Chapter 22 Bird Calls
BIRD CALLS
Simone
He kept looking at my mouth.
Granted, I was eating, and he was eating, and the desserts before dinner were decadent and gorgeous and worthy of watching each other consume.
But still.
He wasn’t staring at my plate or my fork or the rest of the sweets behind the counter.
The billionaire’s deep, dark eyes kept fixing on my mouth. And every now and then that expression would just…burn.
If I was being perfectly honest, another part of me was crackling in response.
I didn’t know what to do about that feeling while I finished my cannolo, taking smaller bites than I normally did to avoid leaving another bit of ricotta or chocolate on my lip.
Not because I didn’t like it when he touched me.
Because I liked it too much.
When he kept looking at me like that, I couldn’t think of anything else. And I had things to think about.
Things like Kylie. Selena. Dad. Dandelion Farm.
Things that had nothing to do with the emerald-eyed replica of a Greek god across the table.
“All right,” Brendan said, pushing up from the table as soon as I’d licked the last bit of ricotta from my fork. “My turn.”
I gathered my purse and jacket and stood. “Where to? Dinner, since we’re apparently doing things backward?”
He looked adorably guilty. “Ah, no. Shit. Do you need more food? We can stop for something if you’re hungry. Carmela is a few blocks from here, and I know the owner—I’m sure they can get us a table—”
“Brendan, no,” I interrupted gently with a hand on his arm.
For the first time, I wondered just how many actual dates Brendan Black had ever been on. I would have guessed hundreds or even thousands for a man like him, but he was acting like a nervous teenager.
I also wondered what Brendan Black might look like if he were allowed to relax a little. Would The Black Prince disappear completely?
He stared at the hand on his arm.
Quickly, I withdrew it. “I was joking. I’m good for now if you picked something else. Where are we going?”
“Oh. Right.” A bit of the mask slid back into place.
“You leaving, hon?”
We both turned as Pearl bustled across the shop to bid us farewell. I exchanged another tight hug with her.
“You let me know when the wedding date is because I’m making your cake,” she told me. “I don’t wanna find out about no fancy chef doing that for my girl here.”
Paralyzed, I looked up at Brendan. What was I supposed to say? Every time I thought I had accounted for how many small lies I was going to have to tell, more popped up, and to the people who mattered most.
Pearl. My sister. How many others?
“I’ll have the wedding planner get in touch,” Brendan said kindly, if a bit stiffly.
“Don’t you even consider leaving without a hug too.” Pearl gathered him close before he could escape. “I know what you just did, all sly over there on your phone.”
Brendan’s cheeks flushed, but he didn’t reply.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I just placed an order,” he muttered.
“It’s not just any order.” Pearl turned back to me. “Your man here put in a standing weekly delivery of lemon delights for his entire office. Honey, that just made my rent problems go away. Simone didn’t tell me she was marrying my guardian angel.”
Brendan studiously avoided my gaze. “It’s nothing. And, ah, we should be going.”
“You have fun now,” Pearl called out.
Brendan grabbed my hand and ushered me out onto the street.
“Brendan—” I started, but he silenced me with a look as the Aston pulled up.
“It’s nothing,” he said again as he opened the door, his hand sliding to the small of my back to guide me in.
I chose to leave it at that.
As Brendan’s driver (whose name I learned was Anthony) took us through the city, Brendan’s arm remained stretched across the back seat, draped over my shoulder.
His fingers occasionally toyed with the collar of my coat while he checked his phone.
Nobody could see us outside the vehicle.
Touching me now was not part of the act.
We both knew it. But neither of us said a thing.
We were on an unfamiliar block just east of Franklin Park when the car slowed in front of a darkened brick building. The letters “WBF” were carved into a wooden sign hanging over the door.
I stepped out and looked around. My neighborhood wasn’t actually that far from here—just on the other side of the park. Even so, this wasn’t an area I would walk around in by myself at night. It definitely wasn’t a place I’d expect Brendan Black to visit.
Brendan followed me onto the sidewalk, and his hand found the small of my back again. When I turned to face him, it moved to my hip.
“This is…not dinner,” he said, almost apologetically. “And the neighborhood isn’t great.”
“Is that a bird on the front door?” I examined the etching on the glass. It looked like a robin. Or maybe a sparrow.
