8. Tempest
CHAPTER EIGHT
tempest
Lilah's bedroom door opens and she walks into the kitchen in an oversized T-shirt, her bare feet quiet against the floor. Her hair's a mess, still heavy with sleep, and she heads straight for the coffee maker without noticing me.
Fuck.
I've seen her dressed for work, in jeans, leggings, pajamas, but this might be my favorite.
Hair everywhere, bare legs, half asleep and completely unaware I'm watching her.
She reaches into the cupboard for a mug and the shirt rides a little higher.
I drag my eyes back to my coffee. Yeah. Definitely my favorite.
I can't help watching her. The dark circles under her eyes have faded, and her shoulders aren't pulled so tight. She actually slept. Relief hits me harder than it should.
She looks up then, catches me watching, and smiles. "Morning," she says, her voice soft and filled with sleep.
"Morning."
She pours herself a coffee before turning to face me properly. "You stayed."
"Told you I would."
Her shoulders lift slightly. "I wasn't sure if you'd sneak out before I woke up."
I raise an eyebrow. "I don't sneak."
She huffs out a quiet laugh. "No. I suppose you don't." She walks over and sits opposite me, wrapping both hands around her mug. "Did you sleep?"
"Yeah."
Her eyes narrow slightly. "You're lying."
The corners of my lips tilt. "A little bit."
She sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes. "At least you're honest."
"Mostly."
She studies me over the rim of her mug. "You know..." Her tone is different than before.
I narrow my eyes, unsure of where she’s going with this. "What?"
"I thought bikers were supposed to be intimidating."
I raise a brow, the hell? "We are."
She nods toward the coffee pot. "You had fresh coffee waiting."
I look over at it and shrug. "Figured you'd want some."
She points her finger at me. "Exactly my point."
"What's your point?"
Yet another eye roll. "You're ruining the stereotype."
"You'll live."
She watches me for another second.
I scowl at her. "What?"
"You smile more than you think."
My brows knit together. I don’t smile. "I do?"
She nods. "Mmm."
I level my gaze on her. "I don't."
"You just did."
I huff out a breath. "I was humoring you."
"No." She shakes her head. "That was definitely a smile."
"It wasn't."
"It was."
I hold her gaze. "You keeping score now?"
A grin spreads across her face. "Maybe."
I shake my head. "You're trouble."
Her eyebrows lift. "I thought I was the frightened neighbor."
"You can be both."
She laughs; the sound catches me off guard. "What?" she asks.
I realize I've been looking at her a second too long. "Nothing."
"You're smiling again," she says, grinning.
I stare at her, blinking. "No, I'm not."
"You are."
I shake my head. "You really are trouble."
Her grin only widens, and fuck me, I like that grin. I like the way her whole face changes when she smiles, the way her eyes brighten and her nose scrunches slightly when she’s trying not to laugh. I like that I’m seeing more of it lately, and I really fucking like when I’m the reason for it.
My gaze drops to her mouth. That’s becoming a problem too.
I’ve thought about kissing her more than once, wondered if she’d taste as good as I think she would, if she’d make that little breathy sound she makes when she laughs against my mouth.
I drag my eyes back to hers. She’s still looking at me, she’s still smiling, and for a second, I seriously consider finding out.
My phone starts vibrating on the coffee table, and she glances at the screen before I pick it up. "Ghost?"
I nod. "I'll be right back." I step into the hallway and answer. "Morning, Prez."
"Fingerprints came back, there’s nothing on the envelope. Either he wore gloves or the lab pulled nothing viable."
"Expected," I sigh.
"Rogue's still pulling. He's got a partial match on the Matthew Cole identity. Tax ID tracks back to a shell address in Hartford, but he's working on the connection." I hear Ghost exhale deeply. "Camera outside Petals picked up the SUV again at two in the morning."
“The fuck?” I snarl. Two fucking AM?
"He's not just watching during the day." Ghost's voice is filled with anger. "He's mapping the whole picture. Building a schedule."
I look at the apartment door. "She doesn't know about the night sighting."
"Up to you whether you tell her. But I’d advise to keep her busy today, Tempest. She sits in that apartment thinking all day she'll drive herself sideways."
"Busy doing what?" I ask, wondering what the hell am I to do with her.
"I don't know. Take her somewhere, get groceries, go for a walk, a date; I don’t give a fuck, but get her out of the building for a few hours."
I look at the door. "Yeah," I say. "Alright, I’ll come up with something." I end the call and slip my phone into my pocket.
Lilah's rinsing out our mugs when I walk back into the apartment. She glances over her shoulder. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah."
