I take Meg’s hand, guiding her past the main seating area and through a narrow arch strung with dried orange slices and tiny lights. The little alcove is barely big enough for one table, tucked beneath a window that faces the alley, shrouded in the neon glow from the arcade’s signage.
As per my specifications, two candles flicker in the center of the table, throwing golden shadows over mismatched plates and folded napkins. There’s a small jar of wild stems in orange, cream and deep red. Waiting on the plates are two cinnamon rolls so big, they look like building bricks drowning in icing. Meg’s hand raises, her fingertips brushing her lips.
“Thi,” she says quietly, awe dancing between her eyes. She steps into the alcove, taking in the scene before fishing out her phone to take a photo. For once, I don’t make a stupid joke. I want to, badly. Humor is my favorite shield, my backup generator, my emergency exit, but sometimes, it’s best to stay silent and be brave. So instead, I pull out her chair.
“This is adorable.” Meg looks at me from underneath her lashes. Once we’re seated, including Autumn who rests on the table between us, a server pops in with our pre-specified cappuccinos. Jeanette hangs around to ask if we’ll be needing anything else, probably feeling like she owes me more than just coffee and pastries since I paid off her college debts. The lengths I’ll go to in the name of making my girl happy are endless.
“We’re all good, thank you Jeanette,” I nod. Meg raises a brow but says nothing, her attention turning to her treat. Icingdrips down the sides in glossy white ribbons, cinnamon sugar dark between the layers, steam still rising from the soft dough. Lifting it towards her mouth, she takes a large bite and her eyes roll back in her head.
“Oh god, that’s gooey.” I bite down on my knuckles, using every drop of my willpower to keep my dick limp. No jokes, and absolutely no erections. Tonight is about romance and the internet says the best way to a girl’s heart is winning claw machines and feeding her sugar. Tick and motherfucking tick.
Using my napkin, I reach across the table and wipe the icing away from the corner of Meg’s mouth, refusing to imagine it’s my cum dripping from her lips. Ah, dammit. She smiles sweetly, then dives straight back in. A torture tactic follows, me watching Meg suck icing from her fingers, licking her lips and shoving more dough into her mouth. There is no version of me equipped to survive this.
“Are you not going to eat yours?” Meg asks just after I’ve watched her swallow the last bite. Her eyes flick down to the untouched pastry on my plate while I shake my head. “Oh. Can I have it?” She reaches over and I slap her hand away on instinct.
“No you damn well can’t!” At Meg’s surprised expression, I school the panic in my voice. “I’m…I’m going to save it for later.”
“Okay,” Meg responds, settling back into her seat so I can finally relax. At last, the torture is over and I’ve managed to only sport a semi-pitched tent in my pants. I’m taking that as a win. Reaching over, I take her now-reddened hand and smooth my thumb over it.
“Sorry about that. I just want to savor this moment without sugar in my teeth,” I grin and wink, which works like a charm. Meg tries to fight her responding smile but it breaks through anyway.
“Savor away, Bonito.” Her cheeks flash red as my brows hit my hairline. Excuse me while my soul leaves my body and does avictory lap around the bakery. On the outside, I deserve a medal for the way I school my features.
“Careful, meu amor. I made you my girlfriend without consent. Keep speaking my language and you might just wake up with a ring on your finger.” Meg snorts, shaking her head, but her foot nudges mine beneath the table and stays there.
“You’re too much, you know that?” She’s still smirking, but I tilt my head as I consider this.
“Do you want me to pull back?”
“No! Not at all. I just…” Her gaze drops to our hands, a swallow passing through her throat as the smile subsides briefly. “I suppose I worry that you give too much of yourself so freely.” My features relax, a humble pride simmering through my chest.
“Only to you. There’s no one else I leave my screens for.”
For a beat, Meg simply stares at me. The bakery up front is still noisy, the coffee machine hissing, someone speaking too loudly beyond the arch. However, in our little candlelit pocket at the back, everything narrows to the way Meg’s eyes hold mine. The flicker of the candle’s flame reflects in their blue depths, not a trace of anxiety in sight. At last, she isn’t looking over her shoulder. She isn’t tripping over herself to uphold an act. She’s open, free, and giving me every ounce of the real her. I practically swoon all over again.
I used to think love would feel like possession, like wanting someone near so badly it became a kind of hunger. And it is that sometimes. I do want her near. I want her in my hoodie, in my bed, in my messages, in my future plans. But love is also this. Watching her devour pastries. Allowing her to release her inner savage at air hockey. Hearing the purity of her laugh and wanting the whole universe to shut the hell up so she can keep doing it.
Tampering down the desire to admit all of this to her, careful not to give more than she’s ready to receive, I lick my lips.
“There’s just one question left to ask,” I tilt her hand over to stroke patterns across her open palm. “Meg, will you be my girlfriend?” Her fingers curl slightly around mine, answering before the words even leave her lips.
“I always was.”
I expected her to say yes, but still, my heart backflips in my chest. A stupidly large smile breaks free before I can stop it, all pretense of being cool and unaffected jumping out the window.
“Yeah?” I murmur, because I’m greedy and want to hear her say it again. Meg rolls her eyes, but her smile is soft.
“Yeah, Thi.” Happiness crashes through me so hard, I almost wheeze. My chest is too full, my heartbeat too loud in my ears. At risk of squeezing the life out of her hand, I release her to push my plate forward, dropping my arms in preparation of needing to strangle my dick instead.
“Then you may have my cinnamon roll.”
Chapter Fifty
“You’re happy today,” Thiago comments as he catches me staring dreamily into the distance. I’m currently leaning into his side, braced on the stone bench where we like to have breakfast. Turning my dumb grin onto him, the stretch of it spreads wider across my face.
“I am happy. Genuinely.” Just saying those words is like a weight lifting from my chest. Even before the events of last year, I’ve never felt this…light. Like I don’t need to shoulder my burdens alone because I have others who will share the load with me. Both Thiago and Everest have played a part in that, much to my surprise. The ghosts of my past have finally stopped haunting me, despite how Harrison met his end. I just have tokeep my secret buried alongside him and find a quiet moment to ask Thi how we’re going to look for Laura now.
Opening my mouth to ask just that, Thi presses a kiss to my temple and exhales.
