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“I’ll take care of her,” he promised.
She grinned, the same blue eyes as Lyric’s, sparkling with mischief. “Oh, I know you’ll put the smile right back on her face.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. But I also know she needs you right now.”
“I need her, too.” The confession was real and easy to admit.
Aria put her hand on his back and pushed him toward the door. “She’s got beer and wine and food upstairs, but she’ll appreciate you bringing her dinner.” Aria smiled, turned, and left.
The rest of the kitchen staff looked at him with interest, knowing why he was there and who he’d come to see.
He left out the back door and headed up the stairs to the small landing. He noted the brand-new lock onthe door. The frame had been repaired. He breathed a sigh of relief that she was relatively safe.
With the plates in his hands, he couldn’t knock, so he lightly kicked the door and waited. A few seconds later, she pulled the curtain aside. A huge grin spread across her face. She unlocked and opened the door in record time.
“M. You’re here.” She looked him up and down, the tears gathered in her eyes. “Are you okay? I heard you were arrested.”
Small town. News traveled fast.
He wanted to hug her, but his hands were full. “That was just for show,” he assured her. “Can I come in? Food’s getting cold.”
She seemed to catch herself. “Jeez. Yes. Come in.” She backed out of his way and closed the door behind him.
He noted the changes in the apartment since he’d last been here. “I don’t like what that asshole did to the place.”
“You make it look a hell of a lot better.”
That right there soothed him in a way only she could do to him. With one sentence she’d reassured him she remained interested in him and that she was happy he was there with her.
She waved him toward the new dark brown leather sofa. The blue chairs that used to be in front of the fireplace were shoved into a corner, their fabric torn like a gaping wound spilling out stuffing. “I plan on getting them reupholstered.”
He went to the sofa and set the plates on the new coffee table. A fire crackled and burned in the hearth, keeping the room warm and cozy. He glanced at the bed behind the sofa and noted the new bedding.“Looks like you were able to get a few things in short order.”
“You like?” She’d gone with pale green sheets and a thick blue comforter.
“I could crawl in and sleep for a week.” He was so tired. But more than anything, he wanted to spend time with her. He found her pretty blue eyes still on him. “We need to talk.”
“That can wait. Sit. Eat. Beer or wine?”
Yes, they’d share a meal, then clear the air. “Do you have some of that red?”
“I do.” She went into the kitchen.
He took a seat on the couch and waited, staring at the fire, letting his mind and body catch up to the fact that the job was done: he could relax and just be with her.
She turned off the kitchen light, leaving the room dark with only the strung lights over her bed on the damaged birch-tree branch and the glow of the fire in front of them. The room was quiet, except for the sound of the firewood cracking and popping every so often.
She handed him his glass and sat beside him. “To a job well done.”
He eyed her. “You know.”
She put her hand on his knee and squeezed. “You told me you weren’t a criminal. I know you’re a good guy. So what was it? Drugs?”
“No. Murder-for-hire, actually.”
She gasped. “Okay. Wow. So you’re not DEA?” Such a smart woman.
