Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amber
The theater is dark, the only light coming from the massive screen where a Night Fury is diving through a sea of clouds, its scales shimmering with bioluminescence. The orchestral music swells, vibrating through the floorboards and into the soles of my boots.
To my left, Maisie is perched on the edge of her seat, completely mesmerized. But she isn’t whispering to me. She’s whispering to Fallon.
I can’t hear every word over the soundtrack, but I catch snippets.
“…look at the teeth, they’re like knives…”
“…no way, that one breathes fire, not ice…”
Fallon, the intimidating mountain of a man covered in tattoos, is leaning down with his elbows on his knees, listening to her with rapt attention. He points at the screen, nodding solemnly at her observations, occasionally popping a piece of popcorn into his mouth.
It’s a strange and wonderful sight—my nine-year-old daughter and a butcher bonded over animated dragons.
I shift in my seat, turning my head slightly to the right.
Eli is already looking at me.
He isn’t watching the movie. He isn’t watching the dragon or the vikings. He’s watching me, the blue light from the screen reflecting in his glasses, softening the lines of his face.
He smiles, a small, private curve of his lips that feels like a secret shared just between the two of us.
“Hey,” he mouths, not making a sound.
I feel a flush rise up my neck. I gesture with my chin toward Maisie and Fallon. “I didn’t want to interrupt guys’ night,” I whisper back.
Eli shakes his head slightly, shifting his arm so that his hand rests on the armrest between us, his pinky finger brushing against my thigh.
“I’m happy to have you here,” he whispers.
My heart does a complicated little flip. I reach into the bucket on my lap and grab a handful of popcorn, stuffing it into my mouth to hide the goofy smile that threatens to break out.
I chew slowly, trying to focus on the movie, but I’m acutely aware of his presence. The heat radiating from his arm. The scent of sugar and soap that seems to follow him everywhere.
Slowly, tentatively, I move my hand on the armrest.
My pinky brushes against his. He doesn’t pull away. Instead, he turns his hand over, palm up, an open invitation.
I slide my hand into his.
His fingers close around mine, squeezing gently. We sit like that for a few minutes, hands clasped in the dark, watching a boy and his dragon learn to trust each other.
It’s such a small, simple thing, holding hands. I’ve done it a thousand times. But with Eli, it feels monumental. It feels like an anchor.
Suddenly, Maisie gasps loudly, pointing at the screen. “Mom! Did you see that? He almost fell!”
I startle, guiltily snatching my hand away from Eli’s as if I’ve been burned. I whip my head around to look at my daughter.
“Yeah, I saw it, bug. That was close,” I say, my voice coming out a little higher than normal.
Maisie looks at me, her red glasses slipping down her nose, then looks at Eli, then down at our laps.
A knowing smirk plays on her lips. She’s nine, not stupid.
She turns back to the movie, but a second later, she leans over and nudges my arm with her elbow. I glance down at her. She doesn’t look away from the screen, but she mouths the word “sorry.”
I bite my lip, my heart swelling. She’s giving me permission. Or maybe she’s just telling me she knows.
I look back at Eli. He’s staring straight ahead at the screen now, his jaw tight, looking a little wounded. I reach out under the cover of the darkness and find his hand again. I intertwine our fingers, squeezing hard.
He turns his head, surprised. When he sees me, his shoulders relax. He squeezes back.
We watch the rest of the movie like that. Maisie and Fallon whispering on one side, me and Eli holding hands on the other.
It’s… nice. It’s domestic in a way I haven’t experienced in years. No fighting. No fear. Just buttered popcorn and good company.
When the credits roll, the lights in the theater slowly brighten, blinding us all for a moment.
“Stretch!” Fallon announces, throwing his arms wide and cracking his back. “Oh, that’s the stuff.”
Maisie stands up on her seat, bouncing on her heels. “That was the best movie ever. The dragon was so cute!”
“He was pretty cool,” Fallon agrees, ruffling her hair. “But the toothless one? That guy has serious attitude. I respect it.”
We shuffle out of the row, making our way up the sloped aisle toward the exit. The lobby is bustling with people leaving the other showings, the air thick with the smell of spilled soda and excited chatter.
Fallon stops by the trash cans, dumping his empty bucket. “Man, I’m starving again. All that popcorn did was wake up my stomach.”
“I could eat,” Eli admits, looking at his watch.
I check the time on my phone. It’s late. Past nine on a Sunday. Maisie has school tomorrow. I should drive her home, put her to bed, and call it a night.
“We should probably get going,” I start, but the words feel heavy on my tongue. I don’t want to go. I don’t want this night to end.
