Chapter Twenty
Twenty
Once Lloyd was properly subdued and exiled back to his corner, Diego hurried back to his office, citing his editor’s impatience—as well as his own deep satisfaction.
If there were any consequences, he assured them it was all worth it, if only because he finally got to shove Theo’s asshole uncle around.
Truly a lifelong dream of his, apparently.
Maybe Audrey understood why Theo loved Diego like a brother now.
Maybe she kind of did too.
After they spent about an hour talking with Eleanor, they left.
And they ran.
It was Theo who took off first, fast but limping slightly while he tugged Audrey along behind him. They flew down the street, dodging trash cans and skirting along sidewalks, and it was all she could do to keep up with him.
They rounded a corner and Theo pulled her to the side of a building, leaning up against the nearest brick wall and ripping his mask off.
His breath curled white in the cold air, and just as Audrey stumbled after him, the early winter chill burning her lungs when she freely gulped it down, he grabbed her and spun her around.
And laughed.
It wasn’t that anything was funny, exactly, only that his relief—his utter relief at having just done what he did—was palpable.
His laughs turned into gasping groans, and he buried a hand in her hair, clutching her to his chest while he rocked her back and forth.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Thank you for being there with me.”
“Always,” she whispered back. “I’ll always be there for you.”
Finally, he calmed and he put her back down with a crooked smile. “Wanna go home?”
Audrey matched his smile with one of her own. “God, yes.”
They still had almost three more full days to spend together.
She couldn’t wait anymore.
The first thing Theo did when they got back to his house was put his phone on Do Not Disturb. And once they changed clothes, he got started in the kitchen, and they made—and did—all the things he’d promised her yesterday.
Watching him expertly work dough with his hands was a new fascination for Audrey. The practiced dexterity in his fingers, the way his brow furrowed in determined concentration, the expertise he’d gained with persistence, all of it was beautiful.
But while the focaccia baked in the oven, Theo had his own feast.
He didn’t have to ask. He didn’t have to say one word.
He simply turned around after setting the timer and she knew what was coming purely based on the dark, heated look in his eyes.
His enormous hands gripped her waist and lifted her up onto his countertop as if she weighed nothing at all before tugging off her joggers and sliding her underwear down.
The cool quartz at her back gave her goose bumps when he laid her down and ran his hand reverently along her body, and her mouth suddenly went bone-dry as soon as he spread her legs and lowered his face between them.
He made her come three times on his tongue before the timer went off.
He also showed her how to make gnocchi, and together they shaped the little pasta dumplings, munching happily on fresh, hot focaccia dipped in herb-infused oil before Theo took her up to the third-floor master suite.
He opened a door she’d assumed was a closet, but it turned out to be stairs leading up to the rooftop, where he had a garden full of herbs and fresh basil.
And a hot tub.
Her mouth fell open at the sight of the city skyline in the distance, visible from where the covered tub sat waiting. She turned to look at him, and he waggled his eyebrows at her. “I told you to bring your bathing suit, didn’t I? Now you know why. Though we could always just go buck nak—”
“You’ve been holding out on me this whole time!” she cried, punching him lightly in the shoulder. He staggered backward in mock pain and surprise, clutching his arm dramatically.
“Ow!”
She shoved him again.
“Why didn’t you show me this any of the other times I was here?!”
“The weather was shitty! And I was saving it for this weekend!” When she lifted a hand for the third time, he caught it easily and grinned wickedly at her.
“It was my present to myself for being able to handle stairs again. Figured I needed something that felt nice after all the PT I’ve had to do.
I may not have a tub in the master bath, but I do have this.
” He lowered his voice and whispered in her ear.
“After we eat, we’ll get in. I promise.”
It was Audrey’s first time making homemade pasta, and dinner was everything she could have wanted: fresh basil and tomatoes and mozzarella, pesto and cheese, soft pillowy gnocchi, perfectly crisped focaccia, flaky sea salt and balsamic glaze, just as he’d promised.
It more than made up for the wait. But Theo had also promised her one more thing, and he turned around and pulled an unmarked tub of something out of the freezer before grabbing two spoons from the drawer.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured.
