Chapter 14 - Izabel #2
“Ah, bless your heart. I’ll bring one for the missus, too,” the man winks at me, then hurries off.
We’re busy talking to a lady when he returns with a plate holding two cookies.
“You have to give me a full review, because I know the moment I walk through the door tonight my wife is going to ask me, and she won’t stop nagging till I tell her what you thought."
Anton pops the entire cookie into his mouth and closes his eyes.
I bite a piece off mine and chew quietly, enjoying this exchange.
The man watches both of us with patient, yet eager attention.
“Well?” he says after a while.
“If I had my way, I wouldn’t have offered to share,” I giggle, covering my hand over my mouth. “Those are absolutely divine!”
“Aaaah! She’ll love that! And you?” he looks at Anton.
Anton grins. “Is Bella still working that second job doing a few loads of laundry for people in the building every week?”
“She is, and still complaining about it like a banshee,” the man chuckles.
“What if I commissioned her to make two weekly batches of cookies for each warehouse? Four warehouses in total. For the guys to share in the break room. Would she be happier doing that? Because I think these are fantastic!”
“Seriously? She’s always dreamed of opening a bakery!” he exclaims. “This will be almost like that. She has loads of baked goods she can make. She can mix it up each week, and the guys can enjoy all the different flavors!”
“Have Bella put together a quote for me. If she wants to do it, that is. Tell her not undercharge! I want a realistic price that makes it worth her while. You can give it to Yaroslav; he’ll make sure I get it.”
“Yes, sir!” the man says, nodding happily.
On the way out of the warehouse, Anton walks past Yaroslav. He waves for his attention.
“I’ve just asked Lenon’s wife to quote us on baked goods for the warehouse break rooms. Whatever she quotes, adds twenty-five percent, and then accepts it.”
“Yes, sir.”
We head back out into the parking lot, and Anton tugs the door open for me again.
I am both surprised and intrigued by him.
Here I thought he was this hard-shelled man with his bad-boy tattoos and intense eyes.
I thought I had somehow been the only one to break through the thick exterior to see his soft inner kindness.
But all this time, it’s always been who he is.
It’s so clear that the people who work for him have a lot of respect and care for him. That’s something you earn. You don’t just get that automatically.
“Ready to head home?” he asks as he ducks into the car.
“Mm. No. I have a different idea,” I grin.
“Is that so. And what idea might that be?”
“Take me to your favorite places,” I say hopefully. “Where do you go in the city when you want to get out?”
“I didn’t get out much, remember? I was lying low.”
“Yes, but you would have gone absolutely crazy if you had never left the house. So where did you go when you really needed to escape for a bit?”
He chuckles, his eyes narrowing at me. “Alright. I’ll show you. But remember the rule. You have to listen to what I say.”
“I’ll be obedient,” I grin.
“Good girl,” he says in a husky, dark tone that sets my heart on fire.
***
We’re standing next to a tourist stall. There are hooks filled with generic baseball hats, each with a different touristy slogan. Detroit! The City of Detroit! Motown Sound! Pizza Capital! Music of Detroit!
He picks up a yellow cap with a blue visor that has embroidered graffiti-style lettering. It just says Detroit. He slips it onto my head, pulling it low.
“I can’t remember when last I wore a cap,” I muse, scrunching my nose. “I’m not sure if they really suit me."
“Oh, they definitely suit you. You look far too cute for your own good right now. Here,” he says, handing me a pair of dark glasses that are too big for my face.
“Perfect,” he chuckles.
He slips a black cap on his own head and selects square-framed aviators.
“Hey, how come you get to look so stylish, and I look like your weird cousin from out of town?” I complain.
“You do not. You look like every other tourist roaming the streets of Detroit, just way more beautiful.”
I grin, shaking my head. “You can’t use charm to win your way out of everything,” I warn him.
“You wanted to know how I got around. Well, this is it. We wear disguises, then we go have some fun,” he smiles smugly, adjusting his black cap while I stand there thinking about how he could never blend in, being that fucking gorgeous.
He’s already ditched the shirt and fitted Armani jacket and swapped it out for a dark gray T-shirt and a heavy cargo, army-looking jacket.
He looks relaxed and nothing like the businessman who left the house with me this morning.
He pulls the collar of my jacket up higher around my neck. “You have to stay warm,” he tells me. “First stop, the record shop,” he says, taking my hand.
“They still make records?” I say in surprise.
The record shop is incredible! They have vintage players set up next to brand-new ones made from clear acrylic and glass so you can see how everything inside works. Anton browses the records in slow leisure while we both sip takeaway coffee.
He gets excited when he finds bands he likes and slips the records from the covers to gently place them in the players.
The place isn’t busy, and the guy behind the desk hardly notices us because he’s got his attention buried in a graphic novel that looks like it’s been read a hundred times before.
His overgrown beard is patched with gray, and his checkered shirt and heavy old leather boots look like they both need an update.
But somehow, he fits in with the rest of the decor.
“Is everything in here vintage?” I ask, studying the posters on the walls and the neon lights setting a pink and blue glow across the surfaces.
“Not everything. Some new. Some old.”
“The guy behind the counter looks vintage,” I giggle.
Anton looks up. He grins. “Roger the Dodger. He used to race cars back in the day. Damn good driver, actually. But he’s very much an introvert. He prefers when customers come in here and don’t speak to him,” he muses. “Better for me when I’m trying to stay out of sight,” he raises his brows.
Anton purchases two records. One, I think, he only buys because I got so excited when he played it and I knew the words; one of Rodriguez original tracks from his first album ever released.
After the record shop, he takes me for pizza. It isn’t at some fancy restaurant with flashy decor and waiters in tuxedos; no, it’s at a food truck parked near the water overlooking Belle Isle.
“It’s where I come when I need to think,” he says, gesturing over the views of water, boats and open skies.
“It’s gorgeous,” I reply.
We sit huddled together on a bench, taking bites of greasy pizza with cheese dripping off it while we watch people coming and going and make up stories about their lives.
When the pizza is gone, he slips his arm around me, pulling me even closer.
We watch the boats floating along the water, and he twirls his fingers around a strand of my hair as I lean my head against his shoulder.
I can see why these places help him escape and clear his mind.
Some distance away from us, a girl walks alone with her hands shoved into her coat pockets. She leans on the railing and watches the water.
Suddenly, I realize that she is me. I’m usually out exploring places on my own. Not many people can keep up with how often I drift from one place to the next to try to escape my brother. Man, I love that guy, but he's annoying with his constant urgency to get me back home.
I glance at Anton, who is looking straight ahead.
For the first time since I met him, I realize something else. I don’t want to escape. There have been so many opportunities to do so today, and I haven’t even thought about it.
I slip my hand beneath his jacket and let it rest against his side.
A gorgeous smile stretches over his lips, and we sit quietly together, enjoying each other’s warmth.