lip between her teeth when she’s nervous. It’s something I had forgotten about her until I saw her do it in the bar the first night, and like a flash, it all came back to me.

“Cole,” Brooke snaps my focus back to her, and only then do I realize my eyes are locked on her mouth and I haven’t uttered a word.

I don’t even look down at what’s beneath the trench coat. Like I said, we’ve played this game before. Instead, I step directly in front of her, grab the straps of her coat and quickly cinch it closed, double knotting it for good measure.

“Sorry, Brooke. Not this time.” I slide past her and make my way back to the model building that’s laid out on my design table along the far wall.

“Seriously?” She stands, her hands flying to her hips as she, I’m sure, stares daggers at my back.

“I already told you, I’ve got a really important pitch coming up, and I have to get this done.” I try to keep the annoyance from my voice.

It’s not her fault, after all. Hell, two weeks ago I wouldn’t have hesitated closing the blinds, locking the door, and taking her right across my desk. But this isn’t two weeks ago. This is now. And now, I no longer want what she has to offer. Not when I can’t get a certain green eyed, dark haired beauty out of my mind.

“You realize hundreds of men would kill to be in your shoes right now, right?” she bites harshly, and I can feel this conversation going nowhere really fucking fast.

“Then go find one of them.” I turn, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Excuse me?” she sneers.

Fuck, what did I see in this woman? Especially enough to bring her home with me? You wanted to make sure Melanie knew you were just fine without her I remind myself. Yeah, look how well that turned out.

“You heard me, Brooke. If there are so many men lining up, surely you’ll have no trouble finding someone else to fuck you.” I couldn’t sound more bored with this conversation.

“You’ll regret letting me walk away,” she warns, eyes narrowed.

“I doubt it.”

A low growl and then a stomping tantrum through my office quickly follows.

“Fuck you, Cole!” she spits, ripping my office door open before slamming it shut behind her.

I sag forward, an immense weight lifting from my shoulders.

Honestly, I had every intention of ending things with Brooke, just not necessarily in that fashion. Or here and now. I wish I could say I regret the way I handled that situation, but that’s simply not the case.

Brooke is a self-centered brat, thanks in large part to her rich daddy who gives her everything she wants. After spending time with Melanie, being reminded how beautiful she is on the inside and out, I’m ashamed I ever dated someone like Brooke let alone brought her home to meet my friends.

Shaking off the entire encounter, I place the final pieces on my design model and then step back to see the finished product. For something so completely out of my wheel house, and being thrown together in the few short days I had available due to being out of town, I’m pretty proud of what I was able to produce.

Now that I’ve finished it, and with an hour to spare no less, I decide to check in with Melanie and see what she’s up to.

Me: So Brooke came to my office today.

Her response comes within seconds.

Melanie: Um, good for you? Why are you telling me this?

Me: I just thought I’d let you know we’re over. Not that we were serious to begin with. But I’m officially a free man.

Melanie: Oh.

That’s all I get—Oh. I wait and wait thinking maybe she’ll say more but when she doesn’t, I message her again.

Me: Just thought you’d like to know that I’m clearing the path for you.

I breathe a sigh of relief at her response.

Melanie: Yeah, you know how much I hate pushing my way through a cluttered trail.

Me: When can I see you? It’s been two days, and already I miss you like crazy.

Melanie: You lived without me for six years, I think you can manage.

Ouch. She’s got me there. And it’s easy to see she’s still hesitant to let me in, but that makes it more of a challenge. And luckily, I’m a man who loves a challenge, but it’s winning her in the end that really drives me.

Me: The worst six years of my life. You’re not getting rid of me so easily this time around.

Melanie: I never tried to get rid of you in the first place. You left.

Me: Fair enough.

I’m kind of lost with where to go from here. It’s hard to express to her how I feel over text messages where meaning and feeling can be so easily misconstrued. So I try another angle.

Me: Come stay the weekend in Cleveland with me.

Silence.

She doesn’t answer again. I pace, consider messaging again or even calling, but I know Melanie. I know her better than she probably knows herself. And while she may be a woman now, deep down she’s still the girl I’ve always known. I know I can’t push her, she has to come to me in her own time.

So at the risk of completely ruining any chance I have with her, I drop my phone into the pocket of my suit jacket, get my assistant Charlotte to help me load up my model, and then head upstairs to the top floor conference room to set up.

I end my day around six thirty, relieved to have such an important meeting over with. The board I presented to loved my design and said they’d be in touch soon. My boss, Frank, seemed very pleased, so I guess I didn’t completely blow it.

It isn’t until I’m climbing into my car that I pull out my phone, my fucking heart picking up speed when I see I have a new message from Melanie.

I take a deep breath and try to remind myself that I’m a grown ass man and can’t be losing my shit like a little boy every time she texts me.

Sliding my thumb across the screen I open our text thread, my heart beating even faster.

