Page 57 of Damián

Rafael might be a master psychopath, but the man needs classes on hiring capable henchmen.

I look both ways, cross the street, and tap my knuckles against the driver’s side window. Franco rolls it down and frowns at me.

“What do you want, Soto?”

“World peace, and a pink elephant,” I say, offering the bag and the cardboard cup carrier through the window. “Oliver asked me to bring these to you. Eat them, throw them, do whatever… I just did my part.”

Franco looks at my offering with disgust, but as soon as he smells Finni’s brown-butter glaze, his eyes open wide and he takes the box.

Good job, puppy…

Silvio leans over from the passenger seat, already reaching for the coffee.

“Tell Oliver thanks,” Franco says, and rolls the window back up.

Oh, Finni, Finni, your damn pastries are magical…

I smirk, turn around, and head back to the bakery.

The little bell chimes as I step back inside, and Mr. Weasley jumps from a chair and trots over for his hug of the day.

“Aww, hola, mi cosa hermosa,” I scoop him up as he purrs against my palm. “Yes, yes. I love you, too, you fluff.”

While petting the orange beast, I spot Finnian, and this man looks like sunshine, with copper-red hair, bright amber eyes, and a face full of freckles.

He is chatting with an elderly customer at her table and looks a bit tense, like he wants to run away… which he probably does, since he absolutely hates making small talk with the customers.

Restless, he glances around the bakery until he catches my eye and smiles.

“Come by later,” I mouth, pointing toward my table.

He grins excitedly and gives me a quick nod.

I’m actually very happy they’re finally meeting each other, though I genuinely have no idea who is more excited for the introduction: Finnian or Oliver.

Mmmm…Probably Finnian.

On my way to the table, I do a quick scan, paying attention to the customers, checking to see if Rafael has any other men tailing us… but it’s clear everyone here is just here for the food and coffee. So, I turn toward the corner booth where Oliver and Zara are waiting, and stop dead in my tracks.

Oliver is laughing in a way I’ve never seen him laugh before.

Happy and carefree.

His gorgeous eyes are crinkled at the corners, his beautiful face is bright and rosy, and he looks so content.

Ever since I met Oliver, I’ve discovered that I like things I never thought I would, and I react in ways I never imagined I could. And I’ve found this man is a walking contradiction.

He’s strong and fearless, yet there are moments when he looks so fragile; he’s brilliant and capable, yet I’ve never met someone who second-guesses himself this much.

He has slept around with half of Manhattan, yet every time I touch him, he reacts as if he’s discovering every sensation for the very first time.

He amazes me.

And not just because he is gorgeous, what he does, or how he is… It’s the fact that even after a lifetime surrounded by death, Oliver still manages to hold so much light inside him.

Suddenly, I feel weird… and it’s not just because I’m standing like an idiot in the middle of a packed bakery staring at a beautiful man, but because at this moment, I desperately wish I were the one making him laugh like that.

Mierda…