I draw a breath, only just now realizing what I’m about to say. “If she’d waited for me.”
It’s true. If I’d had to get out and be expected to be the perfect boyfriend again—to live with Grace and plan our wedding together—I’d be cracking into pieces.
“I can’t imagine having to marry her when I got out. Because I’m not the same guy who put the ring on her finger.”
“But you would have?” Hannah asks.
I’m not sure what she’s getting at or why she keeps picking this scab, but I answer honestly. “Yeah. I mean, I’d give her an out if she wanted it, but I don’t break my commitments.” I shrug. “I’m a man of my word.”
She studies me with those warm brown eyes that see everything and never seem to judge. “You’re loyal,” she says.
I nod. “Always.” I lead her out the alleyway door to the van. I open the passenger side and help her in. “Aw, hey. I forgot to check the mousetraps. You get any visitors?”
She cringes. “Yes.”
“Are they still there? Need me to take care of them?”
More cringing. “Yes, please.”
I give her a quick nod and go back inside to take care of it. Simple fucking thing for me to do for her. I’m glad there’s something.
When I get back, I start the van. “Where do you want to go to dinner?”
“It’s up to you, you’re buying.” She gives me an impish look. She likes when I pay. I used to be rolling in dough before I got picked up. If I still had that kind of money, I would flash it all over for her.
As it is, I’m doing okay. I have half the startup cash the don gave me, and I’ll get a paycheck for a couple grand every two weeks. I’m not rich, but I can take a girl out for a nice dinner, for sure.
“You pick.” I can’t go anywhere I used to go. Hannah’s place is still my safest hideout.
“Okay, um… I know a place.”
Before I pull out, I pause and look at her. Really look at her. I don’t want to just push her jealousy or concern about Grace aside, but I also don’t want to discuss Grace anymore. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”
Her eyes widen, her smile grows, and I can see she appreciates the compliment. I’m not good with words, but for her, I’ll try. Every fucking day, I’ll try.
“I’ve never had the privilege of being with a more beautiful woman before. Truly stunning,” I add.
Chapter Eight
Armando
Hannah directs me to an artsy cafe. Not fancy but not a dive either. Industrial look with the no-ceiling thing where you can see all the ductwork above your head and the one hundred-year-old bricks in the walls. They don’t have hard liquor, but the waiter brings us a bottle of wine to share.
I order a burger that comes with sweet potato fries instead of regular ones. She orders a fancy salad—beet pistachio or some shit like that. I watch her pleasure digging in and want to take her out to eat every night. She deserves to be treated way more than she treats herself.
“So what work did you have to do today?” she asks after the waiter disappears.
My instinct is to just clam up and not talk. Go silent on her, but I took her to dinner. We’re on a goddamn date, so I shake my head. “Don’t ask about my work.”
The words are too hard. Too harsh. I can tell they didn’t land right by how stiff she gets.
“It’s for your safety, Hannah,” I try to explain. “We don’t talk business, not even with our women.”
She studies me for a beat. “Am I your woman?”
I drain my glass of wine and refill it. Fuck. I am so not up for relationship talk. “I don’t have a label for you, Flowers.”
She fidgets, going silent, and a twinge of something moves around in my chest. What is it? Guilt? For being such a bad fucking date?
