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“I’m not grumpy. You just always go Willis pre-caffeine. You know that shit ain’t right. Should arrest you for assaulting a member of the law.”
“I didn’t touch you.”
“An assault on my mind counts.”
“I brought you coffee,” he sullenly reminds me.
“That you wouldn’t let me drink in your car.” I glare at him.
“It still had that new car smell.”
“Brews before Subarus, man.”
“You’re an idiot,” Willis mutters, the censure one would expect with such a statement negated by the laughter in his voice.
My eyes are on the road as I drive us toward home, both needing some rest before reporting back, but my thoughts and heart are with Lillian.
Who is after her?
Did Carlton seem more off than normal or am I just hypersensitive because it’s Lillian?
Where would Lillian like to go for a first date?
How soon can I return to her without arousing suspicions regarding my not entirely professional feelings for her?
Chapter Four
Lillian
October 24th…
“This is nice,” I quietly tell Thayer. Not because I don’t want to be overheard – Willis is fully aware of what’s happening and that we’re maintaining a balance with it – but I’m afraid of ruining the moment.
Thayer, correctly sensing that my emotions were rising to near breaking, had gone into the kitchen, returning approximately ten minutes later with an armload of food. He’d then led the way into the often empty dining room and set his items on the floor near a corner furthest from the entrance.
The table and chairs serve as a barrier between us and reality, the illusion of privacy helping me relax for the first time in days.
Yes, his presence always has the same effect, yet I can see the signs all around us that remind me of why we’re here. The possible danger to me.
But this? The quiet of the space we’re currently occupying? The absence of anyone else except us? The fact it’s akin to a picnic, complete with a tablecloth he’d withdrawn from a curio drawer?
It’s set a scene that’s allowing me to believe we’re just two people attracted to each other, feeling a connection that, while new, we know is special.
“I’m glad you think so,” he responds with a wink. “If you’re this easily impressed with something I threw together on impulse, this bodes well for me.”
Touching his hand, the most physical contact we’ve allowed ourselves since I stepped in between him and Carlton, I assure him, “It’s not the what. It’s the who.”
Twisting his wrist, he twines his fingers with mine and squeezes. We stay that way for I don’t know how long, only that it’s not enough, enjoying the moment.
Without it being planned, we let go at the same time, as if knowing even that small amount was pushing our luck. Honestly, we shouldn’t be doing any of this, though I’m thankful we are.
I need it.
My emotions are all over the place regarding my precarious situation.
I hate that it’s happening and I’m ready for it to be over.
Danged if I do, danged if I don’t.
