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When Link returns, he’s carrying my favorite mug in one of his big hands. Reaching the couch where I’m still sitting, he holds it out to me.
I take it.
“Drink.”
“I like to let it steep a little longer,” I murmur.
“I know.” Glancing up at him through the fringe of my lashes, he says, “I remember. But then you’re going to drink, pet.”
Pet.
My eyes drop back to the steam wafting over my tea.
Pet…
Link might have called me ‘Saint Ava’ when we were kids, but when we started dating more seriously in high school, he developed this habit of calling me all sorts of pet names, seeing which one would stick. My name only has three letters—and my middle name, Marie, is no better—so it’s not like I had any real options for nicknames. Lincoln had ‘Link’, and he wanted a name of his own for me.
I was ‘sweetheart’ and ‘baby’, ‘honey’ and ‘my Ava’, but the one he teased me with more than the others was ‘pet’ because he would put on this ridiculous British accent whenever he did.
He didn’t just now. Instead, with a deep rumble to his voice, and an expectation that he’ll be obeyed, the term of endearment rolls off of his tongue so easily, it makes me wonder how many other ‘pets’ he’s had since he left me—or currently has.
I try to shove that thought out of my head. It’s bad enough that my gaze instinctively landed on the ring finger on his left hand earlier, searching out a wedding ring. I was being ridiculous if—for even a moment—I got jealous over the women in Link’s life when I haven’t been a part of it for so long. That was his decision, after all, and he wanted me to move on.
Sometimes I wonder if I ever did…
Red and blue lights suddenly flash into the living room from between the slats in my window.
My hand sloshes as I jump, sending scalding tea onto my thigh. It burns my skin, causing me to yelp as I try to steady both my mugandmy racing heart.
Eyes dipping to my thigh, Link frowns again. “Are you okay?”
I’m not worried about the burn from the tea. “There’s a cop out there.”
“I know. You stay here. I’ll take care of it.”
I’m so freaking glad to hear that. Setting my mug down on the arm of my couch, clasping my fingers together, I offer him a small smile and finally tell him what I’d been meaning to since he rushed over: “Thank you, Link.”
To my surprise, his jaw goes tight. “Don’t thank me. You haven’t asked me what I want for payment yet.”
What? Payment?
Of course. Link didn’t get to the top of the food chain in Springfield by doing jobs for free, whatever they are. He came because an old girlfriend called him, half-hysterical. That didn’t mean that he was doing it out of the kindness of his heart. He wants payment.
I can only imagine how much this is going to cost me.
“I have four thousand in the bank. If I cash out my retirement, that’s another ten, I guess. I know that’s not much, but—”
“I don’t want your money,” he says, cutting me off.
Oh. “Then what do you want?”
I don’t have much, but my car is pretty decent. My house, too. I have a little jewelry, if that’s what he means, or—
“You.”
The corner of his mouth twitches enough to be noticeable. It’s the first sign of amusement I’ve seen from him since he walked through my door and I tell myself he has to be kidding.
“Me?” I give a tiny laugh of my own. “What do you mean,me?”
