8. Landon #2
That one got a pause.
I let her have it.
The refrigerator gave me eggs, berries, turkey sausage, and bread. Good enough. I set a skillet on the stove while Nolani wandered toward the coffee machine.
“You still take it black?”
“Always.”
She looked at me. “Of course you do.”
“What that mean?”
“Your coffee has the same emotional presentation as your wardrobe.”
I looked down at my gray sweats. “My wardrobe relaxed.”
“Your closet is black, white, gray, or some other color afraid of joy.”
“That cream dress yesterday found plenty joy in my presence.”
She paused over the coffee filters.
I grinned.
“You’re awfully bold for a man expecting me to prepare his beverage.”
“I wasn’t expecting anything. I was gonna make it.”
“Sit down then.”
I crossed toward her and reached around for the grounds, letting my chest brush her back. “I’m cooking. You can make the coffee if you want.”
She turned her face toward mine. “That easy?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to analyze my motives?”
“Nope.”
“Question whether I’m overfunctioning?”
“No.”
“Make this a learning opportunity?”
“Hershey, I want caffeine. If you wanna make it, make it.”
Her eyes narrowed.
Then she laughed.
“Look at you.”
“Growth.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
We moved around each other in the kitchen without turning breakfast into therapy. She made coffee and rinsed strawberries while I handled the stove. When I caught her stealing a berry from the cutting board, I slapped lightly at her hand.
“You contaminating my prep area.”
“This is fruit, not a surgical procedure.”
“You stole inventory.”
“I’m quality control.”
“Unlicensed.”
She ate another one while maintaining eye contact.
My woman had no respect for authority.
I loved that for her.
I plated breakfast and carried everything to the small table beside the windows. Nolani sat across from me with one bare foot resting against mine. She stole strawberries from my plate despite having her own, then accused me of inequitable distribution when I moved the bowl away from her.
“You gave yourself more.”
“I cooked.”
“That does not justify produce corruption.”
“You had equal access before your criminal activity.”
“You withheld resources.”
I chose the largest strawberry and held it toward her mouth. “Restitution.”
Nolani leaned forward and bit into it.
Her lips brushed my fingers.
I left my hand where it was.
Her eyes met mine.
“Anything else?”
“Plenty.”
I wiped the trace of juice from her bottom lip with my thumb.
Her breathing shifted.
Then I tasted it.
Nolani reached for her coffee. “You’re trying to make breakfast indecent.”
“Nah. Breakfast doing fine on its own.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you keep putting your foot against mine.”
She glanced beneath the table.
Didn’t move it.
Exactly.
We ate while the cabin brightened around us. She asked about the photographs on the shelves, and I gave her enough family history to guarantee Lennox would accuse me of defamation later. One picture showed him around seven wearing swim goggles, church shorts, and dress shoes at the lake.
Nolani demanded future access.
I promised nothing.
When breakfast ended, she collected our plates.
I let her.
No hearing.
No committee vote.
No lecture.
She wanted to wash them.
I dried.
Our hips bumped twice at the sink, and Nolani hummed beneath her breath while sunlight warmed the counter.
Nothing about it needed a lesson. I liked being there with her.
Liked watching soap collect around her fingers and feeling her elbow knock mine when I deliberately put a fork in the wrong drawer just to irritate her.
When the last dish was dry, I set the towel aside and drew her against me.
“I got one more place I wanna take you before we go back to the field.”
“Should I be concerned that your plans keep escalating?”
“Probably.”
“Another unexpected variable?”
“Nah.” I settled both hands at her waist. “You the whole plan today.”
Her fingers curled into my sweats.
“That was smooth.”
“That was true.”
“Those conditions can coexist.”
“Look at my woman learning.”
She leaned back. “Keep praising yourself, and I’ll stay right here.”
I tightened my hands around her waist. “Threat lacks deterrence.”
“You don’t want to show me the mysterious place?”
“I do. But getting trapped in this cabin with you remains a competitive alternative.”
Nolani smiled against my mouth. “Get dressed, baby.”
I stared at her.
She stepped out of my arms.
“Say it again.”
“You heard me.”
“I did.”
“Then preserve the evidence.”
She headed down the hall wearing my shirt and laughing.
I watched her go and decided Cloud Nine had terrible branding.
This didn’t feel like floating.
It felt like having somewhere beautiful to stand.
By the time we left the cabin, the last storm clouds had broken apart over the lake. Nolani had changed back into her cream dress, but my black hoodie hung from her shoulders. My T-shirt was folded in the overnight bag by her feet.
She had tried to return it.
I had declined the transaction.