“Yep, this is the Wild Bird Fund.” He fished a set of keys out of his jacket pocket.
“It’s an ornithological advocacy center.
They have a hospital where they take care of hurt birds in the city—most of them get hurt flying into windows.
The staff rehabilitates them until they can be released back into the wild.
They also have a learning center for children and a small research facility on the third floor. ”
I gaped as he combed through the keys.
Brendan looked up, as if he could feel my gaze drilling into him. “What?”
“Birds? Really?”
An adorably crooked smile flickered over those otherwise stern features as we walked up the stairs of the front stoop. “I can’t have a hobby too?”
“You—yes, of course you can, but—birds?”
He was usually such an imposing man. So powerful, almost predatorial. Now I had this vision of The Black Prince sitting in the Boston Common wearing one of those utility vests and maybe a bucket hat, holding a pair of binoculars and a birding book.
Brendan Black was a dork. A secret, gorgeous, imposing, but undeniable dork.
I somehow managed not to throw myself at him there and then.
“Wait. How do you have keys?” I asked as he unlocked the door. “Do you own this place too?”
“No, but I did give them a large endowment a while back. They let me come in sometimes and help with the rehab stuff. You’ll see.”
He took my hand and led me inside. At the end of the darkened hall, a bit of light shone through the bottom of a door. A few errant chirps filled the air.
The door opened, and a slight man with a newsboy cap appeared. “Brendan! There you are.”
Brendan led me down the hall. Up close, I could see the man who’d greeted us was much older than I’d first thought, probably nearing eighty.
A pair of tiny glasses hung off the tip of his nose, and the brown corduroy slacks, wrinkled, white button-down, and brown knit sweater vest reminded me distinctly of the grandpa I’d met once before he’d passed when I was little.
“Hello, Pyotr,” Brendan said as he shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for waiting around for us tonight.”
“Never a problem.” Pyotr’s words were tinged with a mild accent that sounded Eastern European. Maybe Russian? It was too slight to tell. “Come in, come in. And who do we have here?”
“Pyotr, this is Simone. My fiancée.”
I blushed, wondering if I’d ever get used to Brendan introducing me like that.
“Ah! You are getting married? Congratulations, my friend.” Pyotr shook Brendan’s hand again, then pressed kisses to each of my cheeks. “Welcome to the Wild Bird Fund, my dear.”
“Thank you,” I said as Brendan tugged me back into his side.
“I brought Simone here to meet the birds. We’re doing a tour of our favorite places.”
“What?” Pyotr threw a hand across his heart, feigning shock. “You didn’t bring her here to meet me?”
“And you, old man. You’re the life of this place.”
“Ah, well, we couldn’t do it without you, my boy, you know this. The birds thank you as well.”
I stole a glance up at Brendan. Just how many underfunded spots in the city was he supporting? Given how quickly he’d sent business to Pearl, it seemed like he offered patronages like he was dropping pennies into a fountain.
“It’s just money.” He looked uncomfortable.
I wondered if it was the discussion of money that did it, or if it was because I’d discovered that The Black Prince might be a genuinely kind human being.
A large window from the hall gave us a view of several rooms dedicated to the sanctuary.
One was lined with cages of every size filled with a variety of birds.
I spotted a hawk, two owls, a jay, a robin.
Three pigeons were perched on branches propped up in the front windows.
In another room, several smaller, non-predatory birds flew freely (or were trying to) from faux trees, though most were sleeping quietly on the branches at this time of night.
“I am working with Orion today,” Pyotr said as he led us under the false canopy and into the room with the cages. “Would you like to see him?”
“Who’s Orion?” I wondered.
“A snowy owl that got lost,” Brendan informed me.
“All the way down here?”
“We think he was blown into the city by the last storm,” Pyotr told us.
This room was brightly lit and smelled like a veterinary clinic—a blend of birdseed, wood chips, antiseptic, and animals. My eyes widened when I spotted the owl in a large cage in the corner.
“Hey there,” I whispered as I came to stand in front of him. “Aren’t you beautiful?”
“Someone found him on the ground in the middle of the day in Franklin Park,” Pyotr said. “We think he may have gotten ahold of a rat that had been poisoned. Luckily, we were able to flush out the toxins in time, and he seems to be recovering well.”
