Chapter Five, Precious
The second Heather shut the door behind her and headed out with Malivore, my heart kicked into overdrive. I had maybe fifteen minutes before she’d be back—twenty if Malivore decided to sniff every single patch of grass like it held the secrets of the universe. Either way, I needed to move fast.
This wasn’t just about making the room cozy or setting the mood.
No, this was my chance to show Heather how I’d always wanted to treat her, the way she deserved to be treated.
The fact that I had zero experience in this kind of thing?
Irrelevant. I’d figure it out. I’d seen enough romantic movies to know the basics: fire, candles, blankets. Easy. Right?
I just needed to use her hours old reintroduction to society to make sure she knew how serious I was about her.
I had to show her that she was mine, not just Atlas’. And I would be there for my woman until death. Even then, if I could claw my way out of hell, I would do it for her. I would do anything she needed when she needed it.
First step this evening, the fire. It was already burning low, but that wasn’t good enough.
I grabbed a few extra logs, nearly tripped over a stray pink shoe in the process, and fed them into the flames like my life depended on it.
The fire roared back to life, casting flickering shadows across the room.
“Alright,” I muttered to myself, brushing off my hands. “Fire. Romantic. Check.”
Next, candles. I scoured the cabin like a man possessed, tearing open drawers and cabinets.
Because Heather had stored them, there was no rhyme or reason to where they were kept—one was stuffed in a drawer with old receipts, another tucked behind a box of stale crackers.
It didn’t matter. I found them all: lavender, vanilla, something citrusy that smelled faintly like cleaning spray.
I lit them without hesitation and arranged them around the room.
Did the scents clash? Absolutely. Did I care?
Not at all. The warm glow was what mattered.
I was here to make the vibe good and eat pussy like it was sport. The rest were just schematics.
Blankets and cushions came next. I sprinted into the bedroom, yanked everything soft off the bed, and carried it all back to the couch.
Hurrying, I dumped the pile onto the cushions and started arranging.
I folded, fluffed, and piled until the couch looked like it had been swallowed by a mountain of fabric.
If Heather didn’t find this romantic, at least she couldn’t complain about being uncomfortable.
I looked around to see what I needed next.
Flowers. I needed flowers. There was a vase of wildflowers in the bedroom, and I swiped the vase, carried it back to the living room, and set it on the coffee table. The pop of color was exactly what the room needed.
Next step; music. The atmosphere wasn’t complete without it. So I grabbed my phone, connected it to the TV, and scrolled through playlists until I found something soft and jazzy. The first notes played, and I exhaled in relief. It wasn’t too much—just enough to fill the space.
I stepped back, taking in the scene. The fire crackled warmly. Candles glowed softly. Blankets and cushions turned the couch into a cozy oasis. Flowers added a touch of elegance. Music tied it all together. It was almost perfect.
Almost.
We needed wine. I hurried to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of white I’d been saving, and poured two glasses. I set them on the coffee table, adjusting them until they were just right.
Everything was ready.
Well, almost everything. I glanced down at my outfit—jeans and a wrinkled T-shirt. Not exactly the look I was going for. If I was doing this, I was doing it right.
I bolted to the bedroom, yanking off my shirt as I went.
The closet wasn’t exactly stocked with romantic evening attire, but I found a crisp white button-down and a pair of dark suit pants that would do the job.
I tugged them on, straightened my watch, and ran a hand through my dark hair, trying to tame it into something presentable.
I caught my reflection in the window and paused. My shirt was neat, my pants perfectly tailored, and my hair—surprisingly—looked good. I adjusted my collar, giving myself a final once-over.
“Alright,” I said softly, a nervous smile creeping onto my face. “You’ve got this.”
Atlas had gone to the store to stock up for us and grab the Chinese food Heather wanted for dinner. That meant I had at least an hour before his return to woo my girl the way I’d wanted to for years.
This was our first date. Even if she didn’t know it for the next fifteen minutes as she took her sweet time playing fetch with the dog.
The second Heather walked through the door, Malivore trotting in beside her, I felt my stomach twist into a knot.
Her boots scuffed the floor as she stopped, her eyes scanning the room with the kind of look that could disarm a bomb—or blow it up entirely.
