Butterface

“It was my grandfather who taught me how to do this.” It hadn’t been the usual grandpa and granddaughter bonding experience, she guessed, but it was theirs.

For the most part, her parents kept her, Rocco, and Paul away from their grandfather’s bad influence, but they still managed to sneak in time with him. The man was far from perfect, but they were kids and that hadn’t mattered to them.

Ford pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, his posture relaxed but the look in his eyes sharp. “And your brothers followed in Big Nose Tommy’s shoes?”

A person didn’t have to have connections to organized crime to see the trap he was laying there. “I’m not talking to you about that. Look, they might be assholes, but they’re my assholes.”

His lips twitched. “Your assholes?” he asked, emphasizing the plural ending.

It took her a second and then she realized what she’d just said. “You know what I mean.”

They made it four seconds in silence before both of them started giggling like twelve-year-old boys. Immature? Very. Needed to break the tension making her gut clench? Absolutely. She let out a breath, and her shoulders relaxed a few inches.

“Okay, so coffee is out of the question, but I’ve got cereal and milk.”

He did that half-smile thing that made her stomach flutter. “Sounds like a plan.”

A few minutes later, after she’d changed into a dry T-shirt and yoga pants and he’d gotten a shirt on, they were sitting on opposite sides of the small kitchen table finishing up their bowls of Peanut Butter Crunchies. While she’d changed and called the emergency plumber, he’d dried the puddles on her kitchen floor and had wiped down the counters. However, he’d left his gun where she’d put it. Smart man. The broken-down nine millimeter took up a good chunk of the middle of the table between them. Gina glanced down at it and back up at Ford.

“I have to have my gun,” he said. “It’s my job.”

“Your job sucks,” she said as she stood up and then took her empty bowl and spoon over to the sink that was no longer trying to drown her.

“That’s a negative.” Ford followed her to the sink, bowl and spoon in hand, and left his dishes in the corner of the sink with hers.

“What is it that you like so much about it?” Because, for the life of her, she didn’t get it. It was all black and white, and the world had so much more color than that.

Ford turned to face her. The morning sun coming in through the window above the sink highlighted his strong chin and the lighter brown strands in his dark brown hair. The urge to let her imagination go lower to wonder if his chest hair poking out of the shirt had the same variation in color was so frickin’ tempting, but she held strong. Okay, she didn’t. She pictured it in her head. The hair dusting his pecs would totally do the same thing. What could she say, she was human and he was a very good-looking man standing in her kitchen. What kind of underwear was under those jeans of his? Boxers? Briefs? Questions to ponder another time, not when Ford was looking at her with a serious expression that made her insides a little fluttery.

“I like to figure things out. I like order. I like to know that someone is out there making sure people follow the rules. I like the idea that those rules are keeping people safe.”

Now, Gina was a woman who liked her spreadsheets, and walking into The Container Store gave her the happy sighs, but getting locked into following a set of rules devised by someone else? Yeah, totally not her game. It’s why she liked yoga. There were set steps and guides, but it was all about listening to her body and knowing what it needed. Some days, she could do the shoulder-pressing pose where she balanced her entire body on the palms of her hands while her legs were wrapped around her arms. Other days, it was all she could do to make her warrior fierce.

“Life is too crazy to always follow the rules,” she said. “Sometimes you have to adapt and be flexible.”

“Flexible,” he scoffed.

Fine, Mr. Rule Follower, time for a demonstration.

“Yeah, you know…” She took a few steps back, inhaled, and as she exhaled let herself stretch into a standing split, with her nose nearly touching one kneecap and her other leg pointed up toward the ceiling. “Flexible.”