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I frown and shake my head with mock seriousness. “Definitely not the avocado toast and lemon meringue, then?”
His eyes go wide in mock horror. “Have you listened to a thing I said?”
The waitress sidles up to us, pad in hand. “We’re out of lemon meringue.”
My instincts flare, and I stare at her, surprised. She’s lying. Over pie? I bet if my hot-as-hell husband asked for it, she’d miraculously find some.
Hmph.
“Coffee?” she asks Ollie. “I’ll make a fresh pot, sir.”
Jesus.Gag me.I want to ask if she’d still be hot for him if she saw how easily those hands of his can wrap around a traitor’s neck. I’ve seen that in person, thank you very much, and can say with confidence it takes a special kind of person to learn to appreciate the nuances of brutality.
He shakes his head. “No, thank you, but my wife might want some.” He quirks a brow to me.
I shake my head.
My wife.
I’m not used to that. I swear the waitress’s face falls. “Ma’am?”
I shake my head. Ollie orders for both of us, which both annoys and pleases me. My chest tightens when he orders, “An ice-cold Diet Coke, extra ice with a wedge of lime, please.” Just how I like it.
There’s a hardness to him, yes, but there’s something more, something almost vulnerable in the way he quietly entwines his fingers with mine, tracing the oval shape of each nail with the pad of his thumb. I don’t miss the way his gaze flits to the door, windows, and restroom every now and again.
“Do you need to check in with Aleks?”
“Yeah.” He slides his finger over the screen of his phone and shrugs. “No updates.”
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s easier to keep your eyes on a moving target.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
“For what?”
For protecting me. For listening when I need to talk. For being a rock-hard fortress that won’t let me down.
I shrug. “For ordering for me.”
“You like everything,” he says with a wistful look in his eyes. “You make it easy.”
“I make what easy?” I ask, my heart beating faster. I’m not sure why. I swallow hard.
“Everything.”
My heart seizes. I hold his gaze as I lean across the table. I want to kiss him.
“Me?” I whisper. “You sure you’re not talking about someone else?”
“No one else, Renata. Just you.”
Leaning forward, he holds my gaze. He’s utterly concentrated on my lips as if they hold magic. I swallow hard, the air between us charged with something electric. Magical. I’m not sure if it’s that we’re married now, we’ve escaped our hunters, or that we’re alone in this strange, timeless place in the middle of nowhere, but it feels like everything else fades away, and it’s… just us.
I lean in. I want to kiss him. I want to ask about his past and talk about the future. I want to hear him bless me with the rare gift of his words because right now, we’re in this strange bubble of newness and quiet.
I’m breathing heavily. His eyes have darkened, framed with thick brows, his lips downcast, making me quake with something that feels like fear mingled with need.
Two platters clang on the table in front of us. “Anything else I can get you, honey?” She seems oblivious to the spell she just broke.
