The whole thing still makes my eyes prickle with unshed tears. It’s been so long since I’ve had a home-cooked meal that I didn’t make myself, and seeing that wrapped up plate prepared just for me because someonecaredenough that I’d be hungry later, nearly undid me.
Scythe told me to make myself at home. He explained to me where everything was in the kitchen and even left a plastic bag of homemade chocolate chip cookies on the counter to have with tea when Lark and Ella get here.
He gave me their names, but nothing else about them.
Also? I think he prevented Maverick from coming back down to the basement to see me. By the time I finished my work and ventured upstairs, the house had been quiet for hours.
Scythe didn’t say what time I was supposed to expect guests, but he did say they’d be sure to let themselves in so that I didn’t have to go to the door.
His consideration made me want to cry too.
I finish eating while I stare out the bay window. The day is gray, like so many winter days are. We’re lucky in Washington to have mostly mild weather, especially compared to some places, but going for days without seeing the sun is dreary.
I know that some would say that seasons shouldn’t matter to a person like me, but nothing is further from the truth. I watch the world through windows, and I like the sun, the birdsong, and the insects that flit by, as much as anyone else. I might even appreciate it more, for the fact that I can’t just go out and experience it authentically.
I’m washing my dish in the sink when a knock sounds at the front door. It opens and closes and women’s voices filter through the hall.
“Hello? It’s Lark.”
“And Ella.”
I quickly set the plate into the clean section of the double sink beside my cutlery and dry my hands. I didn’t want to appear pretentious, but I did put my hair up in a messy bun and put on some makeup. That’s about the extent of my getting ready skills. For a second, I’m worried that my jeans are too shapeless with their boyfriend cut, and that I should have chosen a better sweater than the cream knit, but I shrug it off.
At least until the two women appear in the kitchen.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Sylvie is a gorgeous woman. I love her alternative style from her vibrant hair to her corporate goth attire. She’s her ownperson and her confidence in herself shines through, making her doubly attractive.
These women are all that as well. They’re both stunningly gorgeous.
Next to the blonde bombshell rocking leather pants, a tight tank that pushes her breasts up, and a vintage denim jacket, I feel about as straight up and down as a skinny old stick. The woman next to her has a completely different style. The floral dress that ends at her knees, the black tights, Mary Janes, and the oversized black knit sweater, all envelop her petite body, but in that perfect oversized fit. She’s a boho princess and the other is a freaking biker babe, and I’m just…
Frumpy.
“Hi!” The biker babe says as she walks across the kitchen and sticks out a hand without hesitating. “I’m Ella. I don’t know if Maverick or Scythe have told you anything about us? I teach at the college here.”
Lark steps up beside her and envelops me in the softest, gentlest side hug as soon as I’m done shaking Ella’s hand. “And I’m Lark, but by process of deduction, you already know that.”
I can’t help but gape at them. “I expected that you’d be- I- err…” I try to cut off the words that I just blurted like a flustered dumbass, but Ella raises a brow and grins.
“Older?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “I don’t know why I thought that.”
“Well, most people think that a biker Prez and the VP are old as balls. Tyrant’s young, and Raiden is the same age…”
“Oh my god! Your men are the President and Vice President of the club?” Scythe didn’t say that. Nothing like bringing out the big guns to meet me immediately.
“Don’t worry.” Lark clasps my upper arm lightly. “This isn’t some kind of initiation that you have to pass and it’s certainly not a test. We’re here because like the men have the club, we have our own sisterhood.”
“Scythe explained everything to Tyrant, and he talked to Raiden. Raiden asked me if I’d like to come over with Lark. The sisterhood doesn’t have a hierarchy, but as the Prez’s old lady, Lark feels responsible for trying to take the lead. Welcoming people to Hart is one of those things.”
“I hope that’s okay?” Lark asks tentatively. “We’re here to help, if we can. Or just offer friendship and company. Truly.”
“Scythe took Maverick to the club.” I can’t seem to stop speaking things out loud that are best left inside my head. “Is he in trouble for trying to help me?”
Lark glances at the bag of cookies on the counter, then at the kettle. “Why don’t we have some tea and we’ll talk. Scythe said he left out his famous chocolate chip cookies. I’m dying to have one.”
