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He scowls at her. “What the hell is that?”

She points to the oats.

He scoffs. “I’ll pass on the cold mush. Just the sandwiches, four of those, sausage and bacon on them, cheddar, or American cheese. No Swiss. Thanks.”

I shake my head and exhale for the first time in six months or maybe ever. “And one blueberry overnight oats. Please and thank you.” I wink at the woman as we wait for our order. Then I elbow Sal, “Now that you’re not dead, you should eat better so you don’t die.”

He laughs at me, “I’ll eat some weeds later, however I’m calling it at cold oatmeal.”

“Suit yourself.”

“How I wish I could.” He’s tapping away on my phone. “I miss a good suit.”

“I like casual gangster.” I take in dark jeans that hug that perfect ass and his tight black v-neck shirt that hugs his pecs and gives me a peek at his dark unruly chest hair.

“Jesus, woman, we’re not playing here.” His face is stern and I try to lighten him up. We’re in trouble, I get it, but we’re together.

Sal’s about to lecture me, but I stop him by whispering. “Says the man who made me step over a…” I mouth the words “…dead body”.

“Sir, your oats are ready.”

He steps to the counter. “Cheeky. No tip.” I pull a hundred from my pocket and he stops me. He kisses my ear and says quietly, “Nothing flashy. Draw no attention.” He places a wad of twenties on the counter.

“Will I be getting rules on how to be on the run?” I whisper back at him.

“As soon as we’re in the Suburban, darling Wifey,” he exclaims, and I put a twenty in the tip jar.

He ushers me outside to look for a black Suburban. Because that’s not flashy.

I glance at the car he’s ordered. “You do know that you’re 6’6”, the size of a truck and otherworldly gorgeous. There’s nowhere you can go that you won’t be flashy.”

He leans down and kisses me. It’s soft and warm. “I love you. Now, shut up and get in the car.” He helps me climb up into the behemoth of a vehicle and I slide into the seat. He gets in on the driver’s side and says, “Don’t be rude, Gingersnap. Say hello, Pop.”

“Hello–holy shit.”

“Ms. Salvatore. Or is it Ms. Gelbert? Or do you go by Mrs. Pietro now? Anyway, it’s nice to see you in one piece.”

“Boomer!”

“At your service and at your back for these past months.”

I hit Sal again as Boomer pulls away from the curb.

“Thank you, Boomer. I’m sorry you had to lie,” I say to my friend.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to pretend to be someone else.” It hangs in the air and I catch his eye in the rear-view mirror.

“You too.” I reach for his shoulder and Sal blusters.

“Ok. Alright, cut it out. We’re all ok. Look, Boomer joined the payroll the day you dipped your toe in tattooing. He really did work at the bar, and I found him once I tracked you down. It was my luck he’s dabbled in security. Now, let’s get something straight.”

“What? I shouldn’t comment on dead bodies, gasp, make a flashy entrance. Use too much money? Think my life is my own? Got it. What else?”

He takes my hand. “Are you ok?”

“There is no answer to that question that will make any sense. Because on one hand, I’m the most ok, I’ve ever been. And on the other I’m wearing leggings splattered with a stranger’s blood.”

“Good list. Keep thinking on it,” he says.