8
I locked up the shop. Mark Davis was already waiting outside. He wore a simple T–shirt
and jeans, his skin tanned dark, holding two fish in his hand.
“How was business today?” he asked, naturally taking my bag.
“Not bad.” I linked my arm through his. “Tomorrow’s the weekend, it should be even
busier.”
Mark’s house was right by the sea, a two–story building with a yard full of flowers.
“You sit down. I’ll cook.” He tied on an apron and went into the kitchen.
I sat on the sofa, watching the sunset outside the window. A life like this, a year ago, I wouldn’t even have dared to imagine.
My phone suddenly popped up with a news notification:
**[Julian Hayes, CEO of Hayes Corp., suspected of attempted suicide.]**
My heart leaped, and my fingers involuntarily clicked on the news. The photo showed a gaunt Julian Hayes, being helped out of his mansion by bodyguards, a bandage wrapped around his wrist.
“What are you looking at?” Mark came out, carrying dishes.
I quickly turned off my phone. “Nothing, just trash news.”
During dinner, Mark suddenly said, “It’s my birthday next month. I want to invite a few friends over for dinner.”
“Oh, nice.” I put a piece of fish on his plate. “Should we get a cake?”
He scratched his head. “Um… my parents want to meet you too.”
My fork paused in mid–air.
“If you’re not ready, it’s fine,” Mark quickly added, seeing my hesitation.
“No,” I put down my fork and explained, “It’s just…” Just what? Just that I hadn’t completely let go of the past? Just that I was afraid Julian Hayes would find me?
“Okay.” I finally nodded. “I’d like to meet your parents too.”
On the day of the birthday party, I was busy cutting fruit in the kitchen, while his mother was mixing a salad nearby. “Claire, your knife skills are impressive,” Mrs. Davis said, smiling
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at me. “Did you learn before?”
My hand paused. “Yes, I used to… cook a lot.” Actually, I had cooked for Julian Hayes for eight years. He was so picky – no onions, ginger, or garlic for him. Steak had to be rare,
eggs runny.
“Mrs. Davis, let me do it.”‘ I took the bowl from her hands. “You go sit in the living room.”
Just then, the doorbell rang.
“Must be Mike and the guys!” Mark ran to open the door. “Those guys promised they’d come early to help…”
His voice trailed off. I wiped my hands and walked out of the kitchen. “Who is it?”
Then I saw the man standing at the door.
