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Safe. She was safe.
“He tried to drown me once,” she said in a whisper, her voice quivering. “But in my dream, he also had a knife...”
“It’s okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to explain. Not right now. Just concentrate on breathing.” He began to massage her scalp. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow. Just focus on relaxing.” He kissed the top of her head. “Get some sleep, Alex. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”
With each pass of his fingers through her hair, the tension in her body eased. She burrowed deeper into the arms that enveloped her, protected her, soothed her.
“Please don’t leave,” she murmured.
His grip tightened, and she finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SEVEN
With Aretha Franklin grooving on the café’s speakers, Alex put the finishing touches on a quiche and popped it into the oven.
“Look at you. You’re such a liar,” Roxie said. “Why did you say you were a disaster in the kitchen again?”
“I never said I was a disaster—”
“Yes,” Roxie interrupted with a snicker. “You certainly did.”
“I may have said I was a littleuncomfortablein the kitchen, but—”
“Whatever makes you happy, Alex.” Roxie rolled her eyes. “So, if you could do eight more quiches, four with the ham and spinach, the other four vegetarian, I’d—”
“Aye-aye, captain.” She gave Roxie an exaggerated salute, their squabble from the day before long forgotten.
“You know what?” Roxie said, her tone nonchalant as she kneaded more dough. “I think I liked you better when you were all quiet and shy.”
She laughed. “Well, that’s too bad for you, I guess.” The spunk she’d once had was returning a little at a time. Baby steps.
Yesterday had been one of the longest days of her life. It had started out so horribly. The early-morning phone call, the flower delivery... the horrendous stress of it all. But as the sun had risen this morning, she’d imagined something she hadn’t dared to think about in years.
Her future.
She didn’t bother suppressing the smile that spread across her face.
When Quinn had kissed her awake this morning, she’d pictured a life that had nothing to do with anger or violence or fear. She now had hope for a future ofnormal. For both her and the baby.
Her heart squeezed, and her smile dimmed. The baby.
As if reading her mind, Roxie asked, “How’s the little bambino doing?”
She cleared her suddenly thick throat. “Good. I haven’t had any queasiness the last couple of days, so that’s a bonus. Doc called this morning to check in. He’s concerned about how the stress of... well, everything is affecting me and the baby. And he wants me to put on more weight.”
Roxie stuck a fork in a freshly baked pie and slid the tin across the workstation to her.
“Thanks,” she chuckled, snagging the pie before it went over the edge.
“Seriously, Alex, take a bite.” Roxie winked, continuing to put together a fresh bowl of pie filling. “I expect the whole thing to be gone by lunchtime.”
Alex shoveled a forkful of blueberry pie into her mouth. Her eyes closed, and she sighed at the wonderful, warm, gooey goodness melting on her tongue. “That will not be a problem.” She paused to swallow. “Aside from the weight thing, everything is fine, I guess.”
Silence descended. The only sound in the kitchen was Diana Ross and the rest of The Supremes singing “Stop! In the Name of Love.” Alex squirmed as Roxie stared at her with an eyebrow raised in question. She was starting to consider the expression a Roxie signature.
“I don’t know, Roxie. I know I should be more excited about it—about the baby.” She sighed, looking down, her hesitation making her feel like a complete asshole. “But I’m not. I’m just really, really nervous about it.”
Steeling herself, she peeked up at Roxie. Bright-green eyes full of understanding and support stared back at her. Her lower lip trembled, and her eyes stung with imminent tears. “I’m so scared, Roxie—”
