Thirty-Nine
THIRTY-NINE
Mia
EAST ST. LOUIS was short on retail stores in general, and pet stores in particular. After a quick map search, Emiel and I ended up going back across the river to a boutique pet shop located a few blocks north of my culinary stomping grounds in Soulard.
We drove separately, since he’d be going back to work afterward, while I’d be returning to the house to start preparing the evening meal I had planned. It was hard not to spend the drive speculating on what was going on in Emiel’s head. He was so closed off... such an enigma.
But it would just be that—speculation. He couldn’t make it any clearer that he wasn’t seeking any emotional connections with me... or anyone else, with the possible exception of Princess. And that was his prerogative, even if it didn’t stop me wondering about him.
PawPrintz was tucked behind a brick and glass storefront with on-street parking. At this time of day, I had to park half a block away. I fed money to the meter and wandered back to the shop, enjoying the cool breeze and sunshine. Emiel arrived a couple of minutes later, having lost the parking lottery and ended up even farther away.
I smiled at him as we approached the entrance. “Do you have a list?”
He opened the door and let me go in first. “Litterbox, litter, food, treats, new food and water bowls.”
“Toys?” I suggested.
“Do you think she’ll play with toys?” he asked, frowning. “She’s an alley cat.”
“Good day,” greeted the grandmotherly figure behind the counter. “Welcome to PawPrintz. How can I help you?”
Emiel looked faintly startled, as though he hadn’t expected random human beings to speak to him without prompting.
“Hi,” I said. “We’re bringing home a stray cat. So, we need all the usual cat... stuff.”
“Oh, that’s lovely!” said the woman. She rose from the stool and bustled around to join us. “This will be your first cat, then? Or do you have other pets?”
“No other pets. We’re starting from scratch,” I told her. “Huh... she’ll need a scratching post, won’t she?”
“Probably so,” she said, including Emiel in her twinkling smile. “How exciting! Let’s go pick out everything you’ll need.”
PawPrintz wasn’t a large store, but it was well-stocked. Half an hour later, we walked out with six bulging bags full of cat-related items, and an eye-watering bill that Emiel paid without comment. In fact, he’d managed to get through the entire thing without speaking more than a few words.
I got the impression that was typical. I couldn’t help wondering if he would have come here on his own, as opposed to simply ordering everything online. Did he function well day-to-day with things like this? He hadn’t shown any difficulty when he’d been interacting with the kids under his guidance at the Hope Project...
Shaking myself free of the speculation, I smiled up at him. “Where did you park? I’ll help you load all this stuff. Unless you’d like me to take it back to the house? My car’s probably closer.”
“I’ll get it.” The words came immediately, as though he felt strongly about being the one to set things up for Princess’s arrival. “I’m parked around the corner.”
I followed him one block down and half a block over to his old Ford Bronco. It was well-kept for its age, but where Byron’s Audi was practically a show car, the Bronco’s paint job exhibited signs of its many years of use. We loaded everything in the back.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to your car.”
The urge to say it was fine, that he didn’t need to do that, hovered on the tip of my tongue. I consciously swallowed the words. Why shouldn’t I let an alpha walk me back to my Kia?
Sure, the likelihood of anything bad happening was tiny. Sure, I was in favor of omegas being empowered and self-sufficient. But I’d been empowered and self-sufficient for most of my life... and look where it had gotten me in my relationships.
“Okay,” I said. And then, on a whim, “Hey... do you have time for a quick lunch with me before you go back?”
Emiel went completely still.
I hurried onward. “Only, I’m kind of hungry, and we’re not eating until nine this evening. There’s this restaurant I’ve been meaning to check out. It’s only a few blocks south of here, actually. So, I thought—”
“We can get lunch.”
I snapped my mouth closed. Did he seem wary about the request? Was he humoring me? It was so difficult to judge his reaction with no scent to read. Even betas’ scents changed with their emotions—a little bit, at least.
“Great,” I told him. “Do you want to drive separately, or...?”
“Is it close enough to walk?” he asked.
I consulted my mental map of this part of the city. “About two-thirds of a mile? Maybe three-quarters.”
“Let’s walk.” He rubbed a hand over his shaved head. “I like the fresh air.”
‘Fresh air’ might’ve been a bit of a misnomer with the river so close, but it was a nice day. I watched the cars and people as we strolled south on Truman Parkway and turned left onto Lafayette, feeling oddly free without the need to stay alert for danger.
That lasted until the Bella Vita’s discreet sign came into view. Coming here had been a spontaneous decision, and possibly not a very smart one. But the owners had eaten at the Elderflower Inn without announcing who they were, so it wasn’t as though they could act offended if I did the same thing.
“Our new competition,” I explained to Emiel—not that he’d asked. “I figure I should check them out in person since they’ve been taking so much business away from us.”
“Just don’t get the lasagna,” Emiel said, and... had that been a joke?