It depended on the day with my girl, really.
“Did I die out there?” she asked, tilting her head. “Did I slip on some ice, crack my skull, and now I’m in some kind of weird afterlife where you’re… whatever this is? Romantic?”
“This is romance.” I nodded. “Our first date.”
“Or is it the setup for a girl next door porn?” She kicked off her boots. “Dibs on being the seedy landlord who offers to rail you instead of giving me rent money.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but she held up a finger. “No, wait. You’d be too well-dressed for a porn star. You’re not wearing a slutty little number or just a pair of tight ass jeans.”
“Shut up and sit down, amore mio. I’m going to romance you.” I said quickly, shoving one of the glasses in her direction when she got closer.
Heather took the glass, her fingers brushing mine for a moment, and I thought she might crack another joke. But instead, she just stared at the room, her lips quirking into a half-smile.
“This is… unexpected. Even though you just told me to shut up, I think this is really sweet,” she said finally, lowering herself onto the couch.
The cushions swallowed her up, the blankets wrapping around her like she was claiming the throne I’d so carefully prepared.
She tucked her legs under her and sipped her wine, her eyes flicking back to me.
“You know you didn’t have to do all this, right?
I’m perfectly happy as a gremlin. Blankets, noodles, and no witnesses. ”
“I wanted to,” I said, sitting down on the far end of the couch.
My fingers fidgeted around the stem of my glass, and I couldn’t meet her gaze.
“Our first time wasn’t… how I planned it.
It wasn’t what I would have done if we’d dated in the normal world.
And whilst I have no regrets, I would like a chance to do things my way. ”
That caught her attention. She tilted her head again, a lock of her neon blue hair slipping over her shoulder.
“How you planned it?” She echoed, her voice soft and teasing.
“Gio, are you telling me you had some grand, romantic vision for us fucking? You thought about it long enough to plan something?”
I swallowed hard. My mouth had already run away with the truth, so there was no point in trying to reel it back now. “Yeah,” I admitted, feeling my face heat even more. “Something like that.”
Heather set her glass on the coffee table and leaned toward me, her smirk turning devious. “Okay, Romeo. Lay it on me. What did you imagine? Candles? Rose petals? A choir of angels descending from the ceiling?”
“Not a choir,” I said quickly, the corner of my mouth twitching despite myself. “I don’t know. It wasn’t that specific.”
Her eyes narrowed playfully. “That’s not an answer. Tell me how you imagined fucking me.”
I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a shaky laugh at the sudden hardness in my pants at her words.
“It’s stupid,” I said, staring at the fire instead of her.
“I used to… back when you were at Bella’s…
I used to watch you dance and think about what it would be like to… I don’t know. Be with you. For real.”
There. I said it.
The silence that followed made my chest tighten. I braced myself for a joke, for some sarcastic remark that would make me want to crawl under the cushions and disappear.
But Heather surprised me.
“That’s not stupid,” she whispered, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “It’s sweet. Even sweeter if you consider I used to look in the crowd for you, hoping I’d catch you watching me.”
“You did?” Sipping my wine, a smile burst free. “I used to watch you from upstairs. I didn’t want it to be obvious that I had issues taking my eyes off you. Or that I was imagining our future together.”
She smirked again, raising an eyebrow. “Did you imagine anything else then? Or was it just the candles and firelight in a murder cabin in the woods?”
“Definitely not the firelight or murder cabin,” I said, leaning back into the cushions.
“But yeah. I imagined a lot. More than I probably should’ve.
But it was so hard. You were naked and dancing and…
” I waved at her. “I mean, look at you. How could any mortal resist a peek and a handful of dreams about lap dances?”
Heather swirled the wine in her glass like she was considering something profound, but the glint in her eyes told me she was about to say something that would leave me wishing for the floor to swallow me whole.
Or hopefully about to ask for something she could swallow whole instead.
“So,” she started, drawing the word out as she leaned back against the couch. “You’ve always wanted a lap dance from the one and only Heaven? You kinky fuck. I wonder how many times you got off to your little fantasy. It would explain why you were always upstairs ‘working’ on something.”