Chapter Ten #2
And she loved her store. I couldn't begrudge her wanting to be back there, making sure everything was running smoothly, training the three new kids Harry had hired since they lost their only part-time employee being closed for so long.
I had been the one to insist on two extra employees, knowing there was no way Savea should be on her feet that many hours a day when she was still getting her strength back.
Alright, fine, it was only that in part. The other part was me wanting my time with her. I think she knew that. And I was pretty sure she wanted it too.
It was midday when she came in to take Padfoot home with her, looking a bit worn around the edges, eyes a little pained.
"Pushed it a little too hard?" I asked, pulling her in, pressing a kiss to her lips.
"My ankle is throbbing a little. I just need to get it up for a little bit. Will you be home for dinner?"
It was such a simple, normal question. But for some reason, it really hit me right then, realizing there wasn't a distinction anymore. About it being my place or hers. It was home. And she wanted to know when to expect me.
My heart, already sure, felt the knowledge even more intensely.
She was the one.
"Yeah, but let's order in. I don't want you on your feet if your ankle is bothering you."
"I'm not going to argue with you," she agreed, reaching down to latch a leash on Paddy, grabbing Petunia, tucking her under her arm.
"Come on, babies. Let's go take a nap. I know," she said, leaning down to pat Paddy's head.
"But he'll be home soon. We'll have a bully stick while we wait.
Well, you'll have a bully stick, I'm gonna have a coffee and two Advil. "
With that, she was out.
I wasn't sure I let my breath go until I heard the alarm beep then disengage again.
It didn't matter that I knew she was safe, that the guys who had taken her, while they escaped with their lives, knew that they could never come anywhere near this town again.
I was still a little on-edge about her being alone in the apartment.
I had been thinking for a while about how to suggest that maybe we start thinking about fixing up her place, making it a home.
A livable home. Get the fences up for the dogs.
Maybe consider an edition even though there wasn't a pressing need for one at the moment.
The place would be tight, but only slightly smaller than my place that had felt plenty big enough.
I was worried it was too soon.
To talk about things like moving in.
It had only been, what, ten, eleven weeks? Something like that.
Most people would say that was way too soon to move in together. But we had been living together already. For that whole time.
And it wasn't like we could learn too much about each other that we already didn't know. You got to learn the ins and outs of a person when you were responsible with helping them with all aspects of their life.
Late afternoons were when she got grumpy. Especially if she was hungry. If you handed her a snack without her asking, she was a different person.
She was always soft and sweet before sleep, more open, more likely to say cute little things.
Like she had been obsessed with the way I said her name from the first time I did it.
Like she loved it when I talked dirty to her.
Like she thought I would make a great father someday.
Little nothings that felt like big everythings, that made my heart squeeze, a completely foreign phenomenon before she came into my life.
She could make a mean stir fry, but when she made chili, it burned the roof of your fucking mouth off.
She threw away all my cleaning products, insisting there was absolutely no reason to use bleach, ever.
She talked to Peyton and Jamie whenever they called, even if it was three a.m. and they woke both of us up.
There was absolutely no reasoning with her about watching the news, so we improvised in the mornings and watched reruns of house renovation shows. Which, in a way, worked in our favor as she got a lot of ideas about what she wanted to do to the farmhouse.
For any little habit that took some getting used to, there were a dozen that made it not seem like a big deal.
There was nothing perfect about relationships, every couple had things to sort out, growing pains as they adjusted to a life as a duo instead of a single person.
There was no such thing as perfect.
But damn if we weren't as close as two people could get.
I was sitting at the front desk, sorting through some papers when I heard the front door open.
We didn't arm the system during work hours most days since it wasn't exactly a great way to secure new clientele by locking them out.
And you could pretty much count on any one of my siblings—or the Mallicks—randomly dropping by if they were in town.
Especially now that Savea and I were officially a thing.
They checked in on her without getting grumbles from her about them treating her like an 'invalid.
' And they none-too-subtly prodded about us moving in together, everyone wanting to beat Helen at least once.
