The Girl Who Was His Replacement for Nine Years Finally Left Him Chapter 12

The Girl Who Was His Replacement for Nine Years Finally Left Him Chapter 12

The hope in Matteo’s eyes slowly faded.

He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, all he managed was, “I just didn’t want you to be bothered.”

I didn’t answer.

I lowered my head and started putting the counter back in order.

Matteo stood there for a while.

When he realized I had no intention of talking to him, he quietly walked over to a table in the corner

and sat down.

He looked like a big dog that had just been scolded by its owner.

Completely defeated.

The customers whispered among themselves, clearly trying to figure out what kind of relationship

we had.

I didn’t care.

People who knew the truth didn’t need to explain themselves.

As for what happened to Chloe, she had brought it on herself.

It had nothing to do with Matteo.

And it had nothing to do with me.

After everything she’d done, she deserved to pay the price.

From that day on, Matteo stayed in Morena for good.

He rented a place directly across from my shop.

Every morning when I opened the doors, he was already standing outside.

Once I got busy, he’d come inside, order a coffee and a pastry, then take the table farthest from the

counter.

He never talked to me.

He never interfered with my business.

He simply sat there in silence, watching me for hours on end.

When the shop got crowded, he’d quietly get up and help clear tables. He’d carry trays, bring orders

customers, and clean up without being asked.

At first, I’d tell him he didn’t need to.

Eventually, I realized he wasn’t going to listen.

So I stopped arguing.

I treated him like a free employee.

Mrs. Bruno once pulled me aside and quietly asked who the man was.

He always looked expensive and intimidating. She wondered if he was someone from my family.

I shook my head.

“Just a regular customer.”

Mrs. Bruno clearly wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press me.

Julian still came by every afternoon.

He never said anything when he saw Matteo.

But the look in his eyes became noticeably more worried whenever he looked at me.

I smiled at him and silently assured him I was fine.

That seemed to put him at ease.

As usual, he’d sit for half an hour, read for a while, then leave.

Whenever Matteo saw Julian, his expression would turn cold.

The entire atmosphere around him seemed to drop several degrees.

But he never caused a scene.

He never went after Julian.

He simply waited until Julian left, then quietly wiped down the table he’d been sitting at.

Again and again.

Like some oversized guard dog marking his territory.

It was so childish it was almost ridiculous.

I saw it all.

I just didn’t care.

One afternoon, a torrential storm rolled through Morena.

The shop roof started leaking.

Rainwater streamed through cracks in the ceiling and dripped behind the counter, soaking the jars where I kept vanilla beans and flour.

I was scrambling around looking for buckets when Matteo had already taken off his suit jacket and

climbed onto the slanted roof.

The rain was coming down hard.

Within minutes, he was drenched.

His white dress shirt clung to his back, outlining every lean ridge of his spine.

He spent more than half an hour repairing the leak.

When he finally climbed down, his foot slipped.

He fell from the ladder and twisted his ankle.

A low groan escaped him.

Cold sweat broke across his forehead.

I frowned, then opened the drawer and pulled out the first–aid kit, a dry towel, and an ice pack.

“Dry yourself off. There’s pain and swelling cream in the kit. Put it on.”

I set everything on the table beside him.

My voice remained flat.

There wasn’t even a hint of concern in it.

Matteo looked up at me.

His eyes lit up so brightly that he looked like a kid who’d just been handed his favorite candy.

“Blair, you were worried about me.‘

I scoffed and turned away, going back to move the soaked jars.

“Don’t flatter yourself. You got hurt inside my shop. I’m just making sure you don’t try to sue me

later.”

Matteo didn’t get angry.

He simply watched my back with a foolish little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He picked up the towel and slowly wiped the rain from his face and clothes.

2

He moved as if he wanted to savor every second of that tiny, meaningless bit of “concern” I’d

shown him.

After that day, Matteo became even more persistent.

Every morning, he’d show up with an elaborate breakfast.

Hot cappuccinos.

Freshly baked bagels.

Muffins.

Every day, something different.

I thought they took up too much space and threw them away several times.

He never got upset.

The next morning, he’d simply bring more.

Eventually, I got tired of fighting with him.

Whatever he brought, I left it alone.

It wasn’t like I had to eat it.

The days passed.

Before I knew it, summer had arrived.

The jacaranda trees in the yard burst into bloom, and every warm breeze sent clouds of purple petals drifting through the air.

Business at my little shop was better than ever.

I’d even hired two young women to help me.

I no longer had to spend every waking hour behind the counter, which gave me plenty of time for

myself.

I signed up for a flower–arranging class and went twice a week.

I bought stacks of books, too, and spent my evenings curled up on the couch reading.

My life was full.

Peaceful.

Entirely my own.

Matteo still came every day.

He’d waited through spring and into summer.

He’d gone from wearing long sleeves to short sleeves.

And with every passing month, he looked thinner.

The exhaustion beneath his eyes grew darker and deeper.

Yet the look he gave me became more stubborn than ever.

Someone told me Matteo had handed over every one of his businesses in Ironport to his right–hand

man.

Apparently, he really intended to spend the rest of his life in this little town.