28. Lemon
Chapter 28
Lemon
I 'm sprawled on Atticus' obscenely expensive leather couch, staring at my phone and trying not to die of boredom. Another day, another round of "whose dick am I sucking tonight?" Don't get me wrong, the foreplay is fan-fucking-tastic. But after a month of being eaten out and watching Atticus fuck Ezra speechless, I’m wondering when is it going to be my turn.
It’s like the ultimate edging and fake dicks aren’t cutting it.
I fire off a whiny text to Ezra.
When r u coming back???? Dying of boredom here
The phone buzzes almost instantly.
Yes, Chef
Look up, bellezza.
My head snaps up just as the penthouse door swings open. There's Ezra, with his tousled hair and mischievous grin, sauntering in. At least with him here, I have someone to watch trash TV with.
"Miss me?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
I roll my eyes, but can't help the smile tugging at my lips. "As if. I was just about to take a nap."
Ezra chuckles, crossing the room in a few long strides. He grabs my hand, pulling me up off the couch. "No time for naps. Go get dressed. We're going out."
I blink at him, caught off guard. "Out? Like, outside? In the real world?"
"That's generally what 'out' means, yeah," he teases, giving me a playful swat on the ass. "Nothing fancy. Just throw on something cute."
I sprint to the bedroom, heart racing with excitement. Finally, a chance to escape. I’ve been stuck here since my little field trip to prison. I yank open drawers, rifling through the designer clothes Atticus insists on buying me. I'm going casual since he’s not here to tell me what to wear. I shimmy into a pair of tight jeans that hug my curves in all the right places, throw on a soft silk shirt that hangs off my shoulders, and slip my feet into some wedge sandals. A quick glance in the mirror. Messy hair, flushed cheeks, eyes a little red from too much screen rotting.
Good enough.
I practically skip back to the front door where Ezra's waiting, leaning against the wall with that infuriatingly sexy smirk of his. His eyes rake over me, lingering on the sliver of skin exposed between my jeans and shirt.
"Damn, bellezza," he purrs. "I like when we pick out your clothes but I do love seeing you like this."
I roll my eyes, trying to ignore the flutter in my stomach. "Shut up and let's go before Atticus gets back and chains me to the radiator or something."
Ezra laughs, holding the door open with an exaggerated bow. "After you."
We step into the elevator, and I can feel the energy changing as I make my escape. Ezra's hand brushes against mine, sending shivers up my arm. The doors open to the lobby, and suddenly we're out on the bustling streets of New Haven.
The city assaults my senses after weeks of isolation. Car horns blare, people jostle past, the smell of street food mingles with exhaust fumes. I breathe it all in, feeling more alive than I have in weeks. It’s different than being on the roof like an interloper.
Ezra glances down at my feet, eyebrow raised. "You good to walk in those, beauty? Don't want you breaking an ankle on my watch."
I scoff, linking my arm through his. "Please. I could run a marathon in these babies."
We set off down the sidewalk, falling into an easy rhythm. To anyone passing by, we must look like the perfect couple. The tall, dark, and older handsome guy with a short brunette on his arm. If only they knew the fucked-up reality.
But for now, I push those thoughts aside. The sun is shining, I'm out in the real world, and I've got Ezra by my side. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe again.
Ezra's hand finds the small of my back, guiding me through the crowd. To anyone watching, we must look like the perfect couple—the handsome older man and his young, pretty girlfriend out.
He steers me down a side street I've never noticed before, despite being in this city a lot of my life. The noise of traffic fades, replaced by a buzz of voices and the tantalizing aroma of fresh produce and spices .
"Holy shit," I breathe as we round the corner.
A vibrant outdoor market sprawls before us, bursting with color and life. Rows of stalls stretch as far as I can see, overflowing with fruits and vegetables in every shade imaginable. Flowers spill from buckets, their perfume mingling with the earthy scent of mushrooms and herbs. I spot crates piled high with odd-looking roots and greens I can't even name.
"Like it?" Ezra asks, grinning at my wide-eyed wonder.
"It's fucking amazing," I admit. "How did I not know this was here?"
He chuckles, guiding me into the throng. "Most people don't. It's kind of a well-kept secret among chefs and bartenders."
As we weave through the crowd, it seems like Ezra knows everyone. He calls out greetings left and right, stopping to chat and introduce me to vendors.
"Hey Paolo, come meet Lemon," he says, pulling me over to a stall piled high with tomatoes. The older man behind the table beams at us.
"Ah, so this is the famous Lemon!" Paolo exclaims, kissing me on both cheeks. "Ezra talks about you all the time. Try this, bellissima."
He presses a tiny orange tomato into my hand. I pop it in my mouth, and holy fuck—it's like an explosion of sunshine. Sweet and tangy and perfect.
"Good, right?" Ezra says, laughing at my blissed-out expression. "Paolo's tomatoes are the star of my Caprese salad at Velvet."
We continue on, and I'm blown away by how many people Ezra knows here. He introduces me to Mei, whose rare mushrooms are the "secret weapon" in his risotto. There's Raj, who grows the hottest peppers for Ezra's infamous Hellfire wings. And Anya, whose lavender is apparently key to the signature cocktail at his newest club.
"I had no idea you sourced so much stuff yourself," I say, a little awestruck.
Ezra shrugs, but I can see the pride in his eyes. "It's important to me. I like knowing where my ingredients come from, supporting local growers. Plus, you can't beat the quality."
