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Another day, I decide. He’s had enough emotional turmoil for today.

“Pizza’s here, Bels,” I say, hopping up onto the other side of the bench and lifting his feet, encouraging him to stretch them out in my lap. I pass his box to him and watch him from the corner of my eye just to make sure he eats something.

We eat quietly, his toes flexing periodically in my lap as he fills his belly. The clearing of his throat draws my attention, my last slice of pizza half-raised to my mouth.

“I…” he begins, the word barely a rasp. “It’s been a little confusing, being around you again. My head is a mess.”

I lower my slice back into the box, suddenly full. I understand where he’s at, but it still stings.

“I don’t want to starve this thing between us, but…can we just take it slow?”

Fuck, this is more than I hoped for. This is… No. I need to not get ahead of myself. I can’t bulldoze him.

“Baby steps. For Babybell,” I say, hoping he doesn’t tell me to stop calling him that. It was my favorite nickname for him, and it feels so good to use it again.

Thankfully, he just smiles a sweet, tired smile and parrots my words back to me.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bellamy

Sunday isn’t a flowers guy by any stretch of the imagination, but the massive black-and-pastel-pink bundle that appears on my desk the following week has to be from him.

I open the little card to read the message.

This is apology number 3. In case you were keeping track ;) Sunny x

“Does the first one count?” Delphine murmurs into my ear from over my shoulder.

I’m inclined to take her side, but as Lara is in the office with me, I don’t reply. I give her a subtle nod instead.

Delphine snorts a laugh, then gets distracted by Séverin walking past the office door. I think she might be a little upset when she finds out he doesn’t swing her way. He hasn’t asked to feed from me again since the club, which is odd, but maybe he found someone else to help him.

“I need to go. I’ve got an appointment at the doctor’s office. Are you good finishing off those treasure hunts for the home ed packs?” Lara’s voice breaks me out of my thoughts as she switches off her computer and shoves her arms through her jacket.

The home education program was my idea, because we didn’t have anything that the parents could just grab and go. It’s a simple thing, really. Just some worksheets and coloring pages, but it’ll entertain the kids for a couple of hours at least.

“Sure, I’ll print them out and drop them at reception.” I smile at her as she goes.

Lara and Séverin are both easy to get along with. Combined with the fact I’m no longer intent on hating Sunday’s guts, I’m starting to feel a lot more settled here in Salem.

Truthfully—although I’m terrified that it’s going to come back and bite me in the ass—it does feel nice to have him back in my life again. I can’t believe he kept that box with all our stuff. I never even noticed him stashing any of it.

The condom wrapper though, seriously? Who does that?

I chuckle to myself. He sure did paint himself as this big hulking emo baddie, but he’s more like a chocolate chip cookie. Crunchy and a little salty on the outside, but gooey in the middle.

Speaking of cookies, I have a spare one I haven’t eaten from a small batch I baked last night. Since Lara is gone, and Séverin can’t…

My legs carry me to Sunday’s workshop without a second thought, intent on arguing that his apology counter is all kinds of wrong. I’ve gotten used to his routine now, and he’s always been the type of person who gets hopelessly lost in his work, forgetting to eat and sitting there long after the cleaning crew has been and gone. Giving him a nudge to start packing up is a kindness, really.

Sunday’s workshop door is already ajar when I get there. I toe it open, clutching the cookie wrapped in patterned greaseproof paper in my hands. My stomach clenches in anticipation, and I don’t try to tamp it down this time. I allow the feeling to come, let it sit in my body, let my head catch up with itself. I tell myself that it’s okay for me to be attracted to him still, and it’s okay for me to allow a slow exploration of those feelings. That I’m⁠—

Blood.

Blood on the floor. Not unusual—sometimes carcasses drip when they thaw from the freezer, the evidence of the very same stained into tiny little rings in places.

But the thing that makes my heart leap into my throat is that the trail of drips leads up to Sunday’s frozen frame.