Chapter 8 #3
She gives me a brave smile. “I wish I’d had more time with her. But I remember her all the time. Every bird I draw, it’s for her. She loved birds. She used to put seed on all the windowsills. Sugar water for the hummingbirds . . .”
She trails off and I can see she’s getting lost in the memories. I let her mind wander for a minute before I squeeze her fingers.
“If you can work some birds into my sleeves, I’d be honored.”
Those deep brown eyes focus on me, twinkling and barely shadowed. “Really? I’d love that. Like peace doves for the men you lost? And maybe an osprey? That’s a water hawk, right? Would that be okay?”
“Perfect.” That she’s tailored the birds to me is touching. “Have you ever seen an osprey?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Any fear of the water, girl?”
“No, sir, but I’ve never learned to swim.”
“No?” That I can rectify. “There’re osprey in Long Island sound. Maybe on a sunny day, we could rent a boat and see if we could find them?”
“I’d love that—” She breaks off when her phone goes off, buzzing loudly in the pocket of the sweatshirt she’s wearing. “May I, sir?”
“Yes, girl. Thank you for asking.” For someone who was reticent about full-time submission, she’s sliding into it naturally. Just as I hoped she would.
Evidently, she doesn’t recognize the caller, because she frowns at the number before answering. “Brenna Truelove.”
Her frown deepens as she listens to the caller. Her eyes dart up to my face, and then down to her unfinished breakfast. “Yes, I’ll be right there. Fifteen minutes. Yes, yes, I understand. I’ll get it taken care of right away. Yes, I would. Thank you.”
She shoves the phone back into her pocket and starts fumbling with her breakfast dishes. “I’m sorry, I have to go.”
“Work or a friend?”
“Work. The front of the shop’s been vandalized. The sign’s trailing live wires. That was the police.”
I nod. “Slow down and take a breath, bold girl. What do you need? How can I help?”
She stares at me for a long moment, her mouth working but no words emerging.
“Try it, sweetheart,” I say gently. “Rely on me.”
“Um, I guess I need an electrician, sir. I’m not really sure.”
“Pretty sure we both know a man who can help with that. You want to give Logan a call while I settle the check?”
Her mouth twists but she reaches for her phone.
“What’s wrong, Bren?”
“I feel like I dump all my problems at his door.”
I nod as I consider this. “Logan’s a Dom, same as I am. We live for this shit. Give us a chance to be useful.”
She smiles ruefully but thumbs her phone on.
While she makes the call, I finish my coffee and deal with the bill.
When she hangs up, I’m ready with her trench coat.
I have to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from grinning at her surprise as I drape the coat over her shoulders.
I haven’t been opening doors or holding chairs for her, but I will from now on just to see that priceless expression chase across her face.
I know the way to her shop, but I let her lead me through the busy morning streets for the pleasure of walking with my hand in the small of her back.
The fall day’s cool and I relish the bite of the breeze.
Florida air never had this crispness. I always felt I was suffocating there, although that probably had more to do with my marriage than the air quality.
Bren walks with a sure, solid stride. She’s said she kickboxes and I can see it in the way she moves through the crowd.
She doesn’t have a big man’s presence; people don’t get out of her way.
But she cuts through the clots and knots of people all the same.
While her pretty face draws a few eyes, her blue dreadlocks barely get a second glance.
There are wilder hair colors on every street corner.
I remember Amy’s fury when Naomi streaked her hair purple her senior year of high school, and the disapproving frowns her hair drew in our small town.
Maybe if we’d raised her in a big city like this one, she’d have grown up into as strong and secure an adult as Brenna.
I shake that thought away. It’s too late to play the game of what if. And Brenna has her own demons.
When we reach her shop, I see not all of those demons are internal.
The shop’s front is covered by a metal shutter, which has been tagged with obscenities.
The word “cunt” is repeated over and over, which makes it clear, at least to me, that this is personal.
The more immediate concern is that the shop’s overhead sign has been destroyed.
From the rubble on the pavement, it looks like it’s been bricked.
The neon lettering and the illuminated panel of tattoo designs behind the letters are smashed, and there are several wires trailing down to head-height.
Although none of the wires are sparking, presumably they’re live.
“Bren, can you turn the sign off? That might deal with the immediate problem,” I suggest.
