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Offering a soft kiss to her forehead, I get up from the bed. First, I plug her phone in and then I make my way back around the house. I secure all the windows and doors before letting myself out the front and locking it behind me.

I don’t like our separation, but I still need to uncover the whereabouts of the last Aldente on the list, and I can’t do that here.

29

Bringing Home the Bacon

Cinnamon

Cinnamon: Hey can I just meet at your place? I have a job tonight but can come after if that works.

Orzo: …I suppose, but that means you have to spend the night. I’ll send you the address.

My cheeks tinge pink at his text and I choose not to respond.

I flick to another message in my phone.

John: What are you up to today?

cinnamon: cooking a meal for two strangers in the middle of nowhere

John: oh. Be careful. You know I can always show up and flash my badge if you need me

cinnamon: I feel less scared already

Stuffing my phone away, I focus on the task at hand.

I didn’t expect my next job to be so soon; I still don’t have the money from the last one.

Should I even go?

Except I already know I am going to.

But first I have to pick up this ceramic pot from a mechanic?

Why is it at a mechanic shop on the opposite side of town? I swear, the amount of gas money I need just to get to this job.

I guess at least now if I make leftovers, it will be fine, and they can heat them up in it.

The address for the clients this time was out near the river, fully in the middle of the woods, but at least the kitchen should be stocked.

There’s a nervously excited energy that buzzes through me. The first person must have liked it so much they hired me for others.

Getting out of my car, I quickly march inside the shop. It’s grimy, layered in oil, tools, and parts strewn across every available floor and counter space.

In the back, I can peek through the window to the garage where a mix of luxury cars and those similar to mine are lifted up in the air.

“I‘m here for the ceramic pot,” I say to the person leaning on the desk, their eyes drooping shut.

He’s young, probably twenty max, and his hair is like greasy butter.

He bounces awake and gives me a terrified once over before gulping. “I’ll get Cast for you.”

He’s out the door before I can utter another word. Tapping my foot, I wait impatiently for this dude to appear with the item.

It takes about five minutes until a much older man appears.

“Cinnamon,” he greets me. A large box tucked under his arm. “I’m Mr. Iron, pleasure to make your acquaintance. I love seeing women in male-dominated fields.”