I give her a pointed look. “You hate them.”
Elena opens her mouth to argue, then she stops. After a beat, she glances down at herself and sighs, admitting reluctantly, “I do.”
“So, we’re going to fix that,” I offer, moving closer to the door.
Her suspicion settles in. “What’s the catch?”
“There’s no catch.”
Of course, her eyes narrow, instincts sharpening. “That can’t be true.”
“Well, it is. Call it a concession,” I offer, leaning against the doorway.
Elena pauses, and disbelief stitches into her features. “What, are you trying to prove you can be accommodating or something?”
“Sure. Something like that,” I say, gesturing towards the hallway. “Either way, the metaphorical bus is leaving.”
She studies me for another long moment, then exhales and heads for the door, chin raised. “Fine. But I’m choosing then.”
“As long as it doesn’t get you recognized, I don’t care what you pick.”
Looking more satisfied now, Elena moves down the hall with me, leaving the office like she’s clocking out.
“You know,” she says as we reach the parking garage, adjusting her disguise. “If this whole thing goes south, I could probably disappear pretty effectively.”
I glance at her as I unlock the car, my expression more scathing than necessary. “Don’t get any ideas.”
Elena smiles innocently before getting in. “It’s just an observation.”
It seems she’s grown comfortable enough now to both tease me and push her luck, and in response, I huff out a breath and get in.
The streets are just as busy as usual while I take us to one of the nearby malls, but when we’re halfway there, I change course, heading towards a familiar neighborhood instead.
Of course, she notices and glances at me, letting the faintest hint of concern cross her features. “Where are we going?”
“I have a quick stop to make,” I murmur, taking a left.
I feel her shoulders tense. “Wyatt—”
“It’s nothing to be alarmed about. It’ll take five minutes.”
Elena maintains her resistance for another moment, then she sighs, obviously bracing herself for something unpleasant. Still, she doesn’t argue.
Patch’s house is modest yet nice, nestled in a neighborhood that’s both safe and doesn’t scream wealth. The lawns are manicured, there are kids’ bikes everywhere, and it’s normal enough to raise a little one comfortably.
Parking out front where balloons are tied to the mailbox, I kill the engine and grab a wrapped box from behind my seat.
Elena watches my every movement, zeroing in on the gift. “What’s that?”
“A present.”
“For who?”
“My godson,” I say simply, giving it a subtle jostle. “It’s his birthday today...hence the balloons.”
She blinks at me, then takes in the evident birthday party underway in the backyard, with several kids running around and laughing together. “You have a godson.”
“I do.”