She blinks tears from her eyes and nods. As she unlocks the shutter and pushes it up into its casing, a long, black limo pulls up to the curb. My former gunny and Logan’s business partner, Manny, climbs out of the front, followed by a stocky, Hispanic man in dark gray coveralls.
I greet Manny with a thump on the back. He immediately introduces the other man to Bren. “This is my wife’s cousin, Enzo. He’s an electrician.”
Bren shakes the man’s thick hand. “Thanks for coming so fast.”
“Any time for Jen and Manny’s friend,” Enzo says. He pulls out a folded piece of bright yellow paper and hands it to Brenna. “My flyer, so you can call me direct if you need me.”
“Thank you.” She tucks the paper away and slips inside the shop. The interior lights go on and a faint buzzing, which I could barely hear over the street noise, stops.
“Better get both ladders,” Enzo says to Manny, who turns back toward the limo, which is double-parked. Manny nods and moves to the limo’s back door while Enzo moves around to the trunk and begins unpacking several toolboxes.
I follow Manny to the passenger door and look inside to see folded aluminum taking up most of the back of the limo.
Between us, we get out the ladder pieces and carry them over to the store-front, where Enzo quickly assembles them into two, twenty-foot ladders.
He positions one at each end of the sign, and before I can even ask him if he wants me to hold it for him, he scrambles up the ladder with much more dexterity than I imagined his thick-set body contained.
“Hey,” calls a familiar voice. “Whose tank is blocking the street?”
I turn to see Logan helping Emily out of an Uber that’s pulled up behind Manny’s limo. Manny greets them and after returning Logan’s jibes, drives off to find a place to park the limo. I steer Emily inside, pleased she’s here to support Bren.
Logan follows us in and after hugs all around, he says to Bren, “If you haven’t yet, your next call needs to be to your insurance company. If you don’t get the claim reported, they may not cover the emergency repairs.”
Bren nods. “I just didn’t want to leave the electrician out there on his own.”
“Mac and I will stay out front with him.” Logan puts his arm around Emily’s shoulders. “Baby doll, would you make coffee and tea for everyone? I think we’d all appreciate a hot drink.”
“Yes, Daddy.” As soon as Logan releases her, Emily trots off, through a curtain that separates the reception area and workstations from whatever’s in the back of the shop.
After an odd, side-long glance at me, Brenna follows, letting the curtain fall closed behind her.
“What was that look, d’you think?” I ask Logan quietly.
“I think she might have wanted a hug.”
“Good call. Hold the fort,” I tell him.
“Roger that.”
Through the curtain, there’s a short hallway with several doors opening off it.
One on the left, which is open but dark, is a bathroom.
Two on the right are open and lit. I hear the clatter of a spoon from one, silence from the other.
I choose the silent door and walk through to find Brenna standing behind a desk in a cramped office, rifling through the desk’s top drawer.
“Did I just miss a trick, girl?”
Her hands pause. She doesn’t look up, but after a moment, her shoulders lift. “Tuxedo.”
“Ah, sweetheart.” I round the desk and take her in my arms. She stands rigid against me before she cuddles in, fitting herself to me and tucking her face into my neck. “Take a moment.”
She rubs her nose along my throat. “I feel like I just get on top of things and then something comes along and knocks me to the bottom of the hill again,” she whispers.
“I’m sorry, girl. I know that feeling too damn well.” I cuddle her for several minutes, until she’s pliant in my arms. “What can I do to help?”
She shakes her head. “This is great, sir. I’m just going to find my insurance broker’s card and call her like Master Logan said.
” She gives me a hard squeeze. “I’m just .
. . I’m sad and angry. Sangry.” She chuckles weakly.
“I need to beat something up before I explode. Ugh. Would you . . . would you like to come with me, sir?”
“Beating people’s usually my job, girl,” I say, putting a smile into my voice.
A stronger chuckle. “I meant to the gym. I usually do a kickboxing class on Tuesday anyway, but I’m really going to need to vent my frustrations now.”
“Mmm, tonight? I was hoping to take you out to dinner to celebrate my test results.”
“Oh.” She lifts her head and looks up at me. “You want to go out to dinner with me? Tonight? I figured—"
“You figured I’d want to get straight to the fucking? Don’t worry, girl, we will. But first I want to take you to dinner. Maybe hibachi, so you can grill your own. You can drown your frustrations in hot sauce.”
She blinks rapidly and her sassy grin breaks out. “I’d really like that.”
“Good. Hold on to that when you’re starting up the hill again.”