She studies me for a second, like she's deciding whether she believes me, then turns the faucet off.
I lean against the kitchen counter. "Get dressed."
She frowns. "Why?"
"We're going out."
She argues, which I expected. "I don't need to go out."
"Fresh air helps."
She glares at me. "I get fresh air at work."
I give her a pointed look. "You're not at work today."
She looks at me from across the coffee table. "You're going to stand there until I agree, aren't you?"
"Yes."
She sighs and disappears into the bedroom. I wait by the door. A couple of minutes later, she comes back wearing jeans and another long-sleeved shirt, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, and her bag already over one shoulder.
She looks at me. "Happy?"
I grin. "Ecstatic."
"Where are we going?"
I move toward the door, glancing back at her. "You'll see."
She folds her arms. "I hate surprises."
I had a feeling she did. After all the shit she’s been through, surprises would be the last thing she’d want, but that fucker isn’t going to rule her life any longer. So as much as it annoys her, I’m getting her out of her comfort zone. "I know."
"That's why you're doing this, isn't it?"
I grin. "A little bit."
The street's quiet when we step outside.
Lilah falls into step beside me, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her jacket against the morning chill.
We walk a block before I notice she's doing it again, keeping close to the buildings and leaving a wide berth to the road, to me, but she doesn't seem aware of it.
I drift to the outside of the sidewalk without saying anything; she glances at me, then at the extra space between us.
"What?" she asks.
"Nothing."
She gives me a look that says she doesn't believe that for a second, but I don't explain. After another few steps, she eases away from the wall on her own. We cross the next intersection, and she looks around.
"You still haven't told me where we're going."
My lips twitch. "No, I haven’t."
"That's why you're doing this, isn't it?"
I meet her eyes. "I'm doing it because staying inside isn't helping."
She looks at me for another second, like she's trying to decide whether to argue. Instead, she lets out a quiet sigh. "I still don't like surprises."
"I know."
"But you're not going to tell me."
I shake my head. "No."
She mutters something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like stubborn man. "I heard that."
"I know you did."
I open the diner door and step aside. "Ladies first."
She stops. Her eyes move from me to the sign above the door. "You brought me for breakfast?"
"Problem?" I ask.
"I've spent the last ten minutes trying to work out what you were up to."
"Well, you can stop."
She narrows her eyes. "You're enjoying this." I don't answer her and she smiles. "You are."
I continue to hold the door open. "You coming in?"
When we step back onto the sidewalk, she looks both ways before falling into step beside me.
"So..." she says, glancing at me.
"So?" I repeat.
"Now are you going to tell me where we're going?"
I nod toward the next block. "Now we're grocery shopping."
She groans. "I knew there was a catch."
I grin and continue walking.
"I should check in at Petals," she says as we turn onto Whitmore.
I glance at the florist. "Cara and Louise have it," I say. "You're taking two days."
"I know. I just..." She looks at the window. "I want to check on them."
I don't argue about it, I just follow her to the door.
A woman in her late fifties appears from the back when the bell over the door rings. She stops when she sees Lilah, and the look on her face before she gets it under control tells me everything.
This has to be Cara.
"Lilah," she says, then opens her arms and Lilah walks straight into the hug. Cara holds on for a second, then steps back before Lilah has a chance to pull away. Smart woman. Her eyes find me. "You must be Tempest."
I nod. "Yes, ma'am."
She takes her time looking me over, and I let her. If someone I'd cared about disappeared for two days and came back with a biker, I'd probably be doing the same thing.
"Thank you," she says, voice soft.
It catches me off guard. "For what?"
"For looking after her."
"Anybody would've,” I say instantly without missing a beat.
"No." She smiles, but there's nothing amused about it. "They wouldn't."
"Can we not talk about me like I'm not standing here?" Lilah says with a frustrated sigh.
Cara smiles. "See? She's feeling better already."
Lilah groans. "Cara."
The older lady blinks innocently. "What?"
"Behave."
Cara shrugs. "I'm behaving." She smiles. "Coffee?"
"Only if it's no trouble."
"It's already brewing."
She heads into the back. Before Lilah can follow, another woman appears from the workroom, drying her hands on her apron. She looks at Lilah and then at me; one eyebrow slowly disappears into her fringe. "Well," she says. "This is new, you brought muscle," she says.
"He's my neighbor," Lilah says.
Louise makes a sound that manages to communicate complete skepticism without a single word. She looks at me. "You're alright."
I raise a brow. "That's what you're taking from this?"
She shrugs. "Cara hasn't thrown you out yet."