We head back out into the parking lot, and Anton tugs the door open for me again. I am both surprised and intrigued by him. Here I thought he was this hard-shelled man with his bad-boy tattoos and intense eyes. I thought I had somehow been the only one to break through the thick exterior to see his soft inner kindness. But all this time, it’s always been who he is.
It’s so clear that the people who work for him have a lot of respect and care for him. That’s something you earn. You don’t just get that automatically.
“Ready to head home?” he asks as he ducks into the car.
“Mm. No. I have a different idea,” I grin.
“Is that so. And what idea might that be?”
“Take me to your favorite places,” I say hopefully. “Where do you go in the city when you want to get out?”
“I didn’t get out much, remember? I was lying low.”
“Yes, but you would have gone absolutely crazy if you had never left the house. So where did you go when you really needed to escape for a bit?”
He chuckles, his eyes narrowing at me. “Alright. I’ll show you. But remember the rule. You have to listen to what I say.”
“I’ll be obedient,” I grin.
“Good girl,” he says in a husky, dark tone that sets my heart on fire.
***
We’re standing next to a tourist stall. There are hooks filled with generic baseball hats, each with a different touristy slogan. Detroit! The City of Detroit! Motown Sound! Pizza Capital! Music of Detroit!
He picks up a yellow cap with a blue visor that has embroidered graffiti-style lettering. It just says Detroit. He slips it onto my head, pulling it low.
“I can’t remember when last I wore a cap,” I muse, scrunching my nose. “I’m not sure if they really suit me."
“Oh, they definitely suit you. You look far too cute for your own good right now. Here,” he says, handing me a pair of dark glasses that are too big for my face.
“Perfect,” he chuckles.
He slips a black cap on his own head and selects square-framed aviators.
“Hey, how come you get to look so stylish, and I look like your weird cousin from out of town?” I complain.
“You do not. You look like every other tourist roaming the streets of Detroit, just way more beautiful.”
I grin, shaking my head. “You can’t use charm to win your way out of everything,” I warn him.
“You wanted to know how I got around. Well, this is it. We wear disguises, then we go have some fun,” he smiles smugly, adjusting his black cap while I stand there thinking about how he could never blend in, being that fucking gorgeous.
He’s already ditched the shirt and fitted Armani jacket and swapped it out for a dark gray T-shirt and a heavy cargo, army-looking jacket.
He looks relaxed and nothing like the businessman who left the house with me this morning.
He pulls the collar of my jacket up higher around my neck. “You have to stay warm,” he tells me. “First stop, the record shop,” he says, taking my hand.
“They still make records?” I say in surprise.
The record shop is incredible! They have vintage players set up next to brand-new ones made from clear acrylic and glass so you can see how everything inside works. Anton browses the records in slow leisure while we both sip takeaway coffee.
He gets excited when he finds bands he likes and slips the records from the covers to gently place them in the players. The place isn’t busy, and the guy behind the desk hardly notices us because he’s got his attention buried in a graphic novel that looks like it’s been read a hundred times before. His overgrown beard is patched with gray, and his checkered shirt and heavy old leather boots look like they both need an update. But somehow, he fits in with the rest of the decor.
“Is everything in here vintage?” I ask, studying the posters on the walls and the neon lights setting a pink and blue glow across the surfaces.
“Not everything. Some new. Some old.”