Melanie: I don’t think that’s a good idea. I have trouble thinking straight when I’m around you.

I text her back instantly.

Me: And that’s a bad thing?

Dropping my phone in the center console of my car, I pull out of the garage and make the ten minute drive to my downtown apartment. I don’t look at my phone again until I’m parked in the lot behind my building and trekking up the stairs to the third floor.

Melanie: Considering I have a boyfriend, yes, it’s a very bad thing.

I shake my head as I type out my response.

Me: When are you going to take care of that little problem?

And just like that she disappears again. It’s like anytime I push for anything she shuts down. Then again, she probably doesn’t know what to say.

I know I have to be patient. I can’t expect her to walk away from everything she has and the relationships she’s built without me just because I’m a selfish bastard who wants her now.

Melanie: About coming to see you, will there be waffles involved?

I laugh when I see her message come through ignoring that she completely avoided my last question.

Me: You’re still the only person I’ve ever made them for.

Melanie: Seriously?

I can’t shake the stupid smile on my face as I’m flooded by my first memory of Melanie and waffles.

Me: Seriously. I’m definitely out of practice. Might even need to call my mom. *wink face.

Eleven-years-old

“Mom, will you teach me how to make waffles.” I lean in the doorway of my mom’s bedroom, watching her brush her long hair.

“Waffles?” She laughs, looking at me like she always does when she can’t quite figure out why I’d be asking such an out of the blue question.

“Waffles.” I tap my foot impatiently against the dark hardwood floor beneath me.

“Baby, if you want some waffles I can make them for you,” she offers.

“No, I want to make them myself.” She smiles and crosses the room toward me.

“Is there a specific reason why you have to be the one to make them?” She drops her arm around me and guides me toward the kitchen.

“I was telling Mel the other day how I loved when you make me waffles. She said she’s never had anyone make her waffles before. So... I want to make her waffles,” I say like it’s just that simple.

My mom chuckles lightly, pouring a cup of coffee before taking a seat at the table in the middle of the room. She takes a long drink and then meets my gaze again.

“Why can’t I make her waffles?” she asks like it shouldn’t matter who makes them.

“No, it has to be someone who loves her. She has to have waffles made with love. Isn’t that what you always tell me. That you make my food with love?”

“I do.” A slow smile spreads across her face, and she looks at me in a way I’m not sure I quite understand. It makes me nervous, but I’m not sure why.

“But I love Melanie, too, honey. I could make you both waffles.”

“Mom,” I groan out, annoyed at this point. “I want to make the waffles. Now will you teach me or not?”

“Fine. I’ll teach you. But are you going to make me some waffles, too?” she asks, quirking her eyebrow up.

“Maybe someday but today, the waffles are just for Mel. She’s been kinda sad lately, and I want to do something special to show her that even though she doesn’t have a mom like mine, she still has people who care about her.”

Mom looks at me for several long moments, pride showing through in her eyes.

“You are the sweetest boy in the whole world, you know that?”

“Duh?” I cross my arms in front of my chest, giving her an impatient look.

It takes her several seconds to catch on.

“Oh, now? You want me to teach you now?”

“Right now,” I say.

“Okay, okay.” Mom stands from the table and retrieves the waffle iron she keeps in the same cabinet as some of her other cooking stuff and then turns back to me.

She makes me do everything—retrieve the eggs, milk, flour, oil and all the other ingredients needed. She walks me through each step, letting me do everything by myself while never leaving my side.

I burn the first couple batches because even though my mom says they’re done, I just don’t think they’re ready yet. Eventually, I decide to trust her, and every waffle from that point on is perfection.

Once I’ve got four perfect waffles, Mom helps me set the table for two. I pour two glasses of orange juice and then place one waffle on each plate before excitedly running across the street to find Melanie.

She’s sitting on the front porch swing reading, something she does a lot, but she smiles when she sees me. She’s always happy to see me.

“What are you doing?” She cocks her head to the side and points to the flour all over my shirt that I hadn’t realized was there.

“I have a surprise for you, can you come over?”

“Sure.” She hops down from the porch, leaving her book face down on the swing. “What kind of surprise?” She eyes my shirt again.

“You’ll see.” I wink and then take off toward the house, Melanie right behind me.

When I open the door and lead her to the table, she covers her mouth with her hand, her eyes scanning the waffles and juice I laid out.

“What is this?” She turns her green eyes on me, wide with surprise.

“You said the other day that no one’s ever cared enough to make you waffles. So... I made you waffles.” I smile, so proud of myself for doing such a good job on them.

“You made these?” She looks at the table and then back to me.

“Yep.” I rock on my heels. “Well, my mom had to walk me through it, but I did it all myself. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starving.” She gives me the biggest smile, and it makes my stomach feel funny, but I just ignore it and figure it’s probably because I worked up an appetite making us waffles.