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Maybe they were just giving us some space.
Which was nice.
That was the point of being in his apartment too.
For some privacy.
For a chance to see how we lived together in a daily sort of way without a bunch of people around to add a new dynamic.
"What are you doing?" I asked as he unzipped my bag, digging inside.
"U-Unp-p-packing y-you," he informed me as he pulled my throw blanket out, shook it out, then placed it over the back of his couch.
Next came a few pairs of my clothes which he held in his hands, turned toward the bedroom, and disappeared.
Following, I found him moving his own clothes out of one of his dresser drawers and putting my things instead.
"N-n-need m-more s-s-shit," he mumbled on his second trip, managing to unpack literally everything I owned.
"That is why I insisted on calling my old clients," I reminded him. He'd grumbled at me - literally - when I had told him I was going to start calling them all, seeing who was willing to give me a second chance.
I understood that I was living with Cam, that he had absolutely out-and-out told me that I was not going to be allowed to pay for anything.
But my mother had always taught me to take care of myself, not to rely too much on a man.
As much as I didn't want to think of such things, I had to make sure I could take care of myself should something happen with Cam and me. Like if he realized I wasn't quite badass enough to fit in with his people. Or that he didn't want to be committed to any one woman. Or, you know, whatever other reason men decided not to be with a woman.
It was always smart to have a backup plan.
Even if you were going to hope like hell not to have to use it.
Besides, yeah, I needed some new clothes. I needed a second pair of shoes. Maybe a robe for the cold winter I was sure was coming. Oh, and possibly a dress. The fancy kind I never had use for. Because Cam had told me he was going to take me out to Famiglia once things were settled down.
He'd used that term.
Settled down.
I knew, of course, what he actually meant.
Once Thomas was no longer an issue.
Once he was taken care of as the guys at the club put it.
I had decided not to think about that, though. It made my upbringing and moral compass go to battle with the years of fear and frustration and anger. I honestly didn't want to know who would win out if I let them go head-to-head. Neither would be completely satisfying, I didn't think. I was better off not knowing, allowing both sides to coexist within me at once.
"Y-Y-You d-don't h-have t-t-t-to go b-back t-t-to w-work. Y-Y-You d-deserve a b-break."
"I had a break," I reminded him. "We had a few days in Cape May then a few days at the club. It's time to build my savings back up again. If I can finally stay put in one place, I can actually like... build a wardrobe. And buy little trinkets and stuff. A new frying pan."
"F-Frying p-p-p-pan?"
"Oh," I said, laughing at myself a little. "Well, I was always, you know, scared about being caught off-guard. But you can't carry guns across state lines and such, so I always kind of just kept a good, heavy frying pan around. Maybe I could get a cast iron one now."
"W-won't n-n-need a p-pan. Y-y-you h-have m-me."
He threw things like that out occasionally.
Casually.
When they were very, very serious things to say.
Ones that could make a woman hope.
And when a woman hopes, she tends to start to plan, to dream.
When I wasn't paying attention to my thoughts, I found myself doing it as well.
Thinking about moving in full-time, about grocery shopping together, about decorating together, about getting engaged, getting a house, maybe having a baby.
It was so easy to let those kinds of thoughts spiral. Before you knew it, you were planning what your kids would wear on their first day of kindergarten.
That was just a recipe for heartache if any little thing didn't go according to your perfect laid plan.
I didn't want to weigh this down with the burden of my silliest of dreams.
Things were just where they needed to be.
And they were perfect.
A new kind of perfect.
Not the kind I had dreamed of as a kid.
I mean, had you told me that I would be getting heart-eyes over a gun-running biker a year ago, I would have laughed in your face.
I was a law-abiding person.
Okay, except for not paying my taxes on the money I made off the books. But my conscience had forgiven me for that thanks to the need for survival.
But I never would have given someone I knew of as a criminal a second glance.
