“It’s complicated,” I whisper.
Her face lights up at that. “How complicated?”
I shake my head and smile. “Okay, maybe compared to Hayley and Gunner, Ella and Raiden, and Crow and Tarynn it might not be complicated. But we haven’t told my dad yet.”
“Preacher’s always so laid back. He’ll be fine,” she says with certainty in her voice. “Anyway,” she starts. “I have things. So many things. Ella’s coming later on, she’s our other residentvintage queen, but seeing as she’s also six foot tall in heels you’ll not be fighting over my stock.”
I bark out a laugh. Ella is Raiden’s old lady. She’s a Fifties pinup with blonde hair and curves for days.
Shadow’s lips twitch at the sound.
Willa leads us deeper into the shop, past shelves stacked with teacups and porcelain dolls that absolutely, one hundred percent, are haunted. There are trunks overflowing with lace. Racks of clothes that range from grandmother chic to 1920s flapper who might stab you.
And then—bags.
Black garbage bags, bulging and piled like treasure.
For the next hour, time ceases to exist. By the time we leave the shop my arms are full. The prize is a velvet blouse. Deep and rich. Its sleeves are slightly puffed at the shoulder and tapering to the wrist. The neckline is modest but elegant, with tiny fabric-covered buttons. Willa insisted that it was fifty dollars. It was worth at least twice that, but she wouldn’t take any more money. Instead I’d promised to bake her cookies and she’d finally relented.
Chocolate chips and sea salt.
Shadow carries most of the bags, and I walk beside him still clutching the velvet blouse in my arms like it’s precious. When we get to my car, I open the passenger door and stuff my bags on the seat.
This is where we part. For now. Shadow’s bike is parked at the far side of the lot. I want to reach out and kiss him. Thank him for this lovely morning. But it’s getting busier. There aremore people out and about. I know we joked about us giving my dad a heads-up, but I don’t want him to find out like this.
Shadow must catch my expression because he asks, “You happy?”
I look up at him, and my throat tightens again.
Not because I’m sad. Because I’m so full of something I don’t have a name for yet. “Yeah,” I say softly. “I’m really happy. Thank you for this morning.”
His gaze flicks to mine, then away, like eye contact is too much when feelings get close. But his pinky hooks around mine again. And for the first time in a while, the future doesn’t feel scary.
It feels… possible.
Chapter 22
Shadow
When Fawnie said family dinner with Preacher and Rita, I expected the rambunctious vibes of five years ago. Not that I participated very often. I liked to hide out in their basement back then. I was healing, mostly. Physically, at least. I was such a mess mentally. I’m still a mess, but at least I recognize the fact now. Even though I lived in the shadows I wasn’t tagged with my club name for a good year, and by then, I wasn’t living here.
I’ve been back a few times, but never for dinner.
The table is new. Or old, but new to them. I’m not good with antiques, but the grain is nice. I’m guessing it came from Willa’s store. It’s bigger than the table they had when I was here, but Justice and Stone aren’t little kids anymore. It’s plenty big enough for six and we’re all sitting around it. They have fancy matching chairs made with the same wood and black seats.
I thought we’d do something casual, but as soon as we got here, Preacher popped two massive trays of steaks out of the fridge and threw them on the grill. Rita already had baked potatoes in the oven, and she made her special carrots with the lemon pepper parmesan cheese topping. Even the boys like those.
The fact that she remembered just how much I did, made my eyes hot as soon as we sat down at the table.
Preacher and Rita are on the ends, and the boys sit opposite of me and Fawnie. The table is a virtual buffet between us. The whole house still smells like baked potatoes.
Vanilla and coconuts too, because Fawnie dragged her chair over a few inches closer to mine when she thought no one was looking. It’s shocking how well the scent of dinner complements her. She’s sweet instead of savory, like dessert.
Fuck. I don’t want to start thinking about having her for dessert after we’re done here. Rita made blueberry cheesecake, which was another favorite of mine. When I first arrived, I wasn’t in the best place, and I know Rita tried her best to make me feel at home. At times I was an ungrateful asshole. I’d not been used to kindness, and instead of gratitude, it just made me angry. I’m lucky they didn’t kick me out on my ass, but it shows what good people they are.
Thinking about those times makes me feel immense guilt for everything I put them through. I’ve told Preacher and Rita how thankful I am that they took me in at my lowest. But being the kindhearted people they are, they just brushed it off saying anyone would have done the same. Seeing them now, heading the table with two teenage boys grown into good people despite being absolute menaces to society, I’m overwhelmed by an immense sense of gratitude.
Fawnie is comfortable, at ease, beautiful in a tight fitting pencil skirt with cherries all over it, and a black velvet blouse. She has a velvet choker at her neck, a little diamond star winking from the hollow of her throat. She went with heavy black eyeliner and red lips that have been driving me crazy since she picked me up. From the second I slid into her car, I’ve had visions of taking her into the backseat and letting her ride me while I make a mess of her clothing, hair, and makeup.
