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“It’s a city on the western coast. Beautiful place. My grandparents were both born there, but they came to America when my father was first born. We make a little pilgrimage back to the homeland every couple years or so, and I swear I have at least ten dozen different fucking Irish cousins lurking around town.”
“That sounds really nice.” She sips her tea and licks her lips. God, I like those lips. I like them very fucking much. “My dad’s family was from Messina, down in Sicily, and he has a billion different cousins and stuff all over the island.” She pauses and frowns at her lap. “Well, they’re his cousins. I was adopted. I don’t know where my biological parents were from.”
“Ever think about looking it up?”
“All the time,” she admits. “I could do one of those DNA tests, but I’m worried it’ll only make me feel worse.”
“How’s that?”
“I’m not really in that family, you know?” She blinks at me and smiles like she’s fighting back tears. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m getting emotional.”
“It’s all right. You have a good reason to be.”
She laughs lightly. “Julien almost killed me and we’re sitting in your beautiful house drinking tea and talking about our families.”
“I was giving you some time to gather yourself before we got down to business.”
“Right. Business.” She leans her head back and closes her eyes. “God, I’m tired.”
“Adrenaline does that to you. Works your body up, but leaves you drained.”
“I feel like I could sleep for a month or run a marathon. I can’t decide which.”
“Stick to the tea then.”
She sips in silence. I drink mine, thinking about a girl too afraid to go looking for her family. A girl that lost her father, lost her structure, lost everything that mattered, and is now trying to cobble a life for herself together. It hurts me, thinking about a world without family. Without a place.
I have too much of a place. It’s the opposite problem, really. Too many demands, but not enough trust.
“I should’ve realized something was wrong,” she says, looking up at the ceiling with a curious expression. “I smelled his cigarette on the way to my door, but I was distracted.”
“Your mind was somewhere else?” I ask, stomach tensing. I shouldn’t care about this. The kiss was just a kiss. But it wasn’tjusta kiss: it was so much more, so much better than I’ve ever felt before.
It’s lingering. Why the hell is it lingering?
“I was thinking about you.” She looks at me, and there’s too much wrapped up in those eyes. Fear, sadness, anger, and lust, and need, and I feel it all in return. “If kissing you means nearly getting killed, please keep your hands to yourself.”
“I like to think you won’t get a gun pointed in your face every time I touch you.” I tilt my head, pretending to consider. “Though maybe.”
“Very funny.” She stretches her legs. “What do I do now?”
“I’ll get you set up in the guest room. You’ll stay with me for a while, at least until I can talk to Julien and confirm that he’s not going to try to kill you again.”
“I can’t believe he did that,” she says softly. “I liked him.”
“I still like him, which is why he’s not dead.” But a part of me wishes I had shot him in the face. Only that would’ve been even more trouble. His associates would not have taken the murder of their leader with grace.
“Thank you,” she says, finishing her tea and putting the mug down on a coaster. “You know, for bringing me here and saving my life and stuff.”
“You’d be a mess without me.”
I take her upstairs and get her settled. Extra toothbrush and toothpaste, some clothing she can wear to sleep, that sort of thing. When she’s comfortable, I wish her goodnight and head into my room.
My head’s still down the hall with her. I try to think of the last time I had a woman in my house, but it’s been a while. I’m in my thirties, but I’ve never taken a serious girlfriend, mainly because I’ve never needed one. Women come and go, and getting attached to them only makes life more difficult.
Maybe Mother’s right and I need to settle down with a wife.
A nice Irish girl with red hair that’ll give me fine Irish babies.
