Chapter Twenty-Three
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Saff
For just a night, I pretended nothing else existed but welcoming Soren into my life without all of the lies and half-truths.
I didn’t even know where my phone was once we sat down on my reading chair, let alone who was calling and texting.
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was that we’d somehow, despite it all, managed to still hold out hope for our future.
I wasn’t entirely convinced that, once the dust settled and he wasn’t distracted by sex, he wouldn’t completely change his mind.
It was a lot to take in.
I mean all I had to learn to wrap my head around was Soren’s relationship with Alen.
He had to contend with my real identity, the destruction of my fake one, how I’d been secretly plotting to use our business to wash dirty money… the list went on and on.
I knew he was a rational guy, but asking him to somehow compartmentalize all that was probably too much.
Those were the thoughts I’d fallen asleep to while letting myself be wrapped up in Soren’s arms in my bed.
And waking up alone was the gut-wrenching belief that all those terrible thoughts of mine were true. That he’d woken up before me, had a little think, then ran for his life.
Likely right to the damn police station to turn me in.
It wasn’t until I sat up to find my strawberry coffee mug sitting on the nightstand, still warm, that the choking anxiety loosened its hold on my throat.
As I reached for it and took a sip, I also became aware of something else out of place.
The sounds of clanking in the kitchen.
What the hell could even be clanking?
I didn’t own a single pot or pan.
Curious, I went into the bathroom, pulling my wild hair into a clip, brushing my teeth, then slipping into some comfy sweats before making my way back out into the hallway.
My footsteps faltered when I heard the timbre of male voices.
Two male voices.
The incredibly welcome one belonging to Soren.
But also… Renzo.
My stomach twisted as I forced myself to move forward, to face whatever the two of them wanted to throw at me.
“Shit, that’s rough,” Renzo said, wincing at my face.
The bruises really had gotten a chance to settle in over the night. The one across my cheek from taking the brunt of the punch was a deep purple and blue with mottling of red around the edges. But thanks to my nose also being hit, I had two decent black eyes to look at for a week or so as well.
“Nice to see you too, Renz,” I grumbled.
“Want a warm-up?” Soren asked, already approaching me with the coffee pot.
“He makes a good cup,” Renzo said, his hand wrapped around a cup I’d bought but hated the handle to, so it lived in the back of my cupboard.
“I know,” I agreed, giving Soren a small smile as he filled my mug.
“I guess you do,” Renzo said, nodding.
“Are we really doing this now? It’s, like six in the morning.”
To that, the two men shared a look, then almost matching chuckles.
“Darlin’, it’s eleven,” Soren informed me.
“Oh. Well… yesterday was a lot.”
“Hence why I am here,” Renzo said.
“I will talk to you about—”
“No need. We already talked it all out—me and your man here.”
“You… talked it all out? Without me?”
“Everything we discussed last night,” Soren said, tone calming. “And he may or may not have thrown in a speech about not hurting you… or else. I get the feeling ‘or else’ might involve cement shoes and the bottom of the bay.”
“Nah. We don’t throw bodies in the bay,” Renzo said. Then, with a smirk, added, “Anymore.”
“So, what’s the consensus?” I asked, wondering if the idea that sounded so promising the day before was too crazy after all.
“I think it has merit. If your stubborn ass would be willing to go legit.”
“I went legit for this job,” I reminded him.
“Barely. You didn’t even dye your hair.”
“Sure I did. Almost weekly.”
He shook his head at that.
“You sure this is what you want to sign up for a lifetime of?” he asked, shooting me a smile as he spoke to Soren.
“Pretty sure,” Soren said.
“Alright. Well, I’m gonna cut out. We will talk in the coming days,” he said to me. “You should lock this shit down,” he said, pointing his thumb toward Soren. “He cooks.”
With that, he was gone, leaving me to turn to Soren.
“Speaking of cooking. I don’t own anything to cook with , so what is all of this?” I asked, waving a hand toward the island and the stove, which featured fancy pots, pans, and even a big mixing bowl.
“This is the result of waking up at five while knowing you wouldn’t drag your pretty ass out of bed until nine, so I ordered some things to get delivered.”
“Some?” I asked, glancing around. “It looks like the entire home goods section.”
“You only had… three spoons. Three spoons. Three forks. Three knives.”
“They were sold in three packs.”
“In three packs? Where is silverware sold in three packs?” he asked, brows pinched.
“The dollar store,” I admitted. “I was there buying gift bags because there’s no way I’m spending ten bucks on those at the normal store. And I saw them, realized I needed them, and got them.”
“Did you also happen to buy these there?” he asked, opening the cabinet where I kept my bowls.
“Yeah. I needed bowls.”
