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The door flies open just as I’m about to snap one under her nose. And there stands Mr. Mastriano, the owner of this place. As big as a bear but way more confused. He looks at Marin and me and at Marin again. “Sir?”
It doesn’t look good. That’s for sure. Time to think fast. “Low blood sugar. Happens all the time. We gotta get her pancreas checked.”
Mr. Mastriano, though, knows a thing or two. Been round the block, I can tell. Something tells me we aren’t the first couple to end up in this supply closet. He takes off his suit coat and covers her half-naked body gently and respectfully.
Props to this guy for sure.
“Ah yes, the pesky low blood sugar. Of course.”
I prop her head up on my knee and waft the smelling salts under her nose. She comes back to life both adorably and awkwardly, rumpling her nose and trying to get her face away from the sharpness of the ammonia.
Her eyes meet mine as soon as she’s back in the world.
“You okay, gorgeous?”
She rubs her nose hard. “I love you. I love you so much,” she says, as she blink-blink-blinks up at me.
Aww fuck. She’s everything. So innocent. So hot. So open. So sweet.
“I love you too, baby girl,” I say, holding her close, while Mr. Mastriano chuckles and leaves us be.
* * *
Dinner was perfect, fucking perfect. And it had nothing to do with the food. Just being there with her, across that table, with the candlelight glinting in her eyes. Talking, laughing, just being... was perfect.
Back at the house, Janie has left for the night. And this house feels way more likehomewith Marin in it. I’m in the kitchen, pouring myself a bourbon and making her a virgin mojito. In the room next door, I hear her talking to Stevie. She insisted on bringing him back some risotto arancini and also tiramisu.
“So how was it?” Stevie asks. “Christ, this tiramisu is awesome.”
She laughs sweetly. Somehow, I guess she’s sharing the tiramisu with him. “It was amazing. I passed out, it was so good.”
I muffle a snicker and listen for Stevie’s response. “No way.”
She giggles again. “I mean, it wasamazing.I’ll say that much.”
I listen to the sound of their spoons on the take-out container and look out into the yard. For one fucking second, I see a flash-forward to another time. A hope. A dream.
A pile of leaves, carving pumpkins… and a pregnant Marin sipping hot cider by the fire pit.
Fuck. My heart. My heart just absolutely aches at the thought of it. Because I don’t know if I deserve her, but holy Jesus—I hope I do.
I’ve blocked old Franklin Baron on my phone after reading his ten text messages and listening to one of his voice mails. He must have gotten my number from Callahan because those two are as thick as burned oil.
When I put it together, I called her out on her fake name too. I didn’t tell her how I figured it out though. She said she’s not all that proud of her lineage and I can’t say I disagree. I disliked her grandfather before but now?
Now?
Let’s just say he’s had a nice life. Or he hasn’t. I don’t give a fuck but if he so much as throws a nasty look ever again at Marin?
What he saw me do to that fucker in the alley will seem like a massage at a day spa compared to what I’ll do to him.
He fucking left his granddaughter at the cabin. His voicemail saying, ‘I’m storing something at your cabin. You owe me. Don’t go checking on it. I’ll pick it up in the spring. Mind your own business and I’ll forget what I saw. If you decide to get nosey, I’ve got Police Chief Reynolds on speed dial. He’s a deacon at my church. You call me back and tell me you got this message and we have an agreement. Your cabin for the winter for me forgetting what I saw. I’ll be waiting with my finger on speed dial.”
What a righteous fuck he is.
Rage tosses tinder onto my rising temper but there’s nothing to do about him right now. I’ve got the prize he decided to throw away like an old lottery ticket and he can go pound fucking rocks in that mansion of his by himself for the rest of his days.
Which will be numbered if he tries to mess with my girl ever again.