I didn't immediately look up.
Until I heard an odd click. Not quite high heels, but not sneakers or boots either—which one would expect my brothers or the Mallicks to be wearing.
My head lifted, brows knitted, finding a man in a suit walking toward me.
No.
It was doing it a disservice to call it a suit which brought to mind department stores where average men bought things off the rack that fit well enough.
No.
This was couture. I didn't even know any suit name brands, but I knew this was one of them. And it wasn't off a rack, discounted. It was perfectly tailored to fit the man wearing it like a second skin, like he was born in the smooth gray fabric with a sage green shirt, golden cufflinks.
The man himself was darker skinned, Middle Eastern, but with light green eyes, a short beard that could barely be called more than a shadow, but had the sharpest shape-up anyone had ever seen.
His inky black hair was cut in a short fade but longer on top, long enough that if he leaned forward, strands would probably fall into his eyes.
Harry had grumbled about him hiring beautiful people, only good looking men and women.
There was no logical reason for me to assume it was the man himself walking into my office.
But there was no mistaking it.
This was Eamon Awan.
The possible gutter kid, possible oil money, possible model turned underground casino kingpin.
He said nothing, those startling eyes on me as he approached, reaching into his pocket, drawing something out so small that I couldn't even see it.
I didn't see it until he stopped walking, and flicked it into the air, turning and leaving without even seeing if I caught it or not.
I did, even as the door spoke of his departure.
I opened my hand, finding a golden, black edged chip with an address printed on it.
"That was the slickest shit I've ever seen," Nixon said, shaking his head.
It was hard to impress Nixon, but I had to agree.
Eamon Awan certainly knew how to grab your attention.
So I guess we were invited to the casino.
"I mean, we're not going to go," I told Savea as she eyed the chip in my hand, face oddly blank.
"Um... of course we are going," she shot back, face twisted up like I was insane.
"What?" I asked, not expecting that, figuring the whole idea of it would be a sore spot, given that the man who ran it had hired the men who had hurt her.
"Okay, first of all," she said, absentmindedly stroking Petunia's head. "Think of the never-ending crap I would get from Peyton if I had this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to do something like this and turned it down."
She wasn't wrong about that. Peyton was forever looking for new, crazy, interesting things to do, swearing out that she was going to be the most interesting old lady on the planet, who all the kids sat around while she regaled them with the stories of her youthful debauchery.
"And second of all?" I asked.
"It's an underground casino! I've never been to a casino, but I figure if you are going to go, an exclusive, underground way is the perfect way to pop your cherry, right?"
"It doesn't bother you? I mean, those guys worked for Eamon."
"Yeah, I mean. There's that. But I don't know, this chip almost seems like an apology, doesn't it?
Since neither of us is filthy rich or super important in the world.
We would never usually get a chip. But he gave us one.
Maybe Eamon is a man of few words, but meaningful actions.
And, besides, you would be there with me.
It's not like something bad is going to happen. "
Again, it was some sound logic.
And I won't lie, the drama revolving around Eamon aside, I was curious. I had been curious ever since Harry had mentioned it.
No one I had talked to in Navesink Bank knew anything about a man named Eamon Awan, had ever heard about an underground casino.
Not even Ross Ward who ran the underground fight club.
You'd think those types of people would run in the same circles, rub shoulders, commiserate about the law being a problem, of having to get creative about personal security since you could never just call up the cops if there was a fight that broke out or someone stiffed you.
But Eamon was an island.
In a town full of all sorts of criminal activity where everyone knew everyone else's gig, he was anonymous.
I had enough of an ego to be excited to get an invite, to wonder what it might be like.
"So we're going," Savea concluded. "I'm guessing it is going to be a fancy, little black dress kind of place.
I wish I could wear heels," she added, mostly talking aloud to herself.
"But I think my physical therapist would kill me if I even tried.
I can maybe pick up some fancier ballet flats or something.
I mean, it's not like he can say anything since he's the reason it was broken in the first place.
What?" she asked, looking up at me, brows knitted.