Chapter 3 -With that attitude ...

Chapter 3

"Hey, Greyson. How's Meg, Isabella, and Eli?"

The question hung in the air like smoke, deceptively casual but deliberately aimed. Cassie watched him tense, shoulders straightening beneath his navy blazer. A shadow passed over his face before disappearing behind a well-practiced mask of composure.

"They're fine," he replied, voice carefully neutral as he studied the menu before him. His eyes flickered up to meet hers, holding for a beat too long before looking away.

The waitress—a slender woman with caramel-brown hair in a tight ponytail—hovered nearby, reorganizing condiments at the adjacent table. Cassie hadn't missed how the woman's eyes had narrowed when she'd slid into the booth across from Greyson, or how she'd pointedly ignored their table despite the restaurant being half-empty on this dreary Johannesburg Sunday. The Sandton suburb outside the window looked washed out in the gray afternoon light, the usually vibrant streets of Gauteng's financial hub subdued by the storm.

"I thought you'd be with them today, but Jake was there instead." Cassie leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping to a confidential tone that forced Greyson to lean in as well. Their fingers nearly touched on the tabletop, and she saw his hand twitch before he withdrew it.

Greyson rolled his eyes before forcing a smile. "Cassie," he said, deliberately steering away from the mention of Jake, "my family and I always come here after church. It's a ritual. But today Meg wasn't feeling well." His fingers drummed once against the tabletop before he stilled them. "I needed to clear my head anyway."

The thunderstorm outside intensified, rain drumming against the windows of Madiba's Place, a popular spot in this upscale Johannesburg suburb. Lightning flashed across the Gauteng sky, illuminating Greyson's face in stark relief—the sharp angle of his jaw, the hollow beneath his cheekbones, the intensity in his eyes as they locked with hers.

"Clear your head of what?" Cassie asked, voice soft but challenging.

Greyson's jaw tightened. "You know what."

The waitress—Jenna, according to her name tag—finally approached, tablet in hand, directing her attention solely to Greyson.

"The usual today?" she asked with a familiarity that spoke of years rather than casual acquaintance. She positioned herself with her back partially to Cassie, a deliberate slight.

"Actually," he began, gesturing toward Cassie, "we're still deciding. A few more minutes?"

Jenna turned, acknowledging Cassie with a tight smile that didn't reach her eyes. Recognition flickered across her face.

"Well," she said, stretching the word as she took in Cassie's tailored blazer and diamond studs, "if it isn't Cassie Hunter, the big-shot consultant turning our community upside down." She tilted her head. "Aren't you engaged to a man you refuse to show the world?"

Several nearby diners paused their conversations. Cassie met her gaze evenly, refusing to be baited. "I respect his privacy. Unlike you, I don't perform for an audience." She reached for her water glass, took a deliberate sip, then added with quiet firmness, "Either serve us both or find someone who can."

Jenna's mask slipped, revealing something harder and more personal than customer service irritation. "Must you be so mean?" she asked, leaning closer. "Greyson's a family friend. It's been two years since his wife died. We care about our own here—something you'd know if you had any compassion."

The air between them crystallized with tension. Across the diner, a fork clattered against a plate, and someone turned up the television mounted in the corner.

"You don't know me," Cassie replied, voice icy but controlled. "I'm here to eat, not play therapist to a town that can't mind its own business."

Greyson's eyes widened slightly, impressed by her steel. In the three months she'd been consulting for the town's revitalization project, he'd seen her in meetings—always composed, always slightly removed. This flicker of raw emotion was new.

"Jenna," he intervened, "we'll share the fish and chips. White bread and cola."

Jenna stiffened, gaze flicking between them. "No rye bread for your *lady friend*?" The implication hung—that she knew his preferences better than this outsider.

"This is a family restaurant—no alcohol," Cassie said flatly. "Stick to the menu. And I prefer sourdough."

"Will that be all?" Jenna snapped, pen poised though she hadn't written anything.

"Yes," Cassie said, holding her gaze until Jenna looked away first.

As Jenna turned to leave, she added, "Grey, Isabella was acting out at Sunday school. She needs you. Karen mentioned nightmares again."

Greyson's jaw tightened at the casual nickname. "Later, Jenna. You have my number."

"It's urgent—"

"Go talk to her about your daughter if you need to," Cassie cut in. "But make it quick."

The moment Jenna disappeared behind the kitchen doors, tension crackled between them like static electricity before a storm.

"Why are you really here, Cassie?" Greyson asked, voice low and intimate.

She traced a finger through the condensation on her glass. "I could ask you the same thing. You knew I'd be here."

"Did I?" A half-smile played at his lips. "Maybe I just wanted fish and chips."

"At a restaurant your family frequents? When you knew I'd be investigating it for the revitalization project?" She shook her head. "Try again."

