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The woman behind the counter, an older lady who I vaguely recognize as the owner, gives Isla a bright smile. Her short gray hair is neatly styled, and her brown eyes sparkle as we approach.
“I didn’t think I’d see you today,” she beams.
Isla’s smile lights up her whole face. “You should have known I couldn’t go two days without one of your famous muffins, Carol!”
Carol’s eyes turn to look me over, assessing both me and my hold on Isla’s hand. “And who is this striking gentleman?”
Isla’s smile falters ever so slightly, but she quickly rights it, something it seems she’s a professional at. “This is my?—”
“Doc.” I thrust my free hand in front of myself to shake her hand. “I’m Isla’s husband.”
She doesn’t bother to mask her surprise as she looks between us again. I’m not sure what it is that surprises her most about that admission. Our very obvious age gap. The fact that she’s likely never mentioned me. Or that Isla looks like a fallen angel, and I look every bit like the ex-SEAL I am. Burly, gruff, tattooed, and more than a foot taller than my wife.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Doc.” She smiles up at me before her gaze falls to Isla’s hand where there’s no ring. Still.
If I have to superglue the thing to her finger, I will. Or better yet, maybe I could tattoo it onto her finger. Then there’s no way she could get it off.
The idea has merit. Something to think about later.
“What can I get you both?” She asks, her gaze flicking between us expectantly.
Isla rattles off her order, an iced chai latte with oat milk, and I order my black coffee with two of these muffins I’ve watched my girl eat every day for the last week.
Admittedly, I’ve never had a sweet tooth, but anything my woman enjoys as much as she enjoys these damn baked goods must be good.
“Have a seat, and I’ll bring everything over.” She flashes us a smile and moves toward the coffee machine.
Isla leads us to a table in the corner with a view of the street and slides into the booth while I take the seat opposite her.
“Did you tell anyone you were married?” I raise an eyebrow.
She sighs. “I didn’t really know what to say, and seeing as you were so MIA, I assumed it wasn’t something we were advertising.”
“You assumed wrong,” I growl.
She opens her mouth to respond just as Carol brings the warm chocolate chip muffins to the table. “Here you are, the coffees won’t be long.”
We both say a quiet thanks, and once she’s out of sight, Isla reaches for the muffin.
As soon as her left hand is above the table, I grab hold of it with my much larger hand. Every time I hold Isla, I’m struck by how tiny she is compared to me, but also how well she seems to fit.
“Have you worn your wedding ring at all when you’ve left the house?”
She shakes her head, not bothering to try to pull her hand from mine.
“That changes today, Isla. If I find your finger without my ring, you will not like the consequences.”
Defiance flashes in her amber eyes. “Why does it matter so much?” she snaps.
“Because you’re my wife, and I want every single motherfucker you meet to know you’re mine.”
“I’m not a piece of property, Doc.” She glares across the table at me. “This isn’t going to work if you’re going to pull this alpha-possessive bullshit. I’m a human being with my own mind and feelings, and therefore I can make competent choices for myself.”
“Can you, Isla?” I growl. “Because the way I remember things, before you moved here, you were out partying most nights, you were barely passing school, and the people you associated yourself with were known criminals.”
“You’re a known criminal,” she whisper-shouts. “Or at least you work for them. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. You have no idea what my life looked like before you came along. You have no clue how fucking lonely I was after Clarissa died and my parents shut down. Don’t assume to know anything about me.” The mention of my late wife and the indirect stab at how I’m responsible for her death isn’t lost on me, but she can’t hurt me with that shit anymore. Maybe when we first met and she threw her ruined life in my face, it dug in deep, but not now.
Perhaps now that I’ve gotten to know her, and to understand the depth of her loss, it should cut deeper, but it doesn’t.
