Page 30 of Sparrow

And that chocolate is steaming in the chilly nighttime air.

I take the three steps it takes to get to her and take the mug she’s holding out, hissing softly at the heat seeping through the cup. “Is it any good?”

This time she actually snorts. “It’s hot chocolate, Orion. Is it possible for it to be bad?”

I find myself wanting to smile at this, but push it down. “I’m sure it’s possible to make it wrong. Burn the water or something.”

She moves into the light enough for me to see the look she gives me, and this time it’s almost impossible to keep the smile off my face.

This girl, this tiny, fragile thing, has more attitude than I’d realized.

And I hate that it makes me want to know more about her.

“Try it if you don’t believe me,” she mutters. “And sit down. You’re making me nervous towering over me like that.”

“What, you think I can’t be just as dangerous sitting down?”

I drop into the single chair next to the swing, though. Only because it has a cup holder and the heat of the mug is going to burn my fingers.

I am, after all, a practical man.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re very dangerous no matter where you are,” she says seriously.

I glance at her, frowning. I can’t tell if she’s being serious or if she’s teasing me, and the moment I realize that, I realize that I also can’t tell which one I want her to be doing. Do I want this girl to be afraid of me? To think I’m a dangerous man who might hurt her? Who might bring the wrong sort of people around her and make her less safe?

Yes, because that would be the truth.

And no, because I don’t have to know her to know that I would never do anything to put her in danger.

“Not always,” I finally say.

Her laugh is so quiet that I almost miss it, and we sit and watch the sky brightening for several long moments, neither of us speaking. Until I take a sip of the promised hot chocolate and nearly choke.

“Is there whiskey in this?” I ask, my voice raspy from the unexpected dose of alcohol scorching down my throat.

She pauses long enough for me to be sure she’s laughing. “Of course. Don’t all dangerous men drink whiskey in their hot chocolate? I thought it was a prerequisite to being...” She waves vaguely in my direction. “Dangerous.”

I take another sip to hide my smile, and this time I’m expecting the sharp tang of the whiskey, so I can appreciate it more. And it’s... good. The flavors blend together in a way I wouldn’t expect, the buttery softness of the whiskey melting into the deeper bite of the chocolate.

It’s also not something I ever would have expected from this tiny, twitchy pixie of a girl.

“Of course it’s a prerequisite,” I say. “I just didn’t think you’d know about things like that.”

“I know more than you think, obviously.”

I don’t doubt this. Don’t doubt it a bit. She was born and raised in New York, which means she knows the city and how dark it can be, and though I don’t know what role she played there–how well-off her family was–she carries herself like a girl who never had to wonder whether she was safe. Until someone took her and ran away with her. I have no idea how long her kidnappers had her, but I know it had to be a harrowing experience.

She had no control of what was happening to her for days, maybe weeks, and I can’t think of anything more frightening than that.

So she’s right; I can’t even begin to guess at what she’s gone through. I’m just glad we got her out when we did.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “I wanted to say it earlier, but I haven’t been able to find you.”

This surprises me. “Thank me for what?”

“For saving me. I know you were there. I know you helped. And I know you didn’t have to. You don’t know me, and you don’t owe me anything. But you still came for me.”

It’s the longest speech I’ve heard her make, and it obviously comes right from the heart. Her voice is deep and hollow, like she’s having trouble keeping it together, and I can hear the emotion beating through it.