As far as I was concerned, ownership had transferred.
Her hand rested in mine above the console while Self Springs moved around us. Every few minutes, her thumb stroked the side of mine without thought.
“You’ve been smiling since we left the cabin,” she said.
“I’ve been smiling since I woke up.”
“I noticed.”
“You caused it.”
“That diagnosis lacks sufficient evidence.”
I lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “You slept on my chest, called me baby before coffee, ate my breakfast, and left wearing my clothes. Evidence overwhelming.”
“The hoodie was necessary.”
“You passed two jackets to pick mine.”
“They were all yours.”
“Exactly.”
Nolani turned toward me. “You’ve built an impressive argument around clothing.”
“I like you in my shit. That cover it?”
Her laugh came quick.
Much better.
I squeezed her hand.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
“Secrecy does not automatically improve a plan.”
“Builds anticipation.”
“Encourages suspicion.”
“You suspicious while holding my hand and wearing my hoodie?”
“Legally unrelated.”
“That law degree you don’t have stays busy.”
“Somebody needs to protect me from your interpretation of evidence.”
I glanced over. “Verdict already in.”
“And what exactly was decided?”
“You like me real bad.” Her smile showed faintly in the window when she turned away. “Case closed.”
Sable & Spine occupied the corner of a renovated brick building near the shoreline, its wide windows framed in dark green and lined with flower boxes still wet from the storm.
Mama had bought our birthday books there when Lennox and I were kids, and Miss Roslyn still kept a photograph behind the register of nine-year-old me missing a front tooth and holding an encyclopedia like I’d been appointed Secretary of Information.
I’d spent years trying to buy that picture.
Miss Roslyn called it preservation.
I called it blackmail.
Nolani read the gold lettering as I parked. “You brought me to a bookstore.”
“I did.”
Her whole face brightened before she could contain it.
That reaction alone justified the trip.
“This is the mysterious location?”
“One of them.”
“There are multiple?”
“I got my woman for the day. I intend to use my time well.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s romance, Hershey. Stop criminalizing it.”
I walked around and opened her door. She put her hand in mine, but I didn’t immediately help her down.
Her brows lifted. “Was there another step in the exit procedure?”
“I like seeing you happy.” The humor in her face softened. “You looked at that sign like the building called your name.”
“Bookstores make me happy.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“You touched the window at that bookstore in Willow Run before you walked inside.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You remember that?”
“I remember you.”
That was enough.
No explanation needed.
Nolani rose onto her toes and kissed me.
Soft.
Brief.
Worth remembering.
“You ready?” I asked.
“For books? Always.”
“For me?”
“That question was unrelated.”
“I conduct comprehensive assessments.”
“You just closed the case.”
“Appeals remain available.”
Nolani slid her fingers through mine. “Come on, baby.”
There went that word again.
I shut the door and followed her toward the entrance with no intention of pretending humility belonged in this situation.
A bell chimed when we stepped inside. Sable & Spine still smelled the way I remembered it: paper, coffee, old wood, and the vanilla candle Miss Roslyn burned behind the counter year-round. Black authors filled the walls between rolling ladders and handwritten staff cards.
Nolani loosened her hand from mine and headed toward a display.
She got two steps.
I caught her fingers.
She looked back. “What?”
“I wasn’t done holding that.”
“Clingy.”
“Attentive.”
“You’ve touched me every six minutes since we woke up.”
“That interval seems high. I’ll improve.”
My thumb moved over the inside of her wrist.
She shifted closer.
“See?”
“Operational adjustment.”
We moved through the store at her pace. Nolani opened books to random pages, read a paragraph or two, then either kept them or returned them to the shelf. She moved differently in bookstores. Slower. Curious. No clock in her face.
I liked that.
I also liked her in my hoodie.
Both could be true.
She looked up and caught me staring from the other side of a display.
“Are you shopping or conducting surveillance?”
“Both.”
“That sounds inefficient.”
“I can select literature and appreciate my woman simultaneously.”
“You haven’t looked at a shelf in five minutes.”
“I found my favorite story when we walked in.”
Her face warmed.
Yeah.
Still had it.
“You’re very pleased with yourself.”
“I’m in a committed relationship with a beautiful woman who makes ice cream and reads voluntarily. Circumstances support confidence.”
“We’ve been committed for less than twenty-four hours.”
“And performance been exceptional the entire time.”
“You slept through several of those hours.”
“I held you while doing it. Continued service.” Her laugh carried down the aisle. I crossed toward her and kissed her forehead. “Pick something for me.”
Her eyes lifted. “Any book?”