Lightning flashed outside, throwing his face into stark contrasts of light and shadow. "Maybe I wanted to see you without Jake hovering nearby." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "Without your ring."

Her breath caught as his gaze dropped pointedly to her bare left hand. She resisted the urge to hide it under the table.

"Observant," she murmured.

"I notice everything about you." The simple statement hung between them, charged with implications neither was ready to acknowledge.

Her phone vibrated in her blazer pocket—Jake. Guilt washed through her as she answered.

"Turner."

"Cassandra Hunter." His voice was clipped, professional even on a Sunday.

She ran a finger along her water glass. "I'm sorry about dinner. Got stuck in an elevator at the Westmont building."

"You okay?" The question was genuine, if abbreviated.

"Handled it. I was at C.G. Holdings house-hunting." The lie came smoothly. "The realtor had some promising properties."

"Your father acquiring them?" His tone was carefully neutral, but she heard the underlying tension.

"No. Just me looking." She paused. "Figured you'd appreciate space today—it's your best friend's memorial. Two years already."

Lightning flashed outside the diner's windows as rain intensified.

"You never talk about *your* past either."

The pointed observation landed like a slap. Cassie's breath hitched. "Jake... I lost the ring."

A beat of silence. "Track it. The app's on your phone."

Of course there would be a tracker. "Of course. You think of everything."

"Come home. I'll wait up."

"On my way." The lie tasted bitter.

She ended the call, aware of Greyson's scrutiny, the intensity of his gaze making her skin prickle with awareness.

"Trouble in paradise?" he asked, voice neutral but eyes searching.

"Don't." The single syllable carried a weight of warning.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Cassie."

"Says the man hiding secrets of his own." She leaned forward. "What don't I know about you, Greyson? About this town? About Jake's connection to your wife?"

His expression hardened. "Some questions are better left unasked."

"I'm not afraid of answers."

"Maybe you should be." He reached across the table suddenly, his fingers brushing hers. The contact sent a jolt through her that had nothing to do with static electricity. "Not everything is a puzzle to be solved or a business to be fixed."

"Then what am I doing here?" she whispered, not pulling away.

His eyes darkened. "You tell me."

The kitchen doors swung open, and Jenna emerged carrying their food. She froze, seeing their hands almost touching on the table, the unmistakable tension between them.

The tray crashed to the floor, fish and chips scattering across the linoleum. The restaurant fell silent.

"Really, Grey?" Jenna's voice was tight with fury. "Here? Where everyone can see? Where your wife used to sit?"

Greyson withdrew his hand as if burned. "That's enough, Jenna."

"No, it's not!" Her voice rose. "She's Jake Turner's fiancée! Jake—your dead wife's lover! Have you forgotten Vivian already?"

The name hit Cassie like a physical blow. Vivian. Greyson's wife. Jake's lover. The connections she'd been deliberately avoiding crystallized into focus.

She stood abruptly, grabbing her purse. "Don't bother with explanations," she said, voice steady despite the cold realization spreading through her chest. "Jenna can drive you home. I paid for dinner already."

Greyson caught her wrist as she tried to pass. "Cassie—"

The contact sent electricity racing up her arm. For a moment, they stood frozen, his fingers on her pulse, her heartbeat betraying her as it raced beneath his touch.

"Let. Go." Each word precise, carefully controlled.

"Not until you hear me out." His voice dropped so only she could hear. "You're not the only one trapped in something you didn't choose."

She wrenched free. "I thought you were different. Turns out you're just another liar." The words tasted like ash, but she delivered them with perfect composure.

Jenna stepped between them. "Feisty, aren't you? Playing both brothers at once?"

Cassie turned to her, summoning every ounce of Hunter steel. "Start a war with me, and I'll end it. This town needs my recommendation for that federal grant more than I need any of you."

She walked away, keys clutched tightly. The rain resumed as she headed for her car, aware of Greyson watching her from the doorway, his expression unreadable at this distance.

As she drove through empty Sunday streets, her phone vibrated—her father, Richard Hunter, CEO of Hunter Global. She let it ring, knowing he wanted an update on whether Oakwood Falls was worth his investment.

Her job was simple: assess, recommend, move on. No attachments.

The ring she'd told Jake she'd lost sat heavy in her pocket. She hadn't lost it; she'd removed it deliberately before meeting Greyson.

Rain pounded against the car as she approached the town limits. The road ahead stretched dark, leading back to the city, to Jake, to the life she'd constructed.

But Greyson's words echoed: *You're not the only one trapped in something you didn't choose.*

Lightning flashed, illuminating the valley where Oakwood Falls nestled, its lights glowing like fallen stars. In the distance, thunder rumbled—a warning of the storm yet to come.