Page 196 of Dark King Daddy

“That one’s mine.”

She tasted it, made a face and gave it back.

“Yes. You’ve somehow made it taste disapproving.”

I handed her the other mug. She drank, closed her eyes for a moment, then leaned against me.

“Better.”

I put my arm around her. My hand found the small of her back beneath the shirt, and she tipped her face up for a kiss.

Three months ago, I had held that same hand shut in the back of a car and felt her blood come through my fingers.

I kissed her again.

“You’re trying to distract me,” she murmured.

“Is it working?”

“A little. I remain committed to the light.”

“I’ll have someone replace it while we’re out.”

She drew back far enough to look at me.

“Today?”

“Today.”

“The one I showed you?”

“The one you showed me.”

“I want that in writing.”

I took out my phone and typed a message to the electrician. She watched over my arm, sipping her coffee.

“You’ve forgotten the please. What is it with you Bratva and a lack of manners?!”

I added please and sent it.

“Excellent. We’re making progress.”

She left me in the kitchen with both mugs to carry upstairs.

I followed willingly. This was becoming a problem for my reputation.

Her studio door stood open. The drafting table had come from her place on Pioneer Street, along with her books and the plan chest and a small green chair she had insisted would fit beneath the window. Sure enough, it fitted perfectly. She reminded me of this whenever she sat in it.

The boxes of my father’s files had gone into storage. In their place were drawings, photographs, a chipped blue bowl full of erasers and a note pinned beside the desk in my handwriting: Dinner. Eight. You promised.

Neither of us had taken it down.

I put her coffee on the clear corner of the drafting table. She returned to her stool, tucked one foot under the other knee and picked up a pencil.

“The entrance hall,” she said, turning the drawing towards me. “This is what I’m showing you first.”

The bathhouse. Red Hook. Her bathhouse, now, at least in every way that mattered to her.