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He passed her a plate with a slice of roll on it. “Nightmare on Elm Street. You ever see it?”
She shook her head. “I’m not a big movie person.”
That was why she hadn’t recognized him yet. He thanked the universe she wasn’t, because he had this time, however long it was, to get to know her. For her to get to know him. What would happen afterward, he didn’t know. All he had right now were these stolen moments with her when he was Chris, not CJ Cunningham.
He patted the place on the couch next to him. “Not a movie person? I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means I’d rather read the book. And,” she said, pointing her fork at the screen with a cringe when Freddy Krueger appeared, “I don’t like being scared.”
With her feet curled up and legs crossed under her, he squeezed her big toe. “It’s not that bad. Besides, I’m here.”
She let out a mix of a snort and a huff with a stiff shake of her head. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
He slanted his head toward her, though she only shoved a huge piece of the pumpkin roll into her mouth as if to mute any more conversation. He let it go, and they ate in congenial silence for a while, watching the movie until he stood up. “I’m going to get another piece. Do you want one?”
“Sure.”
She laughed when he returned with the rest of the roll, and he wanted to record that rough-around-the-edges sound so he could play it on repeat whenever he felt like it. Every night.
“To hell with manners, right?” He held it between them to eat off one plate, and after they’d polished off the last bite, he sat back. “I think I love your mom.”
“And I think she loves you,” Bronte said, putting her bare feet up on the ottoman.
That was when he saw the tattoo, a trio of four-leaf clovers on the top of her left foot, each one smaller than the next. “I didn’t have you pegged for any ink.”
When he gestured to her toes, she smiled, wiggling them. “We all have the same one, Fitz, Shelley, and I.”
“Do you have any others?” he asked, eagerly sweeping his eyes over her body again, this time searching. She seemed so prim and proper with her glossy, straight hair and demure clothing, and the idea she was hiding tattoos under all that was so hot. A little bit of a bad girl under all that good.
“Yes.”
He practically panted. “Show them to me?”