“He looks a lot better than he did last week,” Brendan remarked. “How long before you can release him?”
The birds were fascinating, but I found myself wanting to watch Brendan instead.
His entire demeanor had changed when we walked in here.
His eyes had lost that steely edge he used with most people, and he was openly interested, but not guarded.
The closest thing to relaxed Brendan Black could probably manage.
“We’ll keep him at least a week, until we’re sure he’s regained his strength,” Pyotr replied. “Then Vera will take him north for release.”
“I bet he’s ready to go home,” I said.
Brendan pressed an absent kiss on the top of my head. “Aren’t we all?”
Before I could wonder what he meant by that, Pyotr continued the tour.
“Over here is our resident dove.” He led us to an open cage standing in the opposite corner and pointed at a white bird, his iridescent neck sparkling with each bobbing movement of his head.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
“Fitzgerald,” Brendan supplied.
“Why does he live here?”
“His wing is permanently damaged, and he can’t fly more than a few feet. He wouldn’t last a week in the wild, so he is Pyotr’s now. Watch.”
Fitzgerald hopped to the edge of the cage, and Pyotr put a finger out. The dove hopped onto it, and Pyotr lifted it to his shoulder, which the bird happily jumped onto. I couldn’t help but smile when the bird snuggled its beak against Pyotr’s cheek.
“What can I say? He loves me,” Pyotr said with a shrug.
“Couldn’t be the birdseed in your pocket,” Brendan said dryly.
With a chuckle, Pyotr took out said seed and offered it to the pigeon. “You keep treats for those you love, they will come back to you every time.”
Brendan glanced down at me. “What kind of treats do you need, angel? Birdseed? Diamonds?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’d like to think you don’t have to bribe me to love you, sir.”
We were joking, of course. Playing a part. But was the doubt that washed through Brendan’s expression part of the act too?
“You can pet him if you want,” Pyotr offered, holding out the hand where the bird was still perched.
I set a careful finger to the dove’s head. It was soft and silky and smooth, just as I imagined it would be. “Very nice. Aren’t you a good boy? The most handsome boy ever.”
“Easy there. You’ll give him a big head.”
Brendan was watching me with an expression that looked like stars breaking through a bank of clouds.
“You aren’t actually jealous of a bird, are you?”
“Maybe I just want my fiancée’s affection too.” That smirk reappeared.
He was joking again, obviously. But I loved it, which was probably why I allowed myself to enjoy being tugged back and against his body.
“Good boy,” I cooed. “Aren’t you the best boy ever? The handsomest, most perfect boy in the world.” I petted his shoulder, then reached up to stroke his hair around his ear, in a spot that was somehow as soft as the bird’s feathery down.
Brendan offered me a sharkish grin, then pretended to bite my finger as I took my hand back. “You’re joking, but you can’t possibly know how gorgeous you look praising my birds. And then me.”
With a knowing grin, Pyotr put Fitzgerald back in his cage and made himself busy feeding another bird.
I chuckled. “Does someone have a little bit of a praise kink, Mr. Black?”
The hand at my waist tightened as he leaned down. His breath, heated and sweet, tickled my ear as his lips brushed my cheek. “I’m starting to think everything about you is my kink, angel.”
It’s just an act, I told myself. Just an act.
Just an act. He’s not looking at you like he wants to devour you because it’s real.
It’s because you have an audience in this room.
Don’t give in. Don’t lean in to kiss him.
Stop brushing your nose to his that way.
Don’t even think about popping up onto your toes and—
“Brendan!” called Pyotr from the other side of the room. “We have a new hawk. Just arrived yesterday. Did you want to see her?”
Brendan stepped away, the tip of his nose reddened, his breathing somewhat labored. He managed to tear his gaze from mine and straightened as he nodded toward Pyotr. “Absolutely.”
Together, Fitzgerald and I watched Brendan interact with other birds. He cautiously fed a few others, generally demonstrating a caring, careful side that I had a feeling only the people in this room had ever seen. Certainly, the press hadn’t. Nor the members of his immediate family.
It made him that much more attractive.
And, I realized, that much more off-limits, if it was something he kept so secret.
I turned to the dove, who tipped his head to the side, as if to say, “What’s going on?”
I sighed. “You might have a broken wing, buddy, but at least you know who loves you.”