She places her mug back on the table before speaking again. “How long can we do that? You know, live in a car, driving back and forth.” Her face turns sad.
“Do you want to move to Boston?”
She looks around. “I like Boston and I like your house, but Little Hope is where I’m supposed to be,” she says, so sure of herself, leaving no doubt that that’s exactly where she’s supposed to be, and she believes it.
“Then I’ll move to Little Hope and will come back here for business.”
“You can’t leave everything behind for me.” She looks around, uncomfortable, as if thinking I’ll miss this house and the city. Well, maybe I’ll miss the city a little, but who cares about that when she’ll be by my side every single day. “It’s not right.”
“Leila,” I take her hand in mine, “without you, there won’t be anything. You need to understand that. I’ll move anywhere for you.”
“What about your business?”
“I was thinking of asking TJ,” she gives me a questioning look, “Kayla’s old boss,” I explain, and she nods. “So, I was thinking to ask him if he wants to do business with me or something anyway. I forgot how much I love inking and how much I’ve missed it. And it’s about time I offer Cherry to be a partner, or someone will snatch her from me.”
Her face brightens at the news, and I ask, “You really like Cherry, huh?”
Her smile is sad and understanding. “She is your family, Stephan. No matter how you look at it, she’s been there for you, and I’m very grateful to her for taking care of you.”
That makes me pause. I guess if you look at the situation between me and Cherry like that, she’s been watching out for me.
“You have a very light hand. I didn’t feel any pain.”
“Liar,” I laugh.
“Maybe a little.” She winces and shows a tiny space between her thumb and pointing finger. “A bit. But I’ve seen your drawings, Stephan, you should do more of them. People need someone like you to express their feelings in art when they can’t do it themselves. I sure can’t, and you made the perfect thing for me.”
Yeah, since the moment they tricked me into inking Leila, I’ve been thinking about that. My hand’s been itching to take a pencil and draw. I can almost feel the vibration of iron in my fingers. I’ve missed it, and I’ve missed the feel of freedom that comes with it. It’s an unexplainable feeling when you leave a permanent mark on someone’s body. You transfer your energy to them. And that was one of the main reasons I stopped inking—I wasn’t enough of an asshole to transfer my shit on people. But now I feel that’s changed. That I can actually work with people without giving them my negativity. I need to talk to TJ about possibilities, if there are any. Hell, I’ll even be okay if he hires me as a guest artist for a day a week. I could totally open another shop under my own name there, but I don’t want to step on his turf—he’s spent years building his business there.
“Then it’s settled.” I take her hand again, pull it to me, and kiss her wrist. “I’ll start building a house in Little Hope. I need to call my designer ASAP. It’ll take months, so it’s better to start earlier.”
Her brows shoot up. “Building a house, huh? You sure don’t waste time.”
“I’ve wasted enough,” I say seriously. “I don’t want to waste a minute. Plus, I don’t want you to change your mind.” I shoot her her favorite lopsided smile.
She laughs, shaking her head, as if the possibility of that is hilarious. I sure hope it is.
Today is Saint Valentine’s Day, and I’m going to propose. Yes, I’m very basic. Yes, I’m crazy—we haven’t been dating long, but it’s enough to know that I want to spend the rest of my life with her. I might need some liquid courage before since I’m sure there is a high chance she’ll say no. But I’ll keep trying.
We’ve been living in two cities for nearly a month, and it sure is difficult, especially for her. Her whole family is here, and I see how much she misses them. How often she talks on the phone with her mom, Aiden, and Kenneth while she’s in Boston; I guess they’re the closest to her. She mentioned that they talked with Alex since he detailed the story about our last mission in the Navy, but I haven’t seen her talking to him on the phone. Nor have I. He hasn’t made any attempts to reach out to me, and neither have I. After Leila’s story, I wanted to make sure I’m in the right state of mind when we talk—we have so many topics to discuss, the first one being him never raising his voice at my woman again.
I bought her a new car, a very large red SUV with the latest safety features since she’s so scared of the snow. It’s hilarious how tight she grips the steering wheel every time a snowflake shows up in the air. When I gave her the keys, she refused it. Of course. I expected that. But after a few hours of ‘tight convincing’ (ahem), she gave up and accepted it. I want to spoil my woman and will do just that, and even said woman can’t stop me from doing so.
We’ve been staying in her house for a couple of days, I love it, but it’s tiny. Plus, I want to give something to her, so as I planned, I spoke to my designer Josie about the new house. I didn’t tell her where I wanted to build as to not shock her—shelives in New York, and I’m sure she won’t be thrilled to spend months in a small town. She loves to oversee her projects, so she’ll want to oversee this one since I’m willing to put a lot of money into it—my woman deserves the best.
Speaking of said woman, she went to the tiny shop across the street to get some gifts for her family, because apparently, they gift some cute nonsense to each other on this holiday, while I go to get a coffee from Donna’s shop.
I’m carrying two to-go cups and step on the street when the hairs on the back of my head stand up. The air electrifies, and everything turns slow motion. I look around but don’t see a reason for any of it. Yet still, my instinct screams ‘danger.’ The same instincts that kept me alive during years in the Navy. And the feeling is exactly the same. Danger is nearby. The same feeling I had in the woods, but never since then. So I got sloppy, thinking it was a fluke and my paranoia talking.
I search for Leila and find her walking out of the shop and striding toward me. A big happy smile on her. Her humongous puffy jacket swallows her whole as usual, strands of her wild, unruly hair poke from under her white beanie. She pulls the phone out of her pocket and looks at it. Her face changes instantly: it darkens, and her eyes shoot around.
My heart slows down. My head whips around, looking for danger.
And then I see him.
A man in a black jacket and a cap low on his eyes.
And everything clicks in place. All my feelings of being watched. Instincts screaming that someone had been at her house. Constant footsteps of never-ending deliveries in her yard.