“They’re not bowls. They’re food storage containers.”
“They’re multi-purpose.”
“Oh, Saff. You’re a trip,” he said, smiling. “Well, to make you breakfast, I needed some actual kitchen supplies. Pots, pans, a spatula .”
“Hey, I had a spatula.” At his raised brows, I admitted, “Lore left it here after I hosted book club.”
“Where’d it go?”
“I use it to relocate a spider. Then was too grossed out by the whole situation ever use it, so I let the spider keep it. So what are you making? Challah bread French toast?”
“Belgian waffles,” he said, gesturing toward the contraption sitting on the island, smoke billowing from the closed lid. “And it looks like it has warmed up. Now, the question is: strawberries, blueberries, or chocolate chips?” I shot him a look that had him smiling. “All three. Of course.”
“I’m starting to think you really do know me.”
“What can I do?”
“Depends. Can I trust you to flip eggs?”
“Gee. I dunno. That sounds complicated.”
“Says the woman who cut her way out of restraints, stabbed a man in the hand, then jumped off the stage, grabbed a gun that I’m still not sure how you knew was there, and seemed ready to use it.”
“I was. I would have. I have ,” I told him. “I know we kind of… grazed over my life in the family yesterday. But it has involved knives and guns. And all the things that happen when you use them.”
“I’ve seen mob documentaries, Saff. I know how it works. Wait… that day with the cuts on your hands, the ones you said were from a box cutter…”
“Brass knuckles,” I admitted. “They’re kind of shitty to use, but when the people I am up against are usually twice my size, I have to play dirty.”
“It might be wrong, but that mental image is kind of hot,” he told me as he poured some batter into the waffle iron, then added some chocolate chips.
“I get it. Because this is kind of hot,” I told him as I leaned against the counter.
“Don’t look at me like that. This thing only needs to cook for like three minutes. That’s not nearly long enough to get my fill of you.”
“Fineee,” I grumbled. “So, was that really uncomfortable? The talk with Renzo?”
“Not at all. He’s a pretty reasonable guy when he’s not pissed off.”
“To be fair, he’s rarely pissed off. That’s usually reserved for when one of us ignores a direct order.”
“He demands loyalty,” Soren said. “Because he’s your boss. But also because he loves you and to keep you all safe, he needs to know you will obey the rules.”
He really did have Renzo pegged.
“What did he say? You know, about me… leaving?”
“He said he would support it. That he would like to see you having a better life.”
“Better?”
“I think Renzo sees a lot of you, maybe especially you as his kids or little siblings. He knows this is his life and he’s reconciled that for himself and his future. But he wants a different life for you guys, if you want it for yourselves as well.”
“I can see that. But, you know, from a logistical standpoint…”
“He wrapped his head around the computer coding thing a lot faster than you did.”
“Maybe you just explained it better to him,” I teased.
“Don’t. It’s hot,” he tried to warn as I plucked the waffle right off the plate with my fingertips.
“Ow ow ow,” I said as I shoved it into my mouth, scalding hot gooey chocolate chips and all.
“Now, if you would show some restraint,” Soren said, shaking his head, “you would know that those are infinitely better with some powdered sugar on top.”
“I dunno. They’re pretty good without,” I said, mouth opening and closing like a fish to cool off the waffle.
“The strawberry ones are going to have whipped cream. And the blueberries will get syrup.”
“I won’t be waiting for any of that,” I declared, but reached for the powdered sugar he was offering before my next bite. “So… you haven’t changed your mind?”
“I’ve been thinking of that,” he said, making my heart sink. “And I think I can slowly taper you up to liking nutmeg.”
A surprised, choking laugh escaped me.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he agreed, putting down the batter ladle and reaching for my hips instead. “And I will happily reassure you as many times as it takes to make you accept that I haven’t changed my mind. That I’m never going to change my mind.”
“We haven’t known each other long enough to say things like that.”
“Look, the only reason I’ve gotten this far in my life is because I trust my gut. It’s never led me wrong. And my gut says that what we got here, this is some forever type of thing.”
My heart felt close to bursting at that.
“Besides, we’ve already survived two major secrets, a kidnapping, attempted murder, and extortion,” he went on, pulling the plug on the waffle iron.
“Hey, you’re not done with that.”
“We’ll get back to that,” he said, grabbing my hips, picking me up, and dropping me down on the island.
He pressed into my knees until my legs parted for him.
“What I’m saying here is: I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”
My legs wrapped around him, and my hands danced up his arms to circle the back of his neck.
“I’ll take you. But not the nutmeg.”
“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to my lips. “But I accept the terms of your proposal.”
And this little contract, we sealed it with a kiss.