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The doorbell rings, a soft three-tone chime echoing through the house. I push off the island and walk toward the front door.
“Nah, it wasn't. Hey, you're not here, are you?”
“What? No, I'm at the bakery.”
“Someone just rang the doorbell,” I murmur.
“Well, there's your first clue. You know I'd walk right in. Who is it?”
My lips twist to the side in a smirk. “That's true. Hang on, I'm going to see who it is.”
The shape of a man is visible through the frosted glass panes on the front door. I can make out dark hair and dark clothes, but even right in front of the door, the details aren't clear. I make a mental note to look into front door options.
I open the door, and my breath catches in my throat. Standing on the faded doormat is Bane, a big white pastry bag in one hand and a brown tray with two iced coffees. He's wearing his black Reaper kutte over a plain black tee, his medium-wash jeans molded to his thighs in a way that pretty much guarantees they're hugging his ass perfectly. His hair is slightly disheveled, like he ran his hands through it once too many times today.
“Thought you could use some help. I brought breakfast,” he says, lifting up both hands a little.
My lips part, and I keep my gaze on him when I tilt my face toward my phone. “Cora? I'm going to have to call you back.”
21
BANE
As far aspeace offerings go, I'd say it was a slam dunk. But she's just staring at me, her eyes wide and face soft.
It's the same expression she had when she stumbled into me at that bonfire beach party. It's a look that makes my chest feel tight, like I'm not sure if she's my salvation or my next obsession.
Like she thinks I might behersalvation.
I was spiraling then, and she unknowingly threw me a lifeline. She offered me the one thing I never thought I'd have again: hope.
In that moment, standing on her doorstep, I knew why I came back. Why I'd likely continue to keep coming back. It wasn't because she was arguably the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on. Or because we still have some kind of intrinsic chemistry that's impossible to ignore.
It was because she'd made me feel alive. She probably saved my goddamn life that night.
I take a step forward, closing the gap between us and lifting up the bag of pastries. “Breakfast?”
“Oh, um, thank you. That's actually kind of perfect. I don't have any food here yet. Come on in.” She uses her grip on the door handle to swing the door open wider, gesturing with her other hand clutching her phone.
She's wearing another long flowy skirt, black with big blue flowers scattered all over and a slit up the side that flashes a glimpse of her smooth, suntanned skin. And a white graphic tee knotted to show just a hint of her stomach.
Her hair is rolled into a messy bun on the top of her head, tendrils already falling out sort of haphazardly around the sides of her face.
Her smile is small but warm, like she's pleasantly surprised to see me but maybe a little confused too. Welcome to the fucking club. I don't know why I'm here except for the fact that she's here. And this is a big ass house, too big for one person to go through it.
But mostly, I couldn't stop thinking about her last night. Embarrassment clung to my skin like perspiration every time I thought about the name I gave her.
It felt like I was lying, even though I wasn't. Even though it shouldn't fucking matter because I never even knew her, not really. And yet, I've slotted her as a turning point in my life.
Like a moth to a flame, I can't help but be drawn to her. The jaded pieces of me maintain that our time together was coincidental, shit was turning around already.
But there's a small voice, a whisper really, that says it was all her.
I guess I can consider this surprise visit necessary information gathering.
Yeah, that's exactly what it is. Just collecting data so I can make an informed decision on what to do next.
Anxiety eases her tight grip around my chest with that thought, and I can breathe a little easier.
