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She snorted. “Craft beer.” Her chuckles made me grin at her, pleased I’d made her laugh. “No. I’m not going to be making you your own IPA.”
“Shame,” I said wryly. “I’d like that.”
Her lips twisted. “Maybe I’ll add it to my list. I go through phases.” She sighed. “It will be nice to be able to do what I want without hiding it. It’s not like Mary wants me to watch her clean the bathroom, so my time is my own when you don’t need me.”
That she knew the lay of the land without me having to say a word was one of the advantages of her having being raised in the life.
Even if I wished, for her sake, that she’d had a better start than what she had. More so now that I knew she’d had to sleep on the goddamn streets. A week or not, that was totally out of order.
“Agreed,” I told her gruffly, “so, what’s this crafting?”
“Can be anything and everything. I like crocheting,” she admitted on a whisper, like she was confessing to a sin. “But I also love gem art, and making greeting cards, and other kinds of paper crafting.” She shrugged. “Before, I couldn’t afford it, and I really missed it. It’s always kept me busy, but more than that, it makes me happy.”
“Well, that’s all that matters.” I wasn’t sure if I’d ever been happy, but somehow, that was bearable when I thought about her feeling that.
The notion hit me then that I wanted the best for her.
I might not be that, but it was within my power to give her everything she needed. Everything she deserved.
God, she’d been homeless. This queen,myqueen... Fuck.
My arms tightened around her, using the dance as an excuse to cling to her, as if that alone would keep her safe.
“So,” I teased, “this gem art sounds expensive.”
Another chuckle escaped her. “You don’t use real gems.”
“That’s a relief,” I teased, hiding my shaky grin in her hair as she slapped my shoulder. But mere seconds after she slapped me, her hand crumpled the back of my jacket. “Coullson?” I guessed.
“Over by the ice sculpture.”
I moved us around, making it look like a part of the dance and peered around the floor.
At the outer perimeter of the room, there were tables that were awaiting the auction that would be happening before the night was out. People moseyed around that area, eying up the lots on display, while, in front of the stage where the auctioneer would stand, that was where people were dancing.
For the moment, the lights were dim, but I saw the ice sculpture for the first time once I squinted away from the smoky dancefloor, and saw that Coullson was standing there with a woman who looked like she had a stick up her ass.
No wonder he needed Frederica to get his rocks off.
Speaking of... I spun Camille around in a few circles, trying to see if my plant was in place.
When I found her, on the arm of some no-hope Z-lister, I carried on looking, hoping she’d see me and would catch my eye.
It took a while, but she did, and we nodded at one another before I started guiding Camille over to where Coullson and his wife were.
In her ear, I murmured, “This can’t be helped, Camille.”
“I’ll try not to listen,” she said wryly, picking up on what I was telling her.
“I’m not about to treat you like you’re a moron. We both know you’re not that.”
She stiffened a little. “Do we?”
“Oh, yes, we definitely do. I’ve seen you with that New York Times’ crossword.”
Though she’d tried to hide the hobby from me, like it was a dirty secret, I’d discovered her appreciation of the cryptic crossword and had taken out a subscription so she could have a copy delivered every morning without having to leave the apartment. It kept her safe and stopped Baggy bitching at me about being a paperboy.
“That doesn’t make me a genius,” she disregarded.