Eli turns to me, his expression hopeful. “Why don’t you guys come back to the restaurant? We have a ton of dough prep left over from the morning. We could make pizzas. Real ones. Wood-fired.”
Fallon’s eyes light up. “Pizzas? I’m down. I can throw some sausage and peppers on there.”
“I… I don’t know,” I hesitate, looking down at Maisie. “It’s getting pretty late.”
Maisie looks up at me, her eyes wide and pleading. “Please, Mom? Pizza? We like pizza.”
I look at Eli. He’s looking at me with those warm brown eyes, so full of light. He’s not pushing, but he wants this. He wants me to stay.
“Please, Mom?” Maisie repeats, tugging on my sleeve. “Eli’s pizzas are probably better than delivery.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Okay. Fine. But only for a little while.”
“Yes!” Maisie pumps her fist in the air.
Fallon grins, slapping Eli on the back. “Good call, brother. Let’s go feed the people.”
“Excellent,” Eli says, his smile widening. “We’ll see you there. I need to run ahead and turn on the ovens.”
He jogs off toward the exit, his coat flapping behind him.
Fallon looks at me and Maisie. “I’ll drive separately. See you ladies there.”
He wanders off, whistling the theme song from the movie.
I take Maisie’s hand, and we walk out into the cold night air. The snow has stopped, leaving the world white and glittering under the streetlights.
“Are you too tired, bug?” I ask as I buckle her into the backseat. “We can go straight home if you want.”
“No way,” she says, pulling Frida the rabbit out of her coat pocket. “I’m not tired. I like your friends, Mommy. Fallon is funny. And Eli is… nice. He smells like a cookie.”
I laugh, starting the car. “He does smell like a cookie, doesn’t he?”
I back out of the parking spot, heading toward the restaurant.
“Mom?”
“Yeah, baby?”
“Is Eli the one who made those lemon tarts? The ones I had for breakfast? The super good ones?”
I glance at her in the rearview mirror. “He is. That’s his job. He’s a baker.”
“No way,” Maisie breathes. “That’s so cool. He’s like… a wizard but with sugar.”
“He’s pretty special,” I agree.
Maisie sits back, hugging the rabbit, a small smile playing on her lips. I look at her. She’s happy. She’s safe. She’s not flinching at loud noises or looking over her shoulder.
I used to dream of days like this. Back in the apartment in Maple Glen, when the yelling was too loud and the fear was too sharp, I would close my eyes and imagine a life like this.
A night out with my daughter. Friends who treated us well. No shadows.
I made this life. I fought for it. So what if it’s a Sunday night and we’re out past bedtime? We’re allowed to have fun. We’re allowed to be happy.
When we pull up to Blade & Butter, the back door is propped open, warm yellow light spilling out into the alley.
Eli is waiting for us.
We step inside, the smell of yeast and wood smoke hitting us instantly.
“Come on in,” Eli says, locking the door behind us. “The dining room is dark, but the kitchen is all set up.”
I walk through the hallway, my heart rate picking up just a little. The last time I was in this kitchen, the lights were off, and Eli and I were… well.
The memory of his hands on me floods my mind. I feel my face heat up.
I glance at Eli. He’s taking off his coat, hanging it on the rack. He looks over at me, and for a second, I swear he’s thinking the exact same thing.
A flush creeps up his neck, and he quickly adjusts his glasses, turning toward the industrial fridge.
“Right,” he says, his voice a little strangled. “Pizzas. Let’s get the dough.”
“I can help!” Maisie volunteers, running over to the large stainless steel island.
“You certainly can,” Fallon says, walking in with his own coat draped over his arm. “But first, wash your hands. Rule number one in the kitchen.”
“Okay!”
The next hour is a blur of flour and laughter. Eli brings out trays of proofed dough balls, showing Maisie how to press them out with her fingertips.
“Don’t use a rolling pin,” he tells her gently. “You want to keep the air bubbles in. That’s what makes it crispy.”
Maisie takes this very seriously, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she presses the dough into a messy circle.
Fallon is at the prep station, slicing peppers and onions with a chef’s knife that looks like a machete in his large hands. “You know,” he says, his back to us, “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop at the theater, but I heard you mentioning HVAC trouble earlier. Everything okay at the shop?”
I sigh, sprinkling cheese over my pizza. “It’s a mess. Our main supplier had a transportation failure last week—a truck broke down on I-5. We had a massive wedding order coming in, so Norah and I decided to buy in bulk from a secondary distributor to be safe.”
“Smart,” Fallon comments.