We stop at a cheese stall, and Ezra chats easily with the vendor in rapid-fire Italian. I catch maybe one word in ten, but I'm captivated by the way his eyes light up as he samples different varieties.
He’s sharing something special with me, but before I can even fully process it, we're stopping at another stall. A statuesque Black woman with close-cropped hair greets Ezra with a hug.
"About time you showed your face around here," she teases. Her gaze lands on me, curious but kind. "And who's this?"
"Ava, this is Lemon. She’s important to me," Ezra says, his hand finding the small of my back again.
The woman's eyebrows shoot up, and I feel my cheeks flush. She hands me a sprig of something delicate and fragrant. "Lemon balm," she says with a wink. "Seems fitting."
I roll the sprig of lemon balm between my fingers, inhaling the citrusy scent. It's comforting, like a piece of home I didn't know I was missing.
"Your regular order's ready for pickup, Ez," Ava says, her eyes still twinkling at me. "Got those purple carrots you've been drooling over, too."
Ezra's face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Fuck yes. You're a goddess, Ava."
"Don't I know it," she laughs. "You want it now or...? "
"Nah, I'll have one of the guys swing by later," Ezra says, his hand still resting possessively on my lower back. "I’m just out with my girl today."
As we walk away, I can feel Ava's knowing gaze on us. I wonder what she sees—what story she's writing in her head about me and Ezra.
We wander through the market, and I'm drunk on the sights and sounds and smells. A group of street musicians are playing something jazzy and upbeat. I spot a stall selling homemade gelato in flavors I've never even imagined. Lavender honey, black sesame, roasted fig. The scent of fresh herbs mingles with the earthy aroma of wild carrots and the sweet smell of ripe fruit.
"Holy shit, Ezra," I breathe, unable to keep the awe from my voice. "This place is fucking incredible. I want to shop here all the time."
His answering grin is radiant, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Yeah? You like it here, bellezza?"
"Are you kidding? I love it," I gush. "It's like…I don't know, like being let in on some amazing secret. All these incredible ingredients, and the people who grow them…"
I trail off, suddenly aware that I'm babbling like an idiot. But Ezra's looking at me with this expression I can't quite read, pride and something softer, warmer.
"I'm glad," he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I wanted to share this with you. It's a big part of my world."
The intimacy of the moment catches me off guard. This isn't just a fun outing. He’s letting me into a piece of himself that not many people get to see. I swallow hard, oddly touched .
"Thanks," I manage. "For bringing me, I mean. It's everything and just what I needed."
"You're welcome, my beautiful girl," Ezra says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "C'mon, let's go see if we can find anything to make for dinner. I'm gonna have you cooking with me tonight."
I snort, raising an eyebrow at him. "Uh, hello? Remember, I burn everything? Last time I tried to make something I nearly set the kitchen on fire."
Ezra just laughs, steering me toward a stall piled high with vibrant produce. "That's because no one's ever taught you properly. Trust me, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be whipping up meals in your sleep."
I want to argue, but the scent of sun-ripened tomatoes distracts me. They're piled in neat pyramids, ranging from tiny cherry tomatoes to massive beefsteaks, in shades from pale yellow to deep burgundy. Ezra's fingers dance over them, testing for firmness as he chats with the vendor.
We move on to a stall selling fresh pasta. The owner, a tiny old woman with hands gnarled from years of kneading dough, beams at Ezra like he's her long-lost grandson. She presses samples into our hands—delicate strands of tagliatelle, plump tortellini, and ribbons of pappardelle so wide I could use them as a scarf.
"Grazie, Nonna," Ezra says, kissing her weathered cheek. He turns to me, eyes sparkling. "What do you think, beauty? Feeling brave enough to try making pasta from scratch?"
I eye the perfectly formed noodles dubiously. "I don't know if my ego can handle the comparison."
But Ezra's already handing over a wad of cash, accepting a paper-wrapped package of fresh pasta and a bag of semolina flour. "You'll do great," he assures me. "Besides, half the fun is in the mess-ups."
By the time we're done, Ezra's arms are overflowing with paper bags bursting with ingredients. I reach out to take some, but he swats my hand away.
"I've got it. You just focus on not breaking an ankle in those shoes."
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling as we leave the market and start walking back.
When we finally make it to the penthouse, Ezra dumps our haul on the kitchen counter. It looks like we bought out half the market. Vibrant produce, fragrant herbs, artisanal cheeses, and that fresh pasta. My mouth waters just looking at it all, except for the cheese. Hard pass, thank you.
Ezra disappears into the pantry, emerging with a crisp black apron. He holds it out to me with a wicked grin. "Time to get dirty."
I eye the apron warily. "You sure about this? I wasn't kidding about nearly burning down the kitchen last time."
He just laughs, stepping behind me to tie the apron strings. His breath is warm on my neck, sending shivers down my spine. "Relax. I'll be right here to make sure you don't burn anything important."
The next hour is a whirlwind of chopping, sauteing, and kneading. Ezra is patient but demanding, guiding my hands as I struggle to julienne carrots and showing me how to crush garlic with the flat of a knife.
Finally, it’s time to make the noodles and I’m willingly touching raw eggs and not balking at it. Not very vegan of me.
We both turn as we hear the door open and the sound of expensive shoes on wood.
Atticus is home.