Stealing the Heart of Mr. Steele

[Cordelia]

It felt so good to slam the door and walk away from all of that nonsense.

Standing in the same room while Atlas continued to make excuses for Angelica was the last straw. I had told them what had happened, what I had suspected, fears I was afraid of voicing because I was worried about how Atlas would receive it only to discover it didn't matter anyway. Atlas doesn't believe me. Or he doesn't believe that I know what I see and hear with my own eyes and ears.

I'm not sure what would be worse--him thinking I'm a liar or him thinking I'm foolish.

And Atlas--so much for not caring if others see us, or about the world and what it might think of us and our relationship. As soon as things got difficult, he hid behind his usual "just business" mindset and used it as an excuse to not follow through.Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

I'm not sure why I thought things would be different between us. One beautiful night together isn't enough to change a lifetime of bad habits.

I should have told my mother off and hung up the phone when she called, but a lifetime of my own bad habits led me to hand that phone to Atlas instead. I guess in some ways I could thank her for making her offer--it gave me a chance to see what Atlas would do if pressed with a true challenge.

I just wish...well, I guess I wish for a lot of things to be different.

"Why did Angelica have to come back," I moan, my face in my hands as I walk out onto the sidewalk.

I've never walked around my new neighborhood before, so I am not sure what I will find around here. In my last neighborhood, I spent a fair amount of time running around so I knew where everything was.

Looking up now I realize I'm more than a little bit turned around. I'm sure I could find my way back if I wanted to, it would just take a little bit of trial and error.

That is if I wanted to. Right now I would rather sit outside in the rain than spend another minute with people who seem to care more about profits than about me.

As if hearing my thoughts, the clouds overhead start gathering. The wind is blowing around the buildings fast enough to make a whistling sound, and while it isn't raining yet, the air has the smell it gets right before it does. I should have grabbed a jacket. Shivering, I look around for somewhere to take shelter.

"Are you lost, Miss," a kind voice

asks and I tu to see an elderly man holding an umbrella. He is tall and well-dressed with neat gray hair combed back smoothly in a style from another time. Although his suit is impeccable, he still gives an aura of gentle authority that feels comforting.

Overhead I see a flash of lightning as thunder roars above us. The older gentleman opens his umbrella, extending it so that it can cover us both.

How very kind.

"I know an excellent wafflehouse around the corner," he urges, pointing to the corner diagonal from us on the other side of the street. "They serve breakfast all day. You look like you might be hungry too."

He's not wrong, I realize. With the excitement of the morning, I hadn't had a chance to finish my breakfast. I think of my half-eaten pancakes at home and sigh.

"How did you know?" I grin

cautiously. I do not know this man,

but he has a kind way about him that makes me feel comfortable like I can trust him with my secretsz Like a grandpa. I never knew my grandpa, but maybe this guy could be a friend.

He raises his eyebrow in question. "So what will it be, Miss..."

"Cordy," I offer not sure if he's heard the news about me and made any kind of judgment. It would be a shame if this kind man were to judge me based on the lies of another. "Lead the way! I think

waffle house sounds amazing."

As soon as we cross the street, the smell of maple syrup and sausage welcomes me like a well-needed hug. Salivating, I follow him into the restaurant.

"Usual spot, Mr. M," a pretty brunette with short hair and large brown eyes asks as she picks up two menus.

As soon as we sit he places an order for both of us, picking a little bit of everything. I protest, saying I can't afford to split a check that big, and he brushes my worry aside. "My treat of course." "That's very kind of you but that hardly seems fair," I argue. "You are a complete stranger."

He grins, holding out his hand. "My name is Magnus Fisher."