She did as she was told.
“Open your mouth.”
Ice cream, cold and velvety smooth slid onto her tongue.
It was thick and luscious, luxurious in its mouthfeel, and tiny bursts of flavor, floral and caramel, fruity and sweet, alternated with odd ripples of spice and sunshine and richness across her tastebuds, shooting through her mouth and making it ache slightly at the sensation.
“Now that, sweetheart, is real vanilla ice cream.”
She opened her eyes to find Theo watching her eagerly. He was practically bouncing on his heels with anticipation.
“What do you think? None of that artificial aftertaste, huh? Not like the industrial shit.”
Audrey pressed her lips together and drew in a deep, contemplative breath. “I don’t know. I think I need another bite. Just to clarify my thoughts.” She opened her mouth and when he obliged, she tasted it again, savoring it deeply even while she bit her cheek to stop a grin from giving her away.
“It’s wonderful, Theo,” she said, still trying her best not to smile. His face lit up in victory. “But I still think it needs some chocolate syrup.”
The victory was short-lived.
“Chocolate syrup.”
His face had fallen, his expression stony and incredulous now.
“Yeah. Hershey’s would be great.”
Theo’s expression darkened further, and he closed his eyes and drew in a long breath, as though in deep, unrelenting pain. He stabbed his spoon into the ice cream container and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Hershey’s.”
“Mm-hmm.” Audrey beamed at him. “Would make it just that much—”
“The crap that has thirty ingredients in it.”
“Precisely.” She nodded. “Goes perfect with vanilla. Covers it all up nicely.”
“You only need five ingredients to make chocolate syrup.”
“But I like the—”
“The garbage kind?”
She nodded again, more enthusiastically this time, her grin definitely getting the better of her now.
Theo stared at her. After a moment, he rolled his jaw and shook his head. “You’re a horrible person. You don’t deserve my homemade ice cream. I’m going to need you to give it back.”
“You—what?”
Without warning, he lunged forward and grabbed her head with both hands, pressing his mouth to hers and forcing his tongue inside, swiping it around and licking with wild abandon.
Audrey let out a muffled shriek and tried to struggle away. “Ew, no, Theo!” she screeched when she finally pushed him off of her, but he only chased her mouth with his again. “Theo! Stop, that’s gross!”
“I don’t care! Give it back!”
“NO!”
“That took me two days to make! You don’t deserve it! GIVE IT BACK TO ME!”
She tried to run, but he caught her easily and swept her up into his arms, squeezing her tight and tickling her on all her most intense spots while she squeaked and struggled.
“I’m sorry, it’s delicious, I didn’t mean it!” she cried through bouts of laughter. “I lied, it’s the best thing I ever tasted!”
“You’re awful!” He picked her up, still kicking, and pressed his nose against her neck, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder while he feverishly peppered her skin with kisses, punctuating his sentiments with tiny, aggressive nips of his teeth, biting just hard enough to leave marks behind.
“But I’m going to make you appreciate it! ”
In the end, he won.
He also finally showed her how he worked.
Turned out that bending neon glass took an enormous amount of skill and dexterity, and Theo was absolutely incredible with his hands, even with his lingering tremor.
And he was equally incredible with his mouth.
When he first described the process, he’d left out the fact that he had to blow into the glass tube at the same time as bending it over an open flame, puffing air through a rubber straw–like contraption into the glass to keep it hollow while he bent the exact angles corresponding with the pattern he’d made.
The work required deep concentration, extreme precision, and a fair amount of speed.
And if he ever made a critical error, he’d have to scrap the entire glass piece and start over.
“I make more mistakes now than I did before the accident,” Theo explained.
She was perched on one of his worktables, watching him with fascination.
The process was slow but mesmerizing. “My hand shakes or spasms at odd moments, and it fucks up the curves I’m working on half the time.
So it takes me a lot longer to complete things now.
I don’t know how that’s going to play into my art—or my business—and I’ll be lucky to get any piece finished at this rate. ”