Griffin walks behind the bar, switching Raven’s focus from wiping down the counter to him. “Hey, Raven! Could you come with me, please? I need some help in the kitchen.”
“Sure thing, boss man,” she returns and follows him.
I march right for the shelf under the bar where I know she stores her purse. Benny watches as I bend down but ultimately ignores me for whatever is on the TV.
God, please don’t strike me down for doing this.
I’ve never gone through a woman’s purse, and I know it’s a major do-not. But sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do.
Keeping my eyes averted, I dig around and pause when I feel jagged metal. I pull her keys out but cannot figure out which one is the one I’m looking for.
Why does one person need more than two keys?
“She’s gonna figure it out,” Benny comments.
I continue to flip through all the keys, searching for an indication that tells me I’ve found it. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Benny sighs and mutters, “Kids these days.”
The kitchen door cracks open but doesn’t open further. I freeze, waiting to see who it is.
“Should I check the storeroom?” I hear Raven shout from the doorway.
Fuck it. I’ll just take the whole thing.
With swift movement, I shove the keys in my pocket and stride to the cracked door. My hand grasps the edge, pulling it back to reveal my presence. “Need help with something, Darlin’?”
Raven’s gaze is over her shoulder, but when I speak up, her attention snaps to me and she jumps back. With a hand on her chest, she says, “Good God! You can’t sneak up on people like that.”
“I didn’t sneak. Did I sneak?” I direct my question at Griffin with a smirk.
Griffin returns my expression and crosses his arms. “Not at all.”
Raven scoffs. “You two are the worst. Double the trouble.”
Double a lot of things.
Something inside my rib cage yearns for me to reach out and touch her. I need a connection. Any connection. As long as it’s her.
But I don’t reach for her. I can’t. Not yet.
Holding myself back is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
I clear my throat. “Did you need help with something?”
Griffin chimes in, “No, we’re good. Do you need help?” His question has a meaning Raven doesn’t understand.
“Nope. Just heading out to the locksmith.”
Raven, out of the loop, scrunches her face and ping pongs her focus between Griffin and me.
“I’ll be right back.” I don’t give her the chance to ask questions and head for my bike.
“Why are we doing this again?”I question as I apply WD-40 to the hinges.
Griffin’s head and arms are under the kitchen sink, so his response is dampened. “Because she needs the help and is either too prideful or too untrusting to accept it.”
After I got a copy of each of her keys from the locksmith, Griffin made an excuse to leave The Wandering Raven and met me here with our toolbox in hand. It took us a minute to figure out which key was the right one, but once we were in, we got to work.