I glanced at him sideways. “Oh, I don’t know. You could get theirs for lunch, and then give me a comparative review with mine tonight.”
“Yours’ll be better,” he mumbled.
We went inside, where we were greeted by a friendly beta hostess and a pleasant, if somewhat cliched, atmosphere. Chandeliers shed a low, warm glow over old-world furnishings. We were seated without a wait, although the place was doing a brisk business at the lunch hour.
“Smart of them to be open when your place is closed,” Emiel said, picking up the lunch menu and examining it.
I made a noncommittal noise. “They’re open seven days a week. That can be brutal on the staff unless they’ve got a lot of part-timers to cover shifts.”
I ordered the risotto, since risotto was a good way to judge the kitchen’s skill. Emiel ordered chicken parm.
“I’ll get that right in for you,” our waiter said, and left us alone with our bread sticks and marinara dipping sauce.
Emiel watched me watching the way the front of house ran. It was smooth enough. Professional, if nothing extraordinary. The biggest tipoff that whoever was running the show might lack vital experience was the pricing. It was too low.
But they’d figure that out soon enough, and it was easy enough to hike the prices and print new menus.
Aware that I wasn’t being a particularly scintillating lunch companion, I dragged my attention back to Emiel and started chatting about things he might do for Princess, like installing a fully enclosed cat balcony on one of the second-floor windows at the back of the house.
“That way she could sit in it on nice days and survey her new domain,” I finished.
“She’d probably like that,” he agreed, glancing up as the waiter returned with our entrees.
“Here we go, folks.” The waiter—Chance, as he’d introduced himself—set his tray down on a stand and placed my risotto in front of me. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can get for you.”
“This looks wonderful, thanks,” I said, unwrapping my silverware.
Chance set Emiel’s chicken parm down and smiled, not noticing how still Emiel went as he withdrew.
“Terrific,” Chance said. “I’ll come back and check on you in a few minutes. Enjoy!”
Emiel watched him leave, still not moving. A frisson of unease ran over me, although I couldn’t have said exactly why.
“Everything okay?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.
Emiel blinked, his attention returning from whatever had caught it. He looked down at his plate and took up his fork. “Yeah. We should eat.”
I frowned, but I took his advice and started eating. The risotto was... fine. In fact, for the price, I suppose it was better than fine. From what I could see and smell, Emiel’s dish was also pretty good.
He didn’t seem to notice either way. His focus had turned outward, and he was watching the staff move around the dining room every bit as closely as I’d done earlier. I still couldn’t tell what was off—but whatever it was, it put me on edge.
We ate in uncomfortable silence. Uncomfortable on my end, at least.
Toward the end of the meal, an alpha in a dark suit approached, surrounded by the scent of iron and sandalwood. With a faint jolt, I recognized him as one of the men who’d come into the Elderflower Inn to scope us out.
“Good afternoon,” he said. “Chef Dimitriadis, isn’t it? Welcome to the Bella Vita. We’re honored to have you here. And Mister...?”
“Hamilton,” Emiel said in a monotone. And then, he stuck out a hand for the other alpha to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.”
I stared, struck by how out of character the move seemed, but our host didn’t hesitate, stretching a hand out to return the greeting.
“Blake Berlusconi,” he said. “I’m one of the owners. I hope you both enjoyed your meal?”
The back of my neck prickled unpleasantly, for absolutely no rational reason. I started to speak, and then had to clear my throat when my voice emerged high and unsteady. “Y-yes. It was lovely. My compliments to my counterpart in the kitchen.”
Berlusconi gave a pleasant laugh. “I’ll be sure to pass it on. I do hope you’ll both drop by again.”
Emiel remained stonily silent.
“Thank you,” I said, the perfectly adequate risotto churning unpleasantly in my stomach.
The waiter brought us the check shortly after his boss excused himself, and Emiel grabbed it before I could. “Let me,” he said, the first words he’d spoken since greeting Berlusconi.
I let him, feeling so freaked out by this point that all I could think about was getting away from here. As soon as Chance brought back the credit card receipt, Emiel signed it carelessly and ushered me toward the front door. It felt as though he’d gained six inches of height and twice that much in breadth as he loomed over me, bristling with alpha protective instincts.
I let him herd me along without touching me until we were a full block away from the restaurant, before I finally gathered myself and turned on him.
“What was all that about?” I demanded, cringing when I heard a quaver beneath the words.
Emiel turned to face me, looking down at me with a worried furrow in his brow.
“Don’t go back there alone, Mia,” he said. “Actually, don’t go back there at all.”
“Why?” I asked. “What did you see that I didn’t?”
The worry lines on Emiel’s face deepened. “That waiter. He had a gang tattoo. SSG. So did the owner.”
“SSG?” I echoed stupidly.
“White supremacist trash,” Emiel said, an edge of anger creeping into his tone. “You don’t want nothing to do with them, trust me. They’re Luca’s old gang... the one he ran away from.”