“I will be accompanying her to work, yes. Betty Barnett has asked me to provide security for the tattoo studio, and I’ve accepted the position.”
“Well, fuck.” Oz sighs.
“He’s going to work with you?” I hear Etta whisper-yell behind us.
“Apparently,” Octavia confirms.
“How do you feel about that?”
“I…” My doll trails off, like she’s unsure what to say, and I hold my breath, waiting for her answer.
“You love it,” Etta says, before Octavia has a chance to speak. “Oh my god, you fucking love it, don’t you?”
“I don’t hate it. He’s…intoxicating and just so sure. It’s weird, but I really, really don’t hate it,” my wife admits, making an unexpected smile stretch across my lips.
We don’t stay long, leaving with a promise to have them over to our new home so that they can see it soon. I don’t relish the idea of having them in our private space, but Etta is important to Octavia, which means she’s important to me now. If having her friend invade our home makes my wife happy, then I’ll learn to live with it.
After we leave Oz and Etta’s place, we head to Anders and Henry’s, then Warrick’s, where we see Danny and Parker, then we visit Buck and James, before we drive down into town and find ourselves outside the bakery that Tori owns and runs.
My teammates are my brothers, but Tori is my closest friend, and the only person whose opinion actually matters to me. I considered telling her who Octavia was to me and my plans to fly to Rapid City to collect her before I went, but I didn’t because I didn’t want her to tell me not to, or that I was making a mistake.
I value her role in my life, and I want her to understand and accept my relationship with Octavia, so for the first time today, I’m nervous to introduce my doll to her as my wife. Taking Octavia’s hand, I lead her toward the front door, then push it open, holding it while my doll steps through.
The counter is being tended by the same male server who works here most days, and he smiles when he sees me.
“Knight, how are you? What can I get you?” he asks.
“Is Tori available?” I inquire.
Taking a couple of steps back, he leans around the doorway that leads into the kitchen. “Hey, boss lady, Knight wants to know if you’re available?”
Tori’s voice shouts back. “Send him back. I’m filling macarons.”
Shrugging, the server lifts the hatch on the counter and gestures for us to go through to the kitchen.
Squeezing Octavia’s hand tightly, I step confidently through the doorway and toward the industrial kitchen. I’ve been backhere a hundred times before, so I know the way, and a moment later I spot Tori expertly piping some kind of cream onto tiny brightly colored disks.
“Hi, Knight,” Tori says without looking up from her task. “I texted you two days ago, and you didn’t reply. I was starting to get worried.”
When I don’t immediately speak, Tori looks up, her expression changing to one of surprise when she spots Octavia beside me.
“Hi, Tori. It’s nice to see you again,” Octavia says, lifting and waving the hand that I’m not holding.
“Octy, you’re back. Betty and Etta are going to be so happy. They’ve been losing their minds worried you weren’t coming,” Tori blurts, in her usual blunt manner.
“Yeah, I had to sort some shit in Rapid City, but I’m here now.”
“Octavia is my wife,” I announce.
The piping bag freezes a few inches from a macaron, the only time she’s stopped moving since we stepped into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asks slowly.
“Octavia and I are married. She’s my wife,” I explain, unsure why she didn’t understand the first time I said it.
“Yeah, no, I heard you,” she assures me. “I’m just…a little…I guess I’m just…wow.” Nodding, she dips her gaze back to the macarons, quickly filling all the remaining empty ones, before carefully popping another perfect disk of macaron onto the top. Once she’s finished the last one, she drops the now-empty piping bag into the sink and shouts. “Daniel, can you get these macarons on the counter? I’m going upstairs for a while. There’s nothing in the oven, and you should be set for stock.”
“No worries,” Daniel, who I’m assuming is the man behind the counter, shouts back.
