18. Chapter 18
AHREN
I fucked up. I almost kissed her. Our lips had been close enough to share our breaths. My fingers tangled in her hair. When the door slammed and Connor’s voice drifted up the stairs.
“Ahren!”
“Tierney!”
She stepped back out of my hold and quickly made her way down the stairs without a backward glance.
My eyes locked with Connor over Tierney’s shoulder, and she nodded, her silent message clear: I’ve got her.
“If it’s ok with you, I’m going to get dinner started.” I called out.
Tierney nodded, mumbling her assent.
“As much fun as it is babysitting the two of you, I can’t stay.” Connor quipped. “I’ll be back day after tomorrow to check on her wounds. ”
“Thank you.” I said, my voice void of the usual snarky banter that was the hallmark of our relationship.
She nodded, a small smile curving her lips.
I left them to say their goodbyes and headed to the kitchen. If her racing down the stairs with broken ribs, hurting herself to put some distance between us, was any indication, dinner was going to be awkward.
After patting the chicken dry, I drizzled a bit of olive oil over the skin, liberally seasoning with salt and pepper and made quick work of chopping a small onion and a lemon to go into the cavity.
Tierney entered the kitchen as I was snipping the long sprig of rosemary into more manageable sizes and stuffing them inside the bird.
She watched intently as I pushed the pan into the oven and set the timer, but she didn’t speak.
“You want to make the potatoes?” I asked, flipping the knife in my hand, pinching the blade between my fingers and offering her the handle.
Her eyes danced along the blade. I wasn’t sure if she was considering the offer or appreciating the sleek lines of the chef’s knife I held.
Whatever the reason for her hesitation, she shook her head, her tightly pursed lips, a dam holding back her reply.
“Ok.” I shrugged.
I pulled three potatoes from the bag and rinsed them under the cold water before slicing them into thin discs.
From the corner of my eye, I watched her watch me as I whisked together the sauce and layered it with the potatoes in the pan before adding it to the oven alongside the chicken.
“It’ll be nearly an hour and a half until that’s ready. Can I make you a drink?” I offered, pointing in the direction of the wet bar .
“Not sure alcohol is the smartest choice with every hitter in the region out to kill us. Maybe some tea?” she said, cocking her brow, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.
“Tea.”
“Mmm. I would normally have a glass of wine at the end of the day.” She shrugged.
“I might have just the thing.” I said, holding my finger up.
Reaching in the cabinet, I pulled out the silver bag from my favorite local tea shop. My hands worked on auto-pilot, measuring the loose tea into the infuser and setting the kettle to boil, just as they had done countless times before.
I pulled two mugs from the cabinet, frowning internally at the thin layer of dust covering the second. A quiet testament that I didn’t often have people over for a meal.
Now that I thought about it, it had been nearly a year since I’d had anyone over. Connor came to stitch up a nasty knife wound, and I asked her to stay for breakfast.
Ok. Maybe ask was too strong a word. She poured herself a cup of coffee and dropped at my breakfast table, mumbling something about not being able to drive before she had caffeine.
The hot water made quick work of the dusty mug. Tierney looked on with mild amusement as I set them both in front of her, placing two spoons and a small pot of honey beside them.
“Fancy.” she quipped.
I scoffed, “not hardly. Honey is the only acceptable sweetener for tea.”
“Sugar is fine. Uppity basta—”
I gave my head a hard shake, trying to rid my mind of her ridiculous words. “Not happening and that is a hill I will die on. ”
Her hands flew up in mock surrender, the small half-smile playing at the corner of her lips whispered that maybe I hadn’t fucked up quite as badly as I thought.
“So, what is this exactly? It smells like Christmas morning.” She said, peering at the cranberry colored liquid in the kettle.
“Tea.”
“No shit.”
I laughed, filling both cups and adding a drizzle of honey as I explained. “It’s spiced tea, kind of like chai, only it has a fruity sweetness, from plums, I think. Figured it might be a fair substitute for your evening glass of wine.”
Leaning in, she breathed in the spicy aroma, her eyes sliding shut as her palms closed around the mug. Her rigid posture relaxed the moment her lips touched the rim.
The lads sauntered into the kitchen, no doubt looking for their dinner, yet instead of coming to me, they both curled up at her feet, Zeus resting his massive head on her shoe.
I barked out a laugh. “Ok. You gotta tell me what that’s about.”
“What?” she asked.
Her face, the picture of wide-eyed innocence, would have probably convinced me under different circumstances. But I had owned these dogs for ten years and they had never reacted to anyone the way they did her.
“Spill.”
“I swear, I don’t know what you mean.”
My eyes flicked downward. “Man’s best friend indeed.”
She chuckled softly as she sipped on her tea, but didn’t offer anything further .
“There is something I wanted to talk to you about,” she started, her face set in hard lines as her gaze met mine. Not a trace of the wide-eyed girl from a moment ago remained.
“Shoot.”
A soft laugh escaped her. “Funny you should say that. I had Connor buy me some new pants and the materials to sew sheaths into them so I can carry my knives.”
“Why not use a tailor?” I asked, but I had a feeling I already knew the answer. Control.
“I tried that one time. Guy asked way too many questions. Ended up having to gut him and learned to do it myself.” She shrugged.
I nodded, along with her explanation. I had that issue in the beginning too. It was hard to find people who could do quality work and keep their mouths shut. It was a rare combo.
“Anyway.” she said, shaking her head to clear away the errant thoughts. “I appreciate the Walther. It’s beautiful. Hell, it fits my hand like it was made for me.”
“But you miss your own weapons.” I finished for her.
She nodded, offering me another small smile I greedily devoured.
“If we are going to take on the world, Rossdale—”
“Ahren.” I interrupted. “Please—Call me Ahren.”
Her eyes searched mine for a moment, her lip catching between her teeth, before she nodded and continued. “Ahren—I need my scout.”
A deep breath and I could see her steeling her spine, readying her armor for my attack—one that wouldn’t be coming. If anyone understood, it was me.
We were preparing for battle. Every warrior had one item they held for luck or superstition. Something that made them feel invincible. For her, it was her scout rifle.
For me, it was